Super Powereds: Year 2 (75 page)

“I know,” Vince sighed. “I’ve been trying everything I can think of, but none of it is working. I still don’t know how I took the energy out of that table, or the tennis balls.”

“No clue on the balls, but the table is obvious: instinct. You did it because you had to do it, otherwise it would have wrecked you.”

“Probably,” Vince agreed. “Too bad I can’t get the same instinct when sparring.”

“Maybe you can,” Roy said, standing back up. Vince followed suit and the two moved back toward the area they’d been training in. “I have an idea. Don’t fight me anymore, just block.”

“What will that do?”

“On its own, nothing,” Roy admitted. “But there’s another piece to this. I’m going to try and break your arms.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why I don’t want you dodging or deflecting. Take the blows. This is going to help me learn how strong my punches need to be to just barely break bone.”

“I see. So either I absorb the energy, or I get a shattered arm.”

“Yup. Let’s see if your self-preservation instinct kicks in after a few fractures.”

Vince started to object, on grounds of basic sanity, then thought better of it. Roy was right: he didn’t have many weeks left, and mastering a new technique was time consuming. If he could do this, it would mean a whole new dimension to his fighting abilities. A skill like this could easily be the difference between a win and a loss. His team needed him to be stronger. Vince was not going to let one of his friends get booted, not because of him. He raised his arms into a basic guard position.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

148.

“Are there any more questions?”

The group fidgeted on the mismatched furniture, no one wanting to speak without having something important to say. They still lived in the seemingly abandoned building where they had been for nearly a year now, but it seemed that was soon to change. For some, like the dark-haired man with the sharp features, it was a welcome relief. Others, like the boy who couldn’t possibly be any older than twelve, were clearly dismayed by the sudden change.

The next to speak was a slim blonde woman with elfin features and her blonde hair trimmed in a pixie cut. “I still don’t think it’s smart for you to travel in the open. You can stay holed up here until we’re ready to act, then let me transport you.”

The dark-haired man in the red coat pressed his right ring and index finger to his temple. He rarely did anything with the left hand, the one concealed behind several layers of cloth and gloves, unless it was necessary.

“Then how would we get away? Part of why we’re going now is to lay the ground work for our escape. And before you offer to help with that too, let me remind you that at this stage we don’t want them to even know we have a teleporter, let alone that it’s you.”

“They wouldn’t have to know.”

“Shims, when this is over, we’re going to have a lot of people after us, and while you are effective as hell, you are also very distinctive.”

The delicate-featured woman leaned back in her chair, unhappy but unable to think of another solid objection. Luckily, a different female, one whose hair was styled into short dark spikes, suffered no such obstacle.

“I’d like to call bullshit on not bringing anyone besides yourself, Persephone, and Gerard. Why not let me into the lineup?”

“Because no one knows about you either,” the man said, his tone surprisingly patient given the number of times he’d heard some manifestation of this argument. “Persephone was made in last year’s extraction attempts, George was given instructions to lead his interrogators down the path to Gerard’s involvement, and as for me, well, we’ve already been over this. I refuse to open it for debate once more.”

“I could help.”

“I know you could, Joan, and you will. This is one step in a long journey. Everyone here wants to pitch in or they wouldn’t have signed up. We have limited resources and opportunities, however, so the more we can keep close to the vest, the greater our options are in days that follow. Trust me.”

Joan grumbled something unintelligible but allowed herself to fall silent. She did trust him. All of them did. He’d pulled them together, shown them they weren’t alone. He’d given them a purpose, traded all the bitter disappointment in their guts for a dream that burned brightly through their minds.

“Okay, last chance for questions. Quentin? Gerard? Anything?”

The sharp-faced man and the boy both shook their heads no.

“Then with that I think we can call this meeting adjourned.” He rose from his seat quickly, strong legs lifting him into the air as though they couldn’t bear the idea of restrained for much longer. “I don’t know about you folks, but I’m going to get a head start on packing.”

