Super Powereds: Year 3 (95 page)

                “Nope, enough, don’t want to know,” Shane said. “I agreed to come watch movies, not get a lesson about the movies before I even saw them. Let’s just do this thing.”

                Shane and Chad entered, both young men exchanging polite nods with Nick. Officially, Nick wasn’t supposed to know who Shane was, but since this had been an open invite event, and Nick promised not to ask questions, there was no issue with him being in attendance.

                The same was true of Sasha, who was engaged in a furious debate with Alex over some point of trivia that Nick neither recognized nor cared about. They exchanged greetings with him, which he returned, though it took effort to hide his surprise at seeing Sasha present. After last year’s team match, she’d shrunk away from them for some time. Then again, she had made amends with Camille and come along on the beach trip, so it wasn’t entirely strange that she’d been dragged into this event too. Of course, the real surprise was that a jock like Sasha had any interest in these movies to begin with.

                The final guests of the evening were Vince and Camille, who looked so damn awkward standing next to each other that Nick was tempted to shout an obscenity, just to shake things up. They were making conversation about work—something about new seating charts—that was enough to make anyone not involved in their shambling attempts at small talk want to grind their teeth together, or just tell them to stop dancing about and kiss already. Instead, Nick accepted Vince’s hug, then gave a much less familiar one to Camille, and shut the door.

                With everyone gathered, it was time to kick back, watch some terrible sci-fi and forget all about the madness of the HCP, if only for an evening.

*             *             *

                When Ralph Chapman stepped into the apartment he had leased near the Lander campus, he made a mental note to fire whoever did security for the building. It was the second time that day he’d found himself staring at a young man he didn’t know, and this time, it was in his residence rather than at some diner. The whole bit was starting to wear a bit thin.

                “Right, then,” Ralph said to the young man with bright orange eyes sitting on his couch. “You here to threaten, kill, or deal? If it’s threaten, I should tell you I don’t back down easy. If it’s kill, then enjoy the short life you have before the DVA catches up to you. And if it’s deal, then I’m going to fix myself some coffee.”

                “You should put on a pot of the good stuff,” the young man said. “I’m here to make you an offer that I think you’ll greatly enjoy.”

                “Must be my lucky day, then.” Ralph Chapman went to the cabinets and pulled out a bag of his best coffee. On the off chance he did end up being killed, there was no sense in letting it go to waste.

                “Yes, I’m aware you took a meeting with Nicholas Campbell earlier today. It was while watching him that I became interested in you, and goodness what a blessing that was. You are quite the fascinating person, Ralph Chapman. But forgive me, I should introduce myself. My name is Nathaniel Evers, and I think the two of us are going to be fast friends.”

                “I don’t really have friends,” Ralph replied.

                “No, but you do have enemies, people you want to see destroyed. In that matter, our interests line up nicely. It seems Nicholas cares about some of the people you hold in contempt. And nothing would give me more pleasure than to see something Nicholas loves be torn apart.”

                Ralph pulled out a coffee mug and some of the pink, fake sugar packets he enjoyed, and then headed over to the couch while the coffee brewed. He took a seat across from the young man and locked gazes with his orange eyes.

                “Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you’re offering?”

                Nathaniel smiled, a grin too wide and showing too many teeth for it to be taken as any sort of friendly gesture. “I want to help you destroy the Hero students at Lander.”

176.

Roy slammed his bat into the concrete target, sending a spray of rubble across the room at a velocity that would have injured any caught in the shower. He spun around, double-checking the room just to be certain all his targets were neutralized. Since they were all stationary concrete pillars with faces painted on, there should be no way for new ones to pop up, but he’d learned early on not to put anything past Professor Cole.

                “A minute and a half,” she said, watching him from the sidelines. “You’re getting faster, albeit at a slow rate.”

                Roy bit back a remark about how quickly he could tear through these things if he didn’t have to use his bat to do it, and instead walked over to rejoin the rest of the class. Today was a Friday, which made it form day, where all they did was attack motionless targets to show Professor Cole how quickly they could move while keeping their attack-form proper. Roy liked to think he did okay at this part, and that was probably as good as he was going to get. Whether it was in Close Combat or Weapons, Roy Daniels could only incorporate so much strategy and style before his brute nature took over. For a long while, he’d thought that was a weakness, but his training over the summer had shown him what an asset it could be as well.

                “Good job, everyone,” Professor Cole told them, her voice slightly muffled by the ever-constant cloth bandages obscuring everything but her eyes. “Shower up if you’re done with the physical stuff, otherwise, head on to your next class.”

                Everyone began moving, so much so that Roy nearly missed her next words. “Daniels, hang back for a moment.”

                And here it was, the moment he’d been waiting for. She’d tell him he wasn’t taking the class seriously enough, and that he shouldn’t bother applying to keep it next year. It was what Roy had expected from the beginning; he’d always known he was on a Close Combat course. That was the path of the strongman. At least, it was the path of the good ones.

                Once the rest of the class had filtered out, some tossing curious glances back as they went, Professor Cole began to speak.

                “I want to know if you’re thinking about continuing my class next year.”

                Roy appreciated the fact that she got right to the point. No need to dance about if she was just going to give him the boot. “Don’t worry; I’ll be out of your hair come semester’s end.”

                “Pardon?” Professor Cole cocked her head to the side, one of the few ways she had to convey surprise with her obscured face. “Daniels, I’m asking because I want you to stay in the Weapons course. I want you to make it your specialty. Of everyone here, you might be one of the people best suited to wielding a weapon.”

