Super Powereds: Year 3 (67 page)

                Mary jerked her head over to the blond young man, who was clearly waiting for her attention. “How did you know?”

                “I’ve been sparring with Roy regularly for some time. The sort of bodily control he’s demonstrated would be very useful for . . . well, it seems he’ll show the point for me.”

                On the screen, Roy had dug his bare foot into the gravel and bolted forward. Unlike his earlier jumps, he wasn’t going for height. No, this burst of strength was about pure, relentless acceleration. His body catapulted through the room, and as he passed a yellow-lighted Sim, he stuck out his bat, smashing through its legs without even slowing down. He finally stopped, mere feet away from three of the other Sims, one of which sported a red light. This was what they’d been waiting for, when Roy would utilize his hand-to-hand skills.

                Instead, Roy dug his feet in once more and rushed forward, a more controlled and definite movement than his leap. He slammed into the red-light Sim and kept running, pummeling its legs under his feet whenever they got in the way. The embrace lasted briefly, as the Sim’s legs turned to tatters and it lost its grip on the powerful Super. It took only seconds for Roy to reorient, turning his charge toward the other two within reach. There was crunch so loud it echoed even over the camera as he crashed into another Sim, this one losing its footing and flying into the wall.

                “That’s it? He’s just barreling into them,” Alice said. “It was way more impressive when he actually fought people.”

                “No, it merely looked more impressive,” Chad corrected her. “What Roy is doing actually takes a tremendous amount of power and control. The Sims are trying to attack his footing or use his momentum against him, and failing at it. His steps are partially putting his feet into the stone, grounding him, while every aspect of his body maintains position, refusing to be knocked aside by the grasps of others. Despite his relatively small mass, Roy is emulating the threat of a charging train, crushing his opponents through sheer force rather than engaging them.”

                As Chad spoke, Roy flipped around to the last Sim and took off. This one was quicker than the others, probably meant to demonstrate some sort of agility power. As soon as Roy got in range, it grabbed his arm and slammed its hip into his torso, a motion that should have sent Roy spiraling through the air in a textbook toss. Instead, the Sim was jerked downward as Roy tightened his stomach before the metallic hip could land, pulling down the arm in the Sim’s grip and knocking it off-balance. During all of this Roy kept running, and in moments, the move that should have sent him off course had resulted in the Sim’s lower half resembling little more than broken electronics.

                “Why didn’t that toss land?” Vince said. “Even if Roy was running fast, that should have worked against him.”

                “It failed for two reasons,” Chad explained. “When the Sim grabbed him, Roy immediately contracted his core, pulling his arm down and shifting the spot where the Sim needed to set its hip. At the same time, he continued pressing forward in the small window of confusion his technique caused, trampling over the Sim before it could reorient itself.”

                “That’s . . . wow,” Vince said, marveling as he watched his friend take down the final Sim still in the room. “Roy and Hershel must have trained like crazy this summer.”

                “So it would seem,” Chad agreed.

                “I must be missing something,” Alice said. “Now that you’ve pointed it out, I can see how doing what he’s doing is really hard, but why bother learning it at all? Roy has always been a beast in Close Combat.”

                “How can I put this . . . let us pretend you were a regular human, and there is a large man who is angry with you. He drives up to you and gets out of his car to begin a confrontation. At this point, you are at a physical disadvantage, but if you have enough skill at martial arts, you might still come out on top, or you could pull a weapon, or just run away. The man is easily more likely to win the fight, but you have a variety of ways to deal with him,” Chad said. “That is you versus Roy in normal combat circumstances. For what he’s doing now, envision the same scenario, only this time, when the man drives up to you, he doesn’t emerge from the car. He doesn’t even slow down. He just plows right through you.”

                “Oh, damn. Yeah, that is a big difference,” Alice conceded. She looked to the screen, where Roy was dashing through the hallways, trying to run down the remaining Sims on guard duty.

                “Especially when it comes to fighting multiple opponents,” Vince added.

                Chad nodded. “Since Roy’s powers didn’t lend themselves to taking out everyone before they were aware of the threat, his score will likely not be higher than mine. That said, seeing the amount of power and focus he is demonstrating, I must admit that it is possible he’s surpassed me in pure combat ability.”

                “Looks like the bar is set pretty high,” Alice said. “Let’s try to get it even higher on our turns.”

125.

               Violet’s showing was impressive, but she made the mistake of attacking a lone Sim while another was in earshot, alerting them to her presence. She managed to bring them all down, however, by the time she did, they’d caused significant collateral damage and two red-light Sims had been allowed to run wild. Her face was solemn as she stepped back into the observation room, politely acknowledging the applause without accepting it. It wasn’t that the effort had been bad; she just knew she could do better, and failing to achieve that nagged at her dearly.

                Amber was next, the last of those volunteering to go first. In a way, her performance was the opposite of Violet’s. She strolled down the hallways silently; every step inaudible thanks to her sound-manipulation abilities. When she came across some poor Sim barring her way, she executed a few quick snaps, and their robotic limbs exploded. One or two managed to get off a shot, but even these were impossible for the others to hear. It might have been a perfect score, had she not gotten overzealous when dealing with a cluster of five. Before they could even react, Amber carpeted them in blasting sound waves. This resulted in neutralizing all the threats, but it also ended with two yellow-lighted Sims registering as dead. Since they’d never taken aggressive actions against her, this was a serious penalty.

                With Amber done, Dean Blaine waited to see if anyone else would be volunteering. Sometimes, people would get impulsive at the last moment; however, this time, that was not the case. The remaining students stood in place, waiting to be called.

