Super Powereds: Year 2 (66 page)

“Only if you’re an amateur. These are top quality. They’ll pass any test up to being run through the system by an actual police officer.” Nick might have beamed a bit as he spoke; he had helped Cybil refine her process a few years back and couldn’t help being proud of the results.

“Thanks, Nick,” Alice said. “These could lead to some real fun. I’d feel bad for the others, but this place is stocked well enough to keep up everyone comfortably buzzed for a month, let alone a week.”

“No need to feel bad for them, anyway,” Nick said. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve got way more than three cards in my envelope.”

“Giant house, fake IDs, tons of alcohol.” Alex shook his head. “I didn’t ever expect I’d be having a spring break this awesome when I came to Lander.”

“Well, let’s get it started!” Nick declared, scooping up his own bag from the floor and racing toward the stairs. Vince and Alex were close on his heels, while Alice took her sweet time making the ascent. There was a whole week ahead of them, and she was in no need to hurry.

This was a time to relax and savor.

129.

It didn’t take Mary long to figure out that telepathy wasn’t much help amidst college freshmen on spring break. This wasn’t a matter of her being unable to hear their thoughts, or them being too convoluted to make sense of. No, the reason telepathy held no benefit is that everyone’s mind centered chiefly around the same two subjects: alcohol and sex. Despite never having partaken in either, by the time her charges were gathering their individual coolers and heading toward the water, Mary was thoroughly sick of both topics.

“Cameron!” Chad barked to her right. “One cooler per person.”

The alcohol-ability-based freshman looked at his chaperone with utter dejection, then placed two of three coolers he’d been trying to haul off back on the ground. Candi scooped one of them up and patted him on the back. It seemed every class had a few sober kids to act as booze mules for the heavy drinkers. Walter and Gale weren’t far behind, the bespectacled boy trying and failing to swill down beer as though he drank it frequently. Those were the only freshmen Mary recognized; the remaining were a blur of faces she knew from below ground but couldn’t have put names to without referencing a student handbook. Chad, however, had no such issues.

“Kelly! Buddy system is not optional, pair with a group. Jim! Pull your trunks up. If you want to strip at least wait until everyone is too drunk to care.”

“How do you do that?”

“Perfect memory,” Chad said, his eyes still scanning the departing freshmen for infraction. “I always memorize the names of everyone in the HCP at the beginning of the year.”

“Why?”

Chad shrugged. “Just seemed like something that might come in useful.”

“Oh,” Mary said. “Has it?”

“Occasionally. Not as often as I’d expected,” Chad admitted. “Jim! I am not going to warn you again.”

A sullen-looking boy with dark hair pulled his swimsuit up then began moving with increasing speed toward the river.

“Were you guys this bad last year?”

“Probably, although Angela and Ben were somewhat less strict with us.”

“Should we let up a little then?”

“I was planning on it once we actually got on the river. I wanted to set a firm standard initially and then enforce it only as needed through the rest of the trip,” Chad explained. “As long as they know we’re here to keep them in line, we probably won’t have to.”

“You sound like you have practice at this.”

“None at all; Angela gave me some pointers.”

Mary tilted her head in surprise. “That doesn’t really seem like her management style.”

“It isn’t. This is the one she thought would work best for me.” Chad bent over and grabbed a cooler of his own. “I’ll take the point position if you want to follow at the rear in case of stragglers.”

“Sounds like a plan. You thinking of drinking?” Mary motioned to the cooler in his hand.

“No, but I might want a water. Besides, I’m sure some of the more daring students will loot my alcohol when they think I’m not looking.” Mary wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she saw the outline of a smile on Chad’s well-defined face. Not for the first time, she wished she could read the mind behind her inscrutable classmate. Wishing did no good, so instead she grabbed a tube and followed him down to where the freshmen were already splashing noisily into the gentle current.

* * *

Mr. Transport arrived at the doorstep with a bouquet of flowers freshly picked from a remote hill in Norway. It was the sort of thing that would have seemed overeager if he’d planned on telling his date where they were procured; however, without context they merely seemed like a lovely choice from the local florist.