                “Let’s be fair here, I wield a baseball bat. That’s only a weapon in dire circumstances and gang movies from the eighties,” Roy said.

                “Though it’s got a modern shape, you’re actually wielding a club,” Professor Cole corrected. “A heavy instrument meant to impart more force on a focused surface area. That’s one of the very first weapons mankind ever used, and the classics never go out of style.”

                Roy glanced at his bat with newfound interest. It was already beginning to show dents in a few spots, even after it had been fixed up after the final. Professor Cole had told him that she could get a more durable one, but there would be a proportionate increase in the weight. Before year’s end, he’d likely have to make that upgrade—at least, if his current rate of increasing strength held.

                “Okay, the weapon might not be bad, but let’s lay our cards on the table: I’m shitty at wielding this thing.” Roy gently swung his bat a few times through the air. “I can connect a fair amount, but when the class spars, most of the others can parry my swings easily.”

                “True, there is little grace in you,” Professor Cole agreed. “However, in those sparring sessions, you have to stop your swing when another student blocks you. What if you didn’t stop? How many of them could halt your blows?”

                “Um . . . maybe Violet,” Roy said. “If she did her density shift quickly enough.”

                “I concur. The point I’m trying to make is that you’re measuring yourself in this class as a weapon user, and in that area, you do fall short. But you aren’t a weapon user; you’re a strongman with a bat. If I can impart even a few bits of knowledge and training into that thick head of yours, you’ll be categories more powerful than you would be with just your fists.”

                “Most strongmen do fine with their fists,” Roy reminded her.

                Professor Cole rolled her green eyes so slowly that, for a moment, Roy feared she might be suffering a stroke. “And that is exactly the problem. Strongmen are, at a base level, uber-humans. They are exactly like mundane people, only with their physical abilities dialed up. Fundamentally, there is nothing different about what they can do, only the scale on which they can do it. Which means they should all still be using weapons. All that stops them is tradition and pigheadedness.”

                She thrust a bandaged finger down at Roy’s bat. “Do you know why baseball players don’t punch the ball? Because no one, no matter how strong they are, can ever impart more force with a blow than with a bat. The two scale together. A version of you who wields that weapon will always be more powerful than that same version of you without it.”

                “Do you give this talk to all the Close Combat people?” Roy asked.

                “No, because, for most of them, Close Combat is the right choice. They use moves, and counters, and strategy. Their hands are important for what they do. You, Daniels, hit like a train and absorb blows like a tank. Force is what you do, it’s who you are. And that bat in your hand will give you more of it, always and forever. Just think about it during these next few months. I’d hate to lose a student with your potential. Having one of my pupils be top of the heap has been pleasant. I’d like to keep the streak alive.”

                It wasn’t hard for Roy to figure out who the professor was referring to. In Lander, there was only one true king of the students, though, technically, she was a queen. “Much as I’d like to be as strong as Angela, I’ve already lost the chance to hold the top spot all four years.”

                “No one really cares who holds first place the longest,” Professor Cole told him. “All that matters is who finishes with it. You’re in a damn strong class, Daniels. Some of the ones who are middle-pack in your year could be top dogs in others. If you really want to make a run for the number one position, you’ll need every tool available. Just think it over, that’s all I ask.”

                Roy tightened his grip on the cold metal bat and slowly nodded.

177.

               When Alice had learned about Hershel and Alex’s obsession with a sci-fi movie, she assumed that is was another one of those niche things that they, and doubtlessly a few devoted nerds across the nation, cared a great deal about, but that didn’t matter to the public at large. Even as she’d gotten sucked in, allowing herself to be talked into the movies and then the premiere, and then even into wearing a costume, she had been under the impression that this was a small thing she was doing because her friends enjoyed it. She was fully anticipating being looked at as a weirdo when they showed up to the theater, and as such, had brought a long, tan trench coat to minimize her time being humiliated.

                As the group stepped around a corner and the cineplex came into view, Alice realized, for the first time, that perhaps Hershel and Alex might not be as alone in their love of the movies as she’d expected. The line for tickets already stretched to nearly the end of the block, and they had arrived four hours early. Online purchasing had been disabled for the premiere; at this event, the only way to get in was to hold a spot in line. She’d been confused about the policy at first, but now, it made ample sense. Even more than just the number of people, though, she was amazed by the number of attendees in costume. Standing there, with her trench coat making her look moderately normal, Alice was the one who seemed out of place.

                “Holy crap,” she whispered, amazed at the dense crush of people waiting to see the next in a series that was inarguably awful.

                “I know, right?” Hershel agreed. “We’re lucky more people haven’t shown up yet. We should actually get a decent spot in one of the theaters.”

                With that, the group was moving again, each in some manner of strange outfit that Alice dimly recognized from her viewings of the film. Vince had been painted blue and given prosthetic ears. Chad was dressed like some sort of cyborg. Mary and Camille wore a matching set of hooded costumes with different color schemes. Nick looked like a pirate in space pants. Shane was wearing a black uniform with silver trim. Sasha rocked what seemed like parachute pants paired with a silver top that exposed her toned stomach. Hershel was wearing a multi-colored robe, along with a single horn in his forehead. Alex was sporting insect wings, and a purple vest. But Angela may have been the most garish of them all: wearing a corset made of golden metal that Alice suspected had been formed by her powers rather than a crafter. As for Alice, she was wearing a nearly skintight gown that actually seemed quite regal, if one ignored the open spot on the stomach and the high slit up the side. Whatever universe
Star Puncher
took place in, it seemed sex appeal was still all the rage. Alice would have complained, but some of the guys were wearing less than her, so at least it was equal humiliation.