He headed through the north door, leading into a small area populated only by himself. Gerard got up and followed suit, with Quentin a few steps behind. The women were a bit slower, so everyone else was out of earshot when Joan asked her question.

“Why does he call you Shims?”

Shims took a moment to answer, pulling herself from her chair and smoothing out the linen pants encircling her legs. “It’s short for my codename. He’s always had a penchant for nicknames.”

“No, that part I knew,” Joan said. “I mean why are you the only one he still calls by any form of their Hero name? He doesn’t call Persephone Mood Swing, or George Relentless Steel, or Gerard Raze. You’re the only one he doesn’t address by their real name.”

“It’s because she hasn’t left that life,” Persephone said, fielding the question before the other woman had a chance. “The rest of us aren’t Heroes anymore. She still is.”

“Still seems odd,” Joan remarked. She didn’t press the issue, thankfully, instead heading off to the section of the warehouse that constituted her room.

“Thanks,” Shims said once Joan was gone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Persephone reassured her. “Try not to fault her for asking. For someone who wasn’t in the HCP, it seems like an innocent question.”

“I’m not the one who should be offended. She makes a good point, you know. I’m sure he would call you by your old name if you asked him.”

“I know he would. I just don’t want him to. That’s part of my past life. Besides, despite everything that happened, I still have a lot of respect for the program. It feels wrong to use a name given to me for the sake of maintaining the law while we’re conspiring to break it.”

“I must admit, I didn’t see this coming when I graduated,” Shims said, a memory from a faraway life glimmering in her eyes.

“None of us did. Hell, I don’t think a single one of my expectations panned out,” Persephone said. “Sort of makes you wish you could go back and do it all over, but this time get things right.”

“I don’t know. If I could change the past, I’m not sure I would. It might make things better, but then again, there are worse possible realities than this one.”

“Hard to imagine how things could be much worse.”

“No, it isn’t,” Shims disputed. “Just imagine a world without him in it.” With that she walked out of the makeshift living room, leaving Persephone alone with the mismatched furniture.

“Yeah,” Persephone said to no one. “I guess that would be pretty bad.”

149.

“That’s all for today’s class,” Professor Pendleton said, dismissing his charges. “If I could have Alice, Nick, Will, Britney, and Tiffani stay after for a few minutes; the rest of you are free to leave.”

His announcement was followed by the weary shuffle of papers and feet that accompanied the end of every particularly draining class. Much as the year before, the nearer the end drew, the harder the instructors seemed to be driving their students. It was crunch time, though whether the thing being crunched was their days or their brains no student could have readily told you.

The five Professor Pendleton had named stayed behind, clustering around his desk while the remaining students exited. He waited until the last one was gone, and then a few minutes further, before revealing the purpose in their after-class meeting.

“You five are the ones who qualified for the extra credit tailing assignment,” Professor Pendleton informed them. “Given your marks in my class, I’m sure most of you already figured that out.” His eyes might have flicked to Alice at the word “most.” If so, no one was crass enough to make note of it. “I apologize for the delay in organizing this; it has taken me a bit longer than anticipated to get my plan approved.”

He reached into his desk and produced a series of five white envelopes, laying them in a row in front of him. They bore no names or any other distinctive marks, nothing at all to distinguish one from the other.

“These will be your starting locations. Pick one, and be there Friday at seven in the evening. If you are late, you forfeit. You’ll all have different spots, and they will each have a vantage point that allows you to see me. I am the target of the assignment. You’ll have to tail me for one hour. Once I reach my endpoint I’ll sit down. Anyone who comes up to me while I’m sitting is considered to have passed. I’ll give you all until eight fifteen to reach me, in case some of you employ more long-ranged techniques. Questions so far?”

“Yeah, why start us at a distance? We could just run up to you and stay close for the entire hour,” Alice pointed out.