His suit, always pressed and fitted, was complimented with an electric blue tie rather than his usual black one. It presented a jauntier image, or at least that’s what the salesman had convinced him. Mr. Transport was an expert on many things: geography, Australian wine, home-brewed beer, munitions, and the works of Isaac Asimov to name a few. Sadly, fashion and dating were two subjects lacking in his repertoire. He was quite fortunate, in as much as he was out of practice pitching woo, the woman he was romancing was out of practice in receiving it.

Ms. Daniels answered the door by the third knock, her hair carefully curled and a turquoise dress draped over her figure. It didn’t hide her body entirely, and while time and childbirth had certainly softened the once sleek frame of the Southern belle, she’d logged enough time on the treadmill to keep the ultimate ravages of age at bay.

“On time as always,” Ms. Daniels said as a greeting.

“You look lovely tonight, Sally,” Mr. Transport said, handing over his meager offering of flora.

“I suppose you look a bit dashing yourself. I like your tie.”

Mr. Transport felt a goofy smile dance across his face. It was embarrassing, but his life had been cut off from normality in his early twenties, so he’d never evolved past this phase of dating. He still got flustered and cheerful by simple compliments. Unbeknownst to him, it was one of the qualities Sally Daniels found endearing.

The two had been on three dates since Mr. Transport found the gumption to ask her out, his schedule rarely meshing along with her own. Spring break offered a rare opportunity; with his charges all off on various vacations, Mr. Transport only had his other company duties to attend to, ones which were infrequent and unpredictable. They had resolved to use this opportunity for a prolonged dating session, one to determine if they would grow sick on each other’s company or more enamored with it. It was a somewhat clinical approach to the idea of love, but both had tight schedules and little time to piss away on an endeavor that would ultimately culminate in failure.

“Come on in,” Sally said, stepping to the side. “I thought we could have a drink and catch up before dinner.”

Mr. Transport stepped inside happily, goofy grin still firmly plastered in place.

130.

The interior of the building had an industrial feel to it. The tables were metal, the stools seemed cobbled together from lead pipes and wood. Tin sheeting adorned the walls, hunks of it cut away to make room for doorways and bars. Amidst the rough décor there were only still hints as to this establishment’s true purpose. Colorful lights ran along nearly every surface, unlit but still noticeable to the keen eye. An enormous slab of wood elevated an open area three inches up from the concrete floor, giant speakers near it almost, but not quite, concealed from view. The truly experienced partier would notice a few holes drilled in the upper part of the sheeting just above the wooden slab, a perfect size for a fog machine to spray its contents on the area below. It was a contrast of joy and efficiency, of work and play. It had definitely been constructed by Hershel and Roy’s father.

Hershel took all this in, comparing it to Roy’s memory from so many years ago and discovering more similarities than differences. Roy had made the mistake of coming at night; so much of the fine detail had escaped his attention. The place had been more distracting, and what he’d seen more distressing. This time he knew what he was walking into, and he could handle it. Seeing his father, however, Hershel was less confident in that regard. He really didn’t know what his first words would be to the man who had left them.

It didn’t take long to find out. As Hershel stood by the entrance, a large man stepped out from one of the doorways to the back. He was close to seven feet tall, his arms thicker than a bodybuilder’s legs, and his legs looked closer related to steel beams than human limbs. A dark beard was trimmed close so as to still show off his impressive jaw line and handsome face. In each hand he carried a silver keg, presumably full, although one wouldn’t have known that from the ease with which he slung them around.

Hershel found his breathing was no longer functional and his ability to keep his knees steady had all but vanished. It had been over a decade since he’d seen this man through anything but Roy’s memory, yet he was unmistakable. This giant could only be Titan, the unstoppable monster who left all but the most powerful criminals trembling at the mention of his name. Hershel cleared his throat accidently as he tried to suck in air and regain some semblance of mental balance.

