Super Powereds: Year 2 (95 page)

“Not the whole thing,” Dean Blaine corrected. “Admittedly, it will be more extensive than if you’d simply failed. Then we would only obscure memories of individuals, blurring out their names and faces, if you will. You would still retain all memory of your training, classes, and exercises. As is, you will still retain some memories from the last two years. Legally we cannot obscure any of your regular curriculum Lander classes. This meeting will also be preserved, so that you understand why there is a giant gap in your recollection. Everything else will be stripped away. Right now the packing team is also editing any photographs or documentation in your room. There will be no record of anything you experienced here in the HCP, mental or otherwise.”

“So, just to be clear, is this a psychic thing or a brain damage thing?” Nick asked. “I know it won’t change the outcome, but if you’re blowing up brain cells, I think I’d like to schedule an MRI for when I get home.”

“Your brain will be fine,” Professor Stone informed him, her voice softer than Dean Blaine’s, though not by much. “My particular telepathy allows me to interact with people’s memories. I can view them or obscure them; however, that last part is generally kept confidential.”

“I assumed it was someone on staff,” Nick replied. “You can’t very well have every bitter young adult you kick out of this thing go off with full knowledge of everyone’s names and abilities. Secret identities wouldn’t last five minutes after a new Hero’s debut.”

“I’m glad you understand the reason why we do this,” Dean Blaine said. “Now, as for your academic record, you’ve maintained good grades at Lander’s regular classes, and those will transfer to any university you’d care to attend, should you decide to continue your education. Your time in the HCP will count for various elective credits: gym, humanities, that sort of thing. You’ll have a transcript that will keep you on track for a four-year college career.”

“That’s awfully kind of you.”

“It’s policy. Just because someone didn’t make it in the HCP doesn’t mean they deserve to have their regular education set back. Besides, elective requirements are largely bullshit anyway.”

“Amen,” Nick agreed.

“So, you understand what will happen, and what your options forward from here are. When we finish you’ll be free to go. Your things have already been packed and delivered, and we will help you find your car in case the memory of that is stricken as well. Do you have any questions or statements before we begin?”

“Sort of feels like you’re asking me if I have any last words.”

“In a way, I suppose I am,” Dean Blaine admitted. He disliked this portion of the job more than almost any other. It was part of the agreement each student signed, to sacrifice bits of their memory in the event they didn’t make it, but still it always nagged at Dean Blaine. He felt like he was stripping away a piece of each person, tearing out chunks of what comprised them. It was a necessary sacrifice, he knew that, because it was better to lose a tenth of a person than to watch a whole one be killed through leaked information. That didn’t make him hate it any less.

Nick smiled. “You guys put on a good program. I had a lot of fun in my time here. I learned more than I ever expected to. I made friends, which surprised even me. I guess if I had to give one statement to summarize the whole experience, it’s that I have no regrets about coming here.” He turned in his chair to face Professor Pendleton. “That, and I hope that when you get your gift, you’ll be able to forgive what I’m about to do.”

“What do you mean?” Professor Pendleton asked.

Nick gave no verbal response; instead, he rose from his chair and crossed the room, walking around the large wooden table, coming to a stop in front of Professor Stone. He sat down next to her and closed his eyes.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

192.

There was a light knock on the door of Rich Weaver’s dorm. He pulled himself from his bed without much enthusiasm. After the day he’d had all he wanted to do was go to fucking sleep. The only silver lining was that his roommate had already left town, since he was not obligated to stick around for questioning on today’s fiasco. The official stance on who passed and who failed was that if you weren’t spoken to then you should assume you had a place to come back to next year. New rankings would be announced at the start of next year, pending the results of the investigation into the Vince incident. With all that out of the way, the only thing Rich had left on his mind was rest, but now some knocking asshole had taken even that from him.

Rich jerked open the door to find a relatively short man in a dark suit staring at him.

“What do you want? I don’t have to be out until tomorrow at noon.”

