Super Powereds: Year 3 (114 page)

           
      
“Works for me,” Chad said.

           
      
“Wait, hang on, how did you know that’s what I was doing?” Roy asked.

           
      
“For shit’s sake, do you really think you’re the first student to decide to make the choice by testing themselves? We usually get one every two or three years in a situation like yours. Honestly, if you didn’t figure this out for yourself, I was going to drop a lot of hints until I had to outright tell you to do it.”

           
      
“So, this works? It’s a good way to make the choice?”

           
      
“What you get out of it depends entirely on you,” Professor Cole replied. “The more straightforward with yourself you are, the more clarity you’ll have after trying both styles. It’s all about honesty: are you going in hoping to prove one style is better? If so, then you’re going to come out with either confusion or justification. However, if you’re trying this to genuinely see what the best way you fight is, then you may just learn a few things about yourself in the process. Now, does one in the afternoon on Saturday work for you, or not?”

           
      
Roy noticed Professor Cole was tapping her pen on the binder’s pages and quickly nodded. He’d been in her class long enough to know that when her patience ran out, things could get ugly. “That’ll be fine for me. And thank you for doing this, ma’am.”

           
      
“You can thank me by making sure it’s not a waste of my time,” Professor Cole said. “I want you two to push yourselves until you get some real answers. Otherwise, I might have to do some of the pushing myself.”

           
      
“No worries about that,” Roy told her. “No matter how things turn out, I’m bringing everything I’ve got to that fight.”

211.

               “Have you decided what you want to start with?” Chad asked. He seemed genuinely curious rather than prying, which made sense, given that he didn’t particularly need inside information to help him in the coming bout.

           
      
“Thought about it all week, and to be honest, I never found a compelling reason to go in any order,” Roy admitted. The two young men were walking down the hallway, making certain to be at the appointed cell before Professor Cole’s specified time. She was not a fan of tardiness, and both knew her reputation well enough to honor such a preference. “In the end, I just decided I’d start with fists, ‘cause that’s the class I took first.”

           
      
“Interesting,” Chad said, using a tone that told an entirely opposite tale from his word choice. Roy didn’t take it personally; he’d long since realized that dead-pan was just his blond friend’s default.

           
      
“What do you mean ‘interesting’? Think I should do it the other way?”

           
      
“No, I think you made the right call. If you did the bat first, then I might see techniques you’ve never brought to Close Combat, and that would cause me to expand the planned counters I have to your attacks. Starting with what I know you do gives it an honest baseline, and closing with Weapons allows you to still ‘come from left field,’ as the saying goes.”

           
      
“Damn. Sort of wish I’d said all that instead of the real reason I picked the order,” Roy admitted.

           
      
“The order is ultimately of minimal importance, given our abilities. What you take from this battle will come from how much you put in to each round. No other element matters more than that.”

           
      
“Nothing to worry about there,” Roy said. “Against you, I know I sure as shit can’t hold back.”

           
      
“After having seen you go through those Sims before winter break, I can say this with complete honesty: ditto.”

*          
      
*          
      
*

           
      
“I told you all this the first time you were informed about today’s training, but the point is of such importance that is bears repeating: this is a very rare opportunity, and you should make the most out of it.” Dean Blaine had given this short speech several times already, and as the five students stared at him on that Saturday afternoon, he kept the same tempo and rhythm that had been used in each of its previous incarnations. This show was for Rich and Selena, who were still clueless as to the real motives behind their sudden training regimen. Of those in the room, only Professor Stone and Professor Pendleton knew that this week was special. Today’s effort was about far more than just training.

           
      
“Mr. Weaver and Ms. Wilkins have made progress, even in the small amount of time we’ve had to practice on their fellow students, which is good for you, the later groups, because it means you’ll be presented with an even greater challenge. Do all that you can to surpass the cages they can create, for one day, the stakes may be far higher than simple bragging rights.”

           
      
Dean Blaine nodded to Rich and Selena, who stared at this week’s subjects. Rich maintained a cold, stoic demeanor, but Selena gave a small wave and smile to Alice and Mary. Even if she had split from Alex over a year ago, they’d still spent too much time around each other not to at least show some cordialness. Allen, the third subject in today’s trials, wore an impassive face much like Rich’s.

           
      
“We’ve been varying it up to keep everyone on their toes, sometimes giving Ms. Wilkins the group at their freshest, and other times, it goes to Mr. Weaver. Today, Mr. Weaver will be going first. He is going to put you all under for an hour. Anyone who manages to break free of his illusion will be interviewed afterward so we can gain a better understanding of how, and Mr. Weaver has the chance to deal with any holes you may uncover in his ability. Afterward, we will spend an hour with you fighting off Ms. Wilkins’s various melodies, following similar procedures should you find a way to buck her enchantments. Are there any questions?”

           
      
He half-expected Mary to ask a few; she stared between the three educators with an uncertain gaze. No doubt, she could tell something was off—the young woman was too skilled to miss the subtle signs—but she wouldn’t find any details lurking in their surface thoughts. Dean Blaine couldn’t very well suppress abilities within the room while testing was occurring, which was why he’d chosen his most mentally skilled associates to be in it with him. They were all too experienced to let the wrong thoughts slip by, leaving the telepath in the dark, at least for the moment.