The giant turned his head toward the sound and froze. A riotous clanking filled the air as the kegs clattered to the ground, gathering dents and ensuring that any beer inside would be undrinkable for days. It took less than five sizable strides for him to cross the room, stopping only a few inches from Hershel’s still somewhat shaky form. His father laid an enormous hand on each of Hershel’s shoulders and stared down at the boy, his face a tempest of emotions, each fighting for the right to be showcased. A single word escaped his mouth, deep and rich as a jazz singer and dripping with just as much emotion.

“Son.”

Hershel reared back and struck his father in the jaw with all the strength he had. It was a futile gesture: even most Heroes couldn’t put down this powerhouse. Still, sometime later, when Roy finally regained control of the body, he would look back on this memory and, despite all the other negative emotions that would be rolling through him at the time, feel a tremendous sense of brotherly pride.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the quiet tranquility of Alice’s beach house to be shattered by a slew of arrivals. Stella, Violet, Thomas, and Camille were the first ones to show up after the prep team. With the exception of Camille, everyone was at least partially intoxicated. It seemed Stella had wanted to pre-game and Violet had jumped on the idea, cajoling Thomas into at least partial participation. By the time they’d finally gotten the three girls set up in a room, Will, Jill, Julia, and Sasha had arrived. Sasha was uncharacteristically silent, avoiding conversation and even eye contact with anyone besides Julia. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she’d been talked into coming and was clearly regretting it. For her part, Camille went out of her way to greet the speedy girl and welcome her to the event. If anything, this only seemed to make Sasha retract further into her shell.

As the day wore on, more groups showed up at the door. Shane, Rich, Adam, Britney, and Amber all carpooled together. Selena and Tiffani were the last arrivals, appearing a few minutes after two. It was bedlam at first as people jockeyed to find open rooms with their friends, eventually culminating in the last folks hunkering down in the open bunk bed room that dominated most of the third floor. It was riotous but cheerful in spirit. Those intent on partying realized the odds of them making it to the appropriate bed were slim, and those intent on sobriety assumed they’d be more capable of getting back to their assigned space. By the time four in the afternoon appeared on the kitchen’s clock a variety of activities had begun.

There was a pool tournament at one of the billiards tables, complete with a tiered bracket system that would be impossible to maintain once a true zenith of intoxication was reached. Violet had organized a Power Hour in the living room, insistent that by week’s end they all be capable of completing a Bicentennial Club. Vince had started a beach volleyball game out in the sand; currently he and Thomas were two points up on the team of Shane and Will. Some of the girls were sitting on the deck, catcalling their male classmates and enjoying margaritas made from an actual drum-style machine rather than a blender and ice. Shockingly, it was Nick and Camille who were in the kitchen, preparing nachos, bacon sandwiches, and other assorted foods designed to satisfy munchies and offer at least some relief from the ravages of alcohol.

It was hectic, it was disorganized, it was highly irresponsible. It was exactly what everyone needed.

131.

“Drink this,” Hershel’s father said, placing a clear glass filled by a dull yellow liquid in front of him. “It will make your hand feel better.” He moved into the booth opposite his son and slid the concoction forward gently. Hershel reached for it with his right hand, winced, and switched to his left. It turned out that just because you couldn’t hurt someone with your punch didn’t mean their jaw couldn’t still injure the small bones in your hands. It would mend eventually; one trade with Roy and Hershel would be pain free. That would have to wait, unfortunately. Which reminded him...

“There’s no whiskey in this, is there?”

“Whiskey?”

“Yeah, whiskey.”

Hershel’s father shook his head. “Tequila, a few mixers, and a splash of vodka, but no whiskey.”

“Good.” Hershel took two oversized mouthfuls and gulped them down before lowering the glass. He found his father staring at him with an expression of curiosity.

“Whiskey makes you change now, right? After that weird procedure it doesn’t just happen unwanted; you set up a chemical trigger.”

“I see Mom has kept you up to speed.”

“Second year HCP, living as a Super, she even told me about your girlfriend. Of course, nothing she mentioned would explain why you felt the need to drive all the way out here and take a swing at me.”