“I brought you a package from Nick Campbell,” the man said. He pulled a small envelope out from his jacket pocket and handed it to Rich. It was thin, with only a single bulge at the lower left corner. As Rich’s fingers closed around it he realized it was about the right size for a flash drive. Probably one containing a video file.

“Is this the only one?” He’d have preferred to play it cool; however, this was too important to have signals get crossed.

“To my knowledge,” the man said simply.

Rich grunted his acknowledgement and closed the door. He’d have liked a little more reassurance, but it looked like this is all he was getting. At least Nick had lived up to his part of the bargain. He’d turned over the evidence and managed to keep the telepaths off of Rich’s back. The day had been terrible, and with the small envelope in his hand, he could finally put the whole thing in the past.

Rich reared back and smashed the envelope down on his dresser, making sure his palm drove the device into the hardest corner. He repeated this motion a dozen times until all that would eventually come tumbling out were bits of plastic and hunks of metal.

* * *

Professor Pendleton sat at his desk, a glass of whiskey in front of him and a romance novel to his side. Not even the dashing adventure of Rodrigo could take his mind off the day’s events, though the whiskey was having a good bit more success. He swallowed another wretched mouthful. It was swill he’d picked up at the corner gas station. Good booze was for celebrating; it was meant to be joyfully toasted with. There was nothing he found worth celebrating today. This was whiskey for mourning.

“Afternoon,” said a voice from his doorway. Professor Pendleton looked up to see Mr. Numbers standing there, strangely unbothered to walk in on an educator drinking at his desk.

“Afternoon,” Professor Pendleton echoed. “Can I get you a glass?”

“Thank you, but no; I’ve still got some errands to run,” Mr. Numbers replied. He was thankful he’d been given this task instead of Mr. Transport; that man would have sat here drinking and commiserating through half the night.

“Ah, I take it to mean you come bringing my goodbye present. I don’t suppose Nick told you what it was?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Numbers replied. He produced a wide envelope, one made for greeting cards, with a thick wax seal on the back. “In fact, he was very adamant I not open it. Said it would defeat the entire purpose.”

“Cryptic and effective. The kid was good.” Professor Pendleton took another gulp as he realized he’d referred to Nick it the past tense. It wasn’t incorrect, he just hated himself for adapting to the change so easily.

Mr. Numbers set the envelope on the desk. Professor Pendleton made no motion to pick it up. He would eventually - no man could resist such temptation of curiosity - but for the moment he was content to dwell in this moment of misery.

“Have a good night,” Mr. Numbers said, knowing the sentiment was wasted, yet trying to express it anyway. Perhaps Mr. Transport was rubbing off on him after all these years.

Professor Pendleton nodded his understanding and refilled his glass.

* * *

It took some hours for quiet to settle in at Melbrook Hall. News and comprehension of Nick’s departure was greeted by railing, frustration, and even some tears. Eventually, as evening overtook the afternoon, the four remaining Melbrook students, along with Camille, sat in the common room in silence, punctuated by an occasional thought or recollection. It was only then that Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport appeared, emerging quietly from their apartment in the rear of the building.

“I see everyone has come to terms with the loss of one of our own,” Mr. Numbers observed.

“What Mr. Numbers means to say is that we know this is a trying time for all of you, so we wanted to come out and make sure everyone was holding up all right,” Mr. Transport corrected.

There was a chorus of mumbled groans; however, nothing remained to be said. It had all been vocalized earlier on. Now the weary din of acceptance had settled in.

“Since no one seems to have any pressing issues, we can move on,” Mr. Numbers surmised. “Before his departure, Nick made certain preparations in case this series of events played out. One of those was requesting me to relay a message to you all.”

He couldn’t have gotten their attention faster if he’d announced a giant dinosaur was attacking the campus.

“What was it?” Vince asked, his voice half hopeful and half terrified.