           
      
“What sort of scenario is Rich putting us in?” Alice asked. “I’d rather not spend an hour being chased by monsters or something.”

           
      
“Don’t worry; to start off, Mr. Weaver is merely going to dump you into your own subconscious. It is the weakest version of his power, meaning, if you’re going to break out, that gives you the best chance. Should any of you free yourselves, Mr. Weaver will create more complex and powerful scenarios, but he is not permitted to subject any of you to unnecessary pain,” Dean Blaine informed her.

           
      
“I . . . I guess I’m okay with that.” Alice bit her lip, ever so gently, and glanced at the ground. She was, no doubt, recalling the last time she’d been put in that space. Perhaps she was even hoping for the same results as Dean Blaine. The woman was tenacious; he had little doubt she’d be willing to endure much, if it meant getting a lead on her mother.

           
      
“Have no fear, Professor Stone will be checking on each of you periodically, making certain that everything is within the expected parameters,” Dean Blaine said. “But we are on a clock, so unless you have any other questions, I’d suggest we move things along.”

           
      
Alice, Mary, and Allen each gave some version of a nod, which was all the permission Rich needed to start making his rounds. It only took an instant for each student; the moment they glanced into his eyes, their consciousness slipped away as it tumbled into the labyrinth Rich had constructed. In less than a minute, each of the subjects had been incapacitated and lain down onto the cots where they were resting. Dean Blaine pushed them together, but took great care not to let Mary or Alice so much as brush fingers. Not yet, anyway.

           
      
He stared at them, wearing a mask of the same professional concern he’d had almost every other time they did this trial. Only once before had Dean Blaine needed to conceal anxiety—when Vince was one of the subjects. That had been a bust, though, as he went under and came up without so much as a single subconscious visitor. If nothing happened with Alice, then Dean Blaine would have to face the fact that they were running dangerously short on leads.

           
      
Dean Blaine watched over his students, hoping that something would come from this day’s test, but most of all praying that he’d be able to keep them, even those not in this room, safe from whatever darkness was gathering on the horizon.

212.

               The space looked much the same as it had when Alice last saw it: re-visiting the memories that Professor Stone had shown her. Attendants still wandered about, and there were tables for massages, pedicures, and just about any other luxury treatment that could be imagined. The place had expanded, though, and now, a new section was adjacent to the old. It was filled with weights, treadmills, and general training equipment. Throughout the gym/spa, there were also familiar bits of furniture scattered around, ones whose real life counterparts lived in the Melbrook common room or girls’ lounge.

           
      
Alice had no idea how long she’d been there when she felt her awareness snap back. She found herself standing at a free-weight rack, dumbbell in each hand, and suddenly, she knew what was happening. Rich had put her under, dropping her into her subconscious, and she had begun doing some light training while planning a post work-out massage. There had been no slow realization, no gentle journey to retaking control of her consciousness. That alone told Alice that breaking partially out of the delusion wasn’t her doing, which could only mean one thing: she was not alone in her mind.

           
      
Slowly, she lowered the dumbbells back onto the rack and turned toward the central area of her spa. There he was, just as he’d been in her memories: dark skin, gentle eyes, and a strangely self-assured smile as he helped himself to a smoothie from the juice bar. He met her gaze without wavering, though an expression of curiosity did twinkle in his eyes.

           
      
“You’ve gotten much more self-aware since last year. Even when we talked last time, you weren’t fully aware of your circumstances. Now, I barely get a foot in the door, and you’ve snapped to full consciousness.”

           
      
“That’s the thing about us Hero Certification folks: we’re always getting stronger.” For a moment, Alice searched for a towel to wipe the sweat from her brow. Then she realized where she was, and moments later, she was as clean as if she’d freshly showered and was dressed in her Lander HCP uniform. She’d only wanted something familiar; something that made her feel safe, but that was what her gym clothes had metamorphosed into. The significance was far from lost on her, just as it was immediately filed away for later contemplation. Alice had more pressing issues to deal with.

           
      
“Quite a quick change. Few people are so adept at controlling their dream worlds.”

           
      
“I’ve got a friend who’s taken me on more than one mental journey.” Alice crossed the room in few steps, too few in fact, and stopped inches away from her guest. “Abridail, wasn’t it? That’s the fake name you use while invading people’s minds.”

           
      
“Our first meeting was an invasion, I’ll admit that,” Abridail replied. “I had a message to deliver, and doing so took priority over certain formalities I might usually observe. This time, however, I took your current state as an invitation. This level of the subconscious is quite difficult to reach; I assumed you’d come here hoping for another chat. I deeply regret the misunderstanding, and I will take my leave.” Abridail set his smoothie down and rose from his bar stool, pausing only to give a shallow bow to Alice.

           
      
“Wait!” The word left her mouth before Alice’s brain was even considered for input. “I’m . . . sorry. It’s a little jarring to suddenly have someone in my head. I didn’t do this to intentionally invite you, but I’d like to talk with you, now that you’re here. I have so many questions, and you might be the only person in the world with the answers.”