“Do you know how long it took me to get my head together? To actually step up and help?”
“But you did. You stepped up. Give yourself credit. You’re strong.”
“I want this to be over. I’m so, so scared that someone’s going to come and try to loot this place and I won’t be able to do anything.”
“You’ve got my card. I can’t promise I’ll arrive immediately, but I’ll be staying at the Wards headquarters, which isn’t too far.”
Parian nodded. Quietly, she spoke, “That helps a lot. More than you know.”
“And I can come by on my patrols, if you want. Check everything is okay, give you an update on what I can do about supplies.”
Parian hesitated, “Please do. If you pluck the strings twice, I’ll know it’s you. I’m using my telekinesis on the strings, I’ll feel it.”
“Deal. I’m Flechette, by the way, in case you didn’t know.”
“Oh. Um. I didn’t. My name’s Sab-” Parian stopped, made a barely audible groan.
“It’s okay,” Flechette suppressed the urge to smile. Sabrina? Maybe. Sable? No, the b pronunciation was different.
“I’m an idiot,” Parian spoke.
Flechette paused, then removed her visor. “Lily.”
I need people I can trust, she tried to convince herself, even as she knew she had other reasons. Stuff like this could get her in serious trouble with the Wards.
Parian hesitated, then reached up and removed her mask. Though her clothing style was western, her wig all blonde curls, her face was dark, middle eastern. There were bands of metal extending from the edges of her face to the middle of her cheekbones, her chin and her forehead. Mounts to keep her mask in position? She had full lips and large, dark eyes. “Sabah.”
Cute, the thought struck Flechette. Funny to think she’s older than me.
“Nice to meet you, Sabah.”
“I’m still not letting you over the line,” Sabah warned. She looked so small, up on the gorilla’s broad shoulders, the threat held little gravity. Maybe, Flechette considered, it was intended more for Sabah than for her.
“Okay,” Flechette donned her visor once more, “But maybe you want to walk with me? Do a patrol of the perimeter of your territory? I’ll stay on this side.”
Sabah put her mask back on, and for a second, Flechette thought she would say no.
“Okay. Thank you.” Parian dropped her legs down to either side of the gorilla’s neck as it moved forward. To stay decent, the girl pressed her hands down on the lap of her dress, leaning forward a little. It was a little thing, that bashful modesty, but Flechette felt as much of a rush watching that as she did running across her chain/tightrope with a five-story drop below her.
She didn’t let it show. Instead, she smiled and started walking, hands clasped behind her back, darts clasped in one hand in case of trouble or ambush. The gorilla crossed the yellow line and sort of half-ran, half-loped to catch up, move beside her. It slowed to a plodding, gentle walk
Flechette was secretly relieved. She knew she’d manage for the duration of her stay, now. She’d made a connection, even if it wasn’t with someone on her team. She wasn’t in this alone.
“So, you’re a fashion student?” she asked.
9.03
“Welcome to Parahumans 103: Theories and Patterns. I see we have a packed auditorium, and according to the enrollment list, we have no less than three hundred students taking the TV course. A bump up from the last two trimesters, so I must be doing something right.”
Clockblocker looked around the room. Six PRT uniforms sat in the front row, helmets off, three with notebooks open on the desks in front of them. Weld and Flechette sat in the desks closest to the door, exchanging murmured words as the professor on the screen began going over the course syllabus.
Glory Girl sat just in front of him, wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt, arms folded on her desk, chin resting on the back of one hand. Vista, odd as it was, sat beside the other heroine, had been the only one to offer any conversation. When Glory Girl hadn’t seemed interested in talking, Vista had instead offered her silent company. Clockblocker wasn’t exactly sure how Glory Girl had gotten into the Wards headquarters to attend the screening, but she was here, uncharacteristically quiet, much in the same way that Vista had been this past week.
Kid Win sat to Clockblocker’s right, fidgeting by taking apart his pen and putting it back together, his eyes not leaving the screen. Shadow Stalker was sitting as far away from everyone else as she could manage, at the back corner of the room. She sat sideways in her seat, back to the wall, her feet resting on the seat next to her. Her attention was directed entirely at the keys and screen of her cell phone, rather than the projector screen at the front of the room.
Only thirteen people present, altogether.
“…for disability and pregnancy accommodations, the course syllabus gives you all the details you need on who to contact. If you aren’t already, you’re going to be sick of hearing all that by the time you graduate. We’re required to go over it in the first class of every class we teach.
“So. Let me start off by addressing and banishing some assumptions you may have. This is not an easy class, and anyone who took Parahumans: History and Society or Parahumans: Case Studies and Powers will be aware of this. Even for those of you who emerged triumphant from the previous two semesters should know that PARA-103 may be something of a shock to you if this is your first year of University. Here, primarily, I will be looking for creativity, problem solving and research abilities. Skills and abilities that, frankly, aren’t stressed enough in high school.
“For this class, I want you to think. Parahumans. People with powers. They’ve been around for nearly thirty years. Where did they come from? Why are they here? It’s common knowledge that parahumans are ordinary individuals who gained abilities. It is too easy, however, to assume that this is the sum total of our knowledge. I want you to think further on the subject. For example, why does virtually every parahuman ability have some application in confrontation and combat? Is this the nature of humans, to turn any progress to violent ends, be it science or superpower? Or is it by design, an individual’s hand at work?
“With the destructive potential of these abilities, why do so very few individuals perish in the chaotic and unpredictable emergence of their talents? For the first two or three weeks of the class, we’ll be talking about these most pivotal moments in a given parahuman’s existence, these trigger events, when an individual first gains their powers, typically through some form of trauma.
“Throughout the course, we’re going to be looking at correlations and patterns, both in relation to trigger events and other things. For example, how does the nature of the trigger event shape the power? A study by Garth and Rogers suggests that psychological stress leads to a higher prevalence of mentally driven powers. Tinkers, thinkers, masters, shakers. The more physical violence that is involved, the higher the bias towards physically driven powers. Garth and Rogers suggest a sliding scale, but it may not be that cut and dry.
“A followup study by Garth touches on what we know about cape ‘families’. If one individual in a family has powers, it is far more likely that others will as well. Almost always, this trend is either descending or lateral, it seems to transition from parent to child, or one sibling to another, but not from child to parent. We’ll talk about the theories on why. For those of you wanting to read ahead, take a look at Garth’s notes on the Dallon and Pelham families in chapter nine. We can surmise that the different scenarios leading to trigger events may be directly related to the differences in powers, even among closely related members of a cape family. Similar trigger events and related individuals, similar powers. The more distant the relation and the more varied the trigger events, the more drastically different the powers they possess in the end.”
Clockblocker glanced at Glory Girl, to see if the mention of her family had stirred her interest. She hadn’t budged an inch. Was she asleep?<
br />
He couldn’t help but sympathize. This is a monumental waste of time. I could be out there, helping people. Or spending time with my family. The Protectorate was coordinating shifts so the Wards could collectively get at least some education in the meantime, on Piggot’s orders. Except this wasn’t useful, this wasn’t applicable to the ongoing crisis right here, right now, in this city. Cooped up in a PRT conference room, learning stuff that didn’t apply to actual field work.
Hell, it was on videotape, a recording of last year’s lectures. Why couldn’t they watch it in their off hours? It was just a fucked up set of priorities enforced on them from the people in charge.
He shifted restlessly, annoyed, angry.
“Trigger events are a crucial element for study, because the timing, nature and spread of these emerging powers may provide a clue as to where these parahuman abilities come from. More women than men have powers, for example, and there are more powers in undeveloped countries than there are in industrialized ones – Some of you may remember me mentioning this fact in the 101 class, when I was talking about the witch burnings in The People’s Republic of Uganda.
“Another pattern we will be exploring is the apparent effect of multiple trigger events occurring in the same time and place. There is a very strong correlation between coinciding trigger events and individuals displaying three or more powers rather than one or two predominant ones.”
“Hey, Flechette,” Kid Win called across the room, “You’ve got a bunch of powers, right?”
She turned in her seat, “Sure.”
“Anyone else get powers at the same time you did?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Could someone nearby have gotten their powers, without you knowing? Way things played out? Did any capes show up around the same time as you?”
Flechette frowned, “Yeah. A rather persistent villain.”
“Worth thinking about.”
Weld turned around, “