“Ah yes, thank you for leading me to my next rule. Since the essence of tailing lies in not being seen, we’re going to impose a catching disqualification. Now, I obviously know you’re all following me, so the rule is a little more simplified. If I lay a hand on you, you are out. I’m starting you at a distance for the sake of fairness. Me getting close enough to touch one of you means you’ve not only lost me, but been circled back on by me. If that isn’t the essence of failure while tailing someone then I would struggle to think of a better definition.”

“So you’re going to chase us?” Britney asked.

“Not overtly. This is a public area and I have no intention of making a scene. Consider this: if you are able to stay well enough concealed while tracking me then I will never have the opportunity to catch you.”

“You make it sound easy, but you’re a specialist at this stuff,” Alice said.

“Of course it’s not easy,” Professor Pendleton said, stifling an exasperated sigh. “This is a trial that takes the place of your final exam, should you pass. It should be goddamned near impossible given your levels of skill. Admittedly, so should achieving the point totals that got you here. Maybe one or two of you will pull it off; however, please don’t be under the impression that I’m expecting any of you to succeed.”

“There’s one thing you haven’t covered yet,” Nick said, shifting slightly toward the front of the group.

“Do tell.”

“Abilities. You haven’t said whether we can use our powers in the course of your trial.”

Professor Pendleton greeted his protégé’s questions with a curiously over-sized smile. “This is the Hero Certification Program, is it not? Of course you can use your abilities; learning to apply them to various tasks is the entire point of you all being here.”

A small wave of optimism seemed to wash across the group; several of them had been wondering how they would have a hope of success. Adding back in the option of their powers made it seem like they had a shot. Nick was, strangely, the only one who seemed unhappy with this news.

“So, we’re learning to tail people, incorporating our abilities as Supers?”

“I believe I just said that, yes.”

“And if it so happens that our target is a Super as well?”

“Then of course you could expect him to utilize his powers too,” Professor Pendleton tossed back.

The cautious optimism that had permeated the students came crashing down. In all his lessons, in all their classes, Professor Pendleton had still not shown them what his ability was. Very few of the instructors had, actually. Aside from Professor Fletcher, Professor Stone, and Professor Hill, the rest of the Lander educating staff had not used a single ability as far as the students could tell. In most cases it led a sense of curiosity. In this situation it meant they had likely already failed his test before even taking it.

“It seems like you could at least tell us what your power is,” Alice said. “You know all of ours, and you can take steps to defend against them. Shouldn’t we get equal ground?”

“Miss Adair, is it your understanding that Heroes are generally low-profile individuals?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“Not particularly.”

“So you see how my being forearmed with knowledge is quite appropriate. Were I to spot you, I would have a full suite of information about your skills thanks to media’s love affair with our occupation.”

“But obviously we’d have at least some advanced information on a target we were tailing.”

This time it was Will, not the instructor, who corrected her.

“From who? This is the Subtlety major. We’re the ones who do the scouting and information gathering. We’re the ones who find out what a person can do so we can warn the other Heroes. Professor Pendleton is right: if we graduate with our major in Subtlety then this is a real world situation we can expect to see a lot of.”

“Well said, Mr. Murray. Very well said, in fact. With that, we have covered all the ground rules and I am done with questions. Be at your starting points promptly at seven.”

The students gathered their things and began to leave. As they reached the exit, Professor Pendleton called after them with one last snippet.

“Oh, and I nearly forgot. Good luck to you all. You’ll need it.”

150.

The knock on Nick’s door came around eight that evening. He glanced up from his computer and looked over. Her self-control was impressive; he’d expected her to arrive hours earlier. Instead of getting out of his chair Nick yelled over his shoulder.

“We both know you can open the door yourself.”

There was a pause, then a soft buzz as his door opened to reveal Alice, clad in sweats and clearly stressed, at least judging from the state of her tangled hair and the nervous fidgeting she was unconsciously doing.