Super Powereds: Year 3 (52 page)

                “Pretty much any power can be useful to someone, at least if it’s Hero-grade,” Clarisse replied. “The Super Athletics Association is a place where lots of people end up, even if it’s in a coaching capacity, but Blaine told me you’ve got a real specialist in the field coming to talk later in the year, so I’ll leave that to him. Some of us go on retainer for various corporations; they love collecting unique skills in case they ever need them. There’s never a shortage of work for HCP grads. That much I can promise you.”

                Clarissa pointed to a new hand. The owner was a male with spiky silver hair. She empathized with the kid; off-colored hair was a trait that had to be hard to hide.

                “What about emergency response?” Vince asked. “It seems like a lot of us could be useful in non-combat scenarios, when there are natural disasters and the like. Do many former Heroes get jobs like that?”

                As soon as he spoke, she knew. Maybe it was the straightforward look in his eyes, maybe it was how his question was about staying in the fray and helping people . . . maybe she just saw his father in the way he held himself. Whatever it was, Clarissa knew this was the kid, as clearly as if Phil himself had been asking the question. It was a testament to her training that she held herself together as well as she did.

                “Lots of former Heroes sign on with various response agencies, becoming firefighters or EMTs on a local level, pitching in when big things go wrong. A few work as consultants or liaisons with teams of corp—, um, Privately Employed Emergency Response Supers, the people who wear corporate logos and do promos while helping. That’s pretty rare, though; there’s a stigma attached and most avoid it. But have no fear, when your Hero days end, you can still make a lot of difference in the world.”

                “That’s really good to know,” Vince replied.

                Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she forced herself to turn away. Clarissa fielded a few more questions, but her answers were half-assed. Her mind was stuck on the young man with the silver hair: Globe’s . . . Phil’s . . . son.

96.

               Vince was halfway out the gym door when he felt a soft grip on his arm. Before he even turned around, he knew who it was. How could he not? He’d spent so much time with her, grown so accustomed to her presence. Even now, as messed up as he was inside, the idea of letting go and telling her everything was almost impossible to resist.

                Almost.

                “Hey.” Camille released her grip on him, content that he’d stopped. “I wanted to check on you. Mary said you seemed conflicted when you left the bar on Saturday.”

                “I . . . it’s just a weird situation. I’ll be okay.” He felt there was truth in that. He would be okay, one day, when he’d managed to work through the swirling miasma of uncertainty inside.

                “An ex-girlfriend suddenly springing back into your life sounds like more than just weird.” Camille tried to add a laugh at the end of her sentence, but it came out dry and hard. “Look, you know if you need to talk, I’m always here.”

                “I know. Thank you, Camille. I really do appreciate it, but right now, I need to go.” Vince resumed his brisk gait.

                “Okay.” She knew his class wasn’t for a while; they often walked together after gym. But she said nothing as he hurried away, merely watching until he took a turn, and his silver hair vanished from sight. Only then did she let out the sigh she’d been holding, binding it down in case it turned into a sob on the way up.

                “I’m jealous of you.”

                The voice came from behind, causing Camille to jump in surprise. She spun around to find Clarissa standing there. The former Hero must move like a ninja-cat to have exited the gym so quietly. Only after her heart rate slowed down did Camille register what the older woman had actually said.

                “I’m sorry, jealous?”

                “Yeah, jealous. At least yours is willing to consider things like romance and what they want. Most of his type are so caught up in the job that they never actually stop to think about the world beyond it. Self-denial through self-imposed ignorance, and woe to the poor girl who has lost her heart to him.”

                “Vince is just my friend. He’s going through a rough patch, and I want to help.”

                Clarissa stepped forward a few steps and stared down at the shorter woman with an expression of knowing sorrow. “Darling girl, I’ve been where you’ve been, and I’ve said those same lies, to myself as well as others. Trust me, if it is at all possible to turn your heart away from him, then do so. Find a simple, decent man who doesn’t walk with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It might not be a happy life, but it will be a content one.”

                For a moment, Camille shuddered, and she feared she was finally going to break and cry. But Camille was harder than her size and gentleness indicated; there was strength in her yet, and she pushed back the wave of emotion before it drowned her.

                “And what if I can’t? What if it’s too late?”

                “Then get your ass off the sidelines and fight,” Clarissa said, her voice suddenly forceful. “Break through that damned thick skull and make him see what you mean to him. Stop pretending this is enough, and go after the thing you really want. The lives of Heroes are measured in minutes, not years. Time is your enemy; do not give it more ground than is necessary.”

                Camille stared up at the beautiful, dazzling, 
fierce
 woman, and wondered what man on earth could have possibly resisted her. Then she wondered how hopeless her cause was if a woman like this had been unable to capture her heart’s desire.

                “Did he . . . did yours ever come around?”

                “He was beginning to,” Clarissa said, an unexpectedly gentle smile on her face. It faded in less than a second. “But things went awry in the worst way possible. That’s why I’m telling you to run or act now. You don’t know how long you’ll get. Don’t let these years slip through your fingers.”

*              *              *

                Dr. Moran was reading through a batch of files on the freshmen, flagging any high-risk cases for burnout, when the sharp rapping of a fist fell on her door. She affixed a sticky note to the file as an impromptu bookmark, then shut the manila folders and tossed them in a drawer.