                Dean Blaine looked over to Professor Stone, who produced a small, clear box filled with strips of paper. It wasn’t very hard to figure out what the next selection method would be.

                “A special thanks and congratulations to those who have already taken their exam,” Dean Blaine announced. “Now, we will begin the random selection part of this trial. Volunteers are no longer accepted, regardless of circumstances. You will have to wait until one of us draws your name from the box. We even went to the trouble of making sure it was clear, lest anyone think we were using our abilities to play favorites.”

                This part of the speech wasn’t meant for his students, who would have neither suspected that nor cared if it were happening. These words were for Ralph Chapman and his cronies, watching via feed from a different observation room.

                “We’re all taking the same test,” Adam said. “How could there even be favorites?”

                “Some students would rather go after someone who has a weak showing, hoping to be seen more favorably in comparison. This is, of course, a ludicrous notion, but one that has persisted enough that we find it easier to keep our process transparent,” Dean Blaine replied. “With that said, Professor Stone, would you be so kind as to pull the first name?”

                Her hand combed through the slips of paper until she seized one in her fingers. Pulling it out carefully, she glanced down at the name written on it.

                “Thomas Castillo. No, you don’t have to go again; we just didn’t know who would volunteer, so everyone’s name is in here. Looks like I have to redraw.” Professor Stone carefully set the slip of paper to the side, pointedly ignoring the look of shock on Thomas’s face at having a question that had only flitted through his mind be answered by the professor. Her hand plunged back into the box, emerging with a new slip.

                “Well, well, Alex Griffen, it is your time to shine.”

                Alex broke into a wide grin, then turned to give Will and Vince high fives as he made his way over to the door. “I’m ready to do this!”

                “Glad to see you so enthusiastic,” Dean Blaine said. His voice didn’t show it, but he really was happy to see Alex raring to go. Though the young man had a curious way of looking at his power, he also had the sort of assurance, kindness, and loyalty that marked him as a great Hero candidate. His ability had been falling behind during the sophomore year, and if he couldn’t manage some good showings soon, he likely wouldn’t make it to the senior class. Blaine hoped this exuberance was the mark of earned confidence that would manifest in a high score.

                “Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve been waiting for a chance like this.” Alex turned and flashed his friends a big thumbs-up before following Dean Blaine through the door and down to the exam area.

                “Is he bluffing, or does he really think he can score well on this?” Alice asked, looking to Mary. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pulling for him with all I’ve got, I just want to know if I should brace for amazement or horror.”

                “He has a strategy,” Mary replied. “I don’t know if it will work or not. If it does, then he does have a solid chance of making this work. If it doesn’t . . . I think Roy will need to let Hershel have the night, so he can do some friend-comforting.”

                “Not a problem,” Roy said. “Strange as he might be, that little nerd has grown on me. I hope he whips some robot ass.”

                “Tell us this,” Vince said. “If you were to use his strategy, would it work?”

                Mary shook her head. “Not a chance in hell. I’m going to have to go in that thing like a miniature Roy, kicking ass and asking questions later. Alex is trying a more subtle approach, closer to what Chad did.”

                “But if it wouldn’t work for you . . . oh no, don’t tell me we’re on this again,” Alice groaned.

                “He did manage to knock away Thomas’s energy and Will’s sound Taser, both of which should be impossible for a telekinetic,” Vince reminded her.

                “And, much as it pains to admit it, even after all my training, his level of precise control is still leagues above my own,” Mary added.

                “So, basically, Alex is pinning his plans for winning on the hope that his powers really work like a Jedi’s, instead of a telekinetic’s?” Alice asked.

                “Looks that way,” Mary confirmed.

                Alice let out a long breath and stared up at the dark screens, waiting for them to light up and for their friend to appear. Alex might not technically be one of them, but he may as well be. Weird, different from the others, and constantly underestimated, Alex was already halfway toward pariah when he sided with them last year. He needed to make some magic happen, because she would be damned if she watched another member of her strange little team get taken away.

                “May the Force be with you, you crazy bastard.”

126.

              For a telepath, it would have been impossible. Even the most skillful among them were limited by the simple truth that machines didn’t have brains to overhear. For a tech-manipulator, like Jill, it would have been easy. So easy, in fact, that it was likely why she’d been banned from doing it. Telepaths and tech-manipulators were two sides of the same coin in this scenario, each with an ability that only worked on the flesh or the mech. Only Alex’s gift functioned on both levels.

                But even for him, it was difficult. The Sims were robots, though Alex kept wanting to call them droids, and they really didn’t have minds for him to peek into. Maybe if they had been more advanced, that would have been the case, but these were basic combat units. That didn’t matter, luckily, because he wasn’t searching for their minds. He was searching for their existence.

                Alex was not a “second trilogy” Jedi, with that ridiculous bunk about bugs in the blood. His abilities were of the core and the original; when The Force was not some sympathetic reaction between bacteria, but rather a nigh-magical connection between all things in the universe. That was what he used as he stepped into the arena, mentally probing for each Sim inside the building. It took considerable effort, but before he even stepped foot inside that building, Alex was keenly aware of the location of each individual Sim, and he even had a bit of an inkling as to what some of their abilities were.

                Despite what many people thought, Alex was neither stupid nor crazy. He understood that having his powers come from a work of fiction made no sense under scrutiny. More likely, he was simply a normal person with the advanced-mind set of abilities that had found a novel way to access them. But likeliness didn’t account for results, and the fact of the matter was that Alex could do things other advanced minds couldn’t. Maybe his perception of his power had warped its capabilities. Maybe his power had been one he could determine for himself, and he’d unconsciously selected Jedi. It didn’t matter in the end.