“Nick knew you’d all be saddened by losing him; however, he hated the idea of you all moping about. He said he’d rather be remembered with joy and annoyance, the same things he worked so hard to bring into your boring lives.” Mr. Numbers paused as he surveyed the looks he was getting. “Those are his words, not mine. Anyway, to that effect, he had me take one of his DVDs before it was packed. It was his sincere last wish that you all watch it together instead of sitting about moping. Again, his words.” Mr. Numbers pulled the DVD from his jacket pocket and set it on the coffee table.

“It’s a dumb slasher movie,” Alice noted. “That son of a bitch. He got us one last time.” And then Alice did something she would have thought impossible only moments before. She laughed. Not a sweet giggle or a half-hearted chuckle: a full-bodied gale of laughter that shook the chair she sat on. Before long the others had joined in, and it was quite a while before the mirth finally subsided enough for someone to put the disk in. Alice undertook this task, setting up the TV and DVD player before returning to her seat.

The title screen rose before them, a trio of dark skinned women with cheap plastic fangs set in their mouths. Hershel grabbed the remote and hit the Play button. What appeared on the screen was not a government warning about piracy or a preview for another movie. It was, in fact, the last thing any of them expected to see.

“Hey there,” Nick called from the screen. “Damn I wish I could see your faces right now. I bet you all look so shocked it’s ridiculous.”

He would not have been disappointed.

193
.

Nick was sitting in the computer chair in his room, back to the window which showed just a hint of the dark sky outside. His sunglasses were still on his face, which made sense since this must have been done before everything happened. He wore his usual easygoing grin as he paused for effect, letting everyone adjust to the sight of him suddenly on the television screen. After a few seconds, he continued.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell this is about. If you’re watching this, then I had to go with my less enjoyable plan at our final match, which means assuming Mr. Numbers didn’t fuck up the timing, by now my memory of this place and all of you has been erased.”

There was no mumble of surprise; Alice had shared her findings with the group and they’d already been forced to make peace with it.

“I know that fact probably saddens all of you; hell, it sort of saddens me too, but I need you guys to know that it was absolutely necessary. With the reemergence of Globe and Vince’s connection to him, we were all going to be under increased scrutiny. My devious shenanigans would have put me on their radar as well. That means they’ll try to bring in telepaths, likely unofficially if they think they can get away with it. Now I’m sure I gave you all noble reasons for everything I did, and those are likely all at least partly true. Actions can be motivated by many things, and in this case there is one I know I didn’t tell any of you about. The things I’ve put together can, under no circumstances, be allowed to get picked up by some thought-pillaging mind delver. No offense, Mary.”

“A little bit taken,” Mary mumbled.

“For most of you this doesn’t make sense, but you need to think of things in a larger perspective. Once I realized it was almost unavoidable that they’d bring in telepaths under the radar, it became a question of not if I would give away too many secrets, but when. I can control what I say all day long; marshaling my thoughts is a different story. So, when faced with a situation that holds an inevitable outcome, what do you do? Simple, you change the situation. In my case, I got rid of the very thing that would have caused us the most grief: me. Or rather, all the knowledge I’d accumulated.”

Nick paused on the tape, reaching over to his desk and making a few quick keystrokes. “Sorry, had to reply to an e-mail. At any rate, I’m sure you guys are wondering why I bothered to make this if I’m just going to be cryptic. While sharing everything I know would defeat the purpose, there are a few truths that I need to get out there before I go. These are for you guys only. If anyone else is in the room, make sure you trust them implicitly or ask them to leave. I’ll wait.”

All eyes turned to Camille, who pulled herself off the couch without a word.

“No,” Vince said, reaching over and stopping her. “I trust you. Whether you like it or not, you and Alex are pretty well lumped in with us. I think you should be here. Any objections?”

The room was silent, so they looked back at the screen and waited for Nick to continue.

“Okay, if we’re done with that, then first things first. Vince, when this is over, I want you to melt this DVD. I’m talking no remains. And don’t get lazy and smash it; you can still recover data from that if you know what you’re doing.”

Vince nodded. A moment later he wondered why he was responding to a pre-recorded message.