                “Come in.”

                Vince Reynolds all but burst through the door. Immediately, she knew something was amiss. Vince usually held himself together quite well, but today, he was pale and fidgety. There were bags under his eyes, signifying that he’d gotten little sleep as of late. Even the way he’d entered was uncharacteristic; he often called his name before opening a door.

                “Vince, what happened?”

                “I need to schedule a session with you, if possible, please.” He was half-stumbling over his words, manners doing battle with desperation. “I know we usually do Fridays, but something happened this weekend that I’d like to talk about.”

                Dr. Moran mentally reviewed her calendar for the day. She had plenty of menial tasks, but those could be shifted around. Later in the day, there were other counseling sessions, but that left a sizable window where she could cut out some time for Vince.

                “While I do usually prefer to schedule these things with a bit more warning, today, I happen to have some free time. Why don’t you take a seat, and we can talk.”

                Vince nodded, heading over to his usual chair and settling in. He already seemed to be calming down, the prospect of being able to talk permitting some sense of relief. After a few deep breaths, he was several steps closer to being normal Vince.

                “Now then, why don’t you tell me about what happened,” Dr. Moran urged.

                “It’s about the thing I was hiding from you before, trying not to talk about. I didn’t hide it because it was something I was ashamed of, it was just . . . too hard to talk about. It hurt too much.”

                “And now?”

                “And now, I’m scared that if I don’t talk about it, I’m going to lose my mind.”

97.

               “Today, we’re going to talk about the end of semester exam.” Professor Pendleton felt a strange glee in watching the confusion ripple across his student’s faces. It was only the first Monday in November; the test wouldn’t be for nearly two months, so they were understandably uncertain about what his announcement could signify.

                “Let’s get a few things out of the way first. No, I’m not telling you what it is; not exactly. Yes, your coursework for it begins today. And no, there will not be an abundance to go on. That should take care of the immediate thoughts bouncing about in your little heads. Now, on to what I actually need you to know.”

                Professor Pendleton slid around his desk with a thick manila envelope in hand. He could sense their darting glances resting on it, wondering what tidbits of information were contained inside.

                “To start with, everyone will be taking the same exam. Each and every junior-year student will get the same task. Ah, but how can that be, when you each have two disciplines to be tested in, I can hear you wondering. That is because this exam will look at not only 
if
 you can complete the objective set before you, but 
how
 you do so. There isn’t technically a wrong way to succeed; the tactics you use will reflect which skills you trust most when shit hits the fan.”

                He wondered how many would actually get points in Subtlety for this exam. He had high hopes for Will and Britney, though some, like Rich Weaver, could be surprising, and of course, Alice was annoyingly persistent about keeping above water in this subject. It would be quite entertaining, that much was certain.

                “So, how can Subtlety be of help to you in the coming test? We know it’s going to be martial; the other disciplines would be lost without some fighting to do. That means Subtlety is right out the window, doesn’t it? Not entirely. In this exam, as in the field, sometimes victory goes not to he who has the most muscles, but to he who has the most knowledge.”

                Professor Pendleton popped open the envelope in his hand and pulled out a sheet of paper that looked as though it had been thrown up on by a calculator. Numbers were scattered all over the page, appearing in random spots and sometimes right on top of one another.

                “Congratulations. As Subtlety Heroes, you were able to intercept a coded transfer from a criminal syndicate. You know it relates to something they’ve got planned in about a month and a half, and you’ve got this.” Professor Pendleton set the page on Will’s desk, then produced another to give to Britney.

                “This is your Subtlety exam, the first clue down a trail that will lead you to useful information. Crack it however you can, save for using the skills of someone other than yourself. You’d think that would be implied, but evidently, I have to spell it out for a few of you.”

                If Alice felt any shame at his not-so-hidden barb, she kept it to herself as she accepted her piece of paper. At first glance, it was clear that she had no damn idea what this thing was. Oddly, this didn’t rattle her. Alice had long ago learned that the tasks in Subtlety didn’t come as easily to her as they did to Nick and Will, but she was still able to pass most of them through sheer concentrated effort. Even if it took all of November, she would crack this son of a bitch.

                “And if anyone thinks it’s unfair of me to base your whole exam on a single cipher when we cover so much else in this class, trust that I meant it when I said this is the 
first
 step toward knowledge. There will be far more tasks ahead before you can claim your prize.”

                Alice’s stomach sank a bit as she realized she might not have quite as much time as she’d hoped for.

                “That takes care of the preamble,” Professor Pendleton said, laying the last sheet down. “Now then, let’s move on to the part where you ask me questions, and I have to decline to answer most of them.”

                Will Murray’s hand went up, the only one in the room to do so.

                “Mr. Murray, what question do you have?”

                “I wanted to know the bounds, sir.”

                “The bounds?” Professor Pendleton’s voice was neutral, but the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips.

                “What we can, and can’t do to accomplish our tasks. For example, I could build a machine that tapped into the FBI’s computers and used their resources to crack this message, but I feel like that might be frowned upon.”

                “Are you asking for a professor of the HCP, a group overseen by the Department of Variant Human Affairs, to give you the blessing to hack secured government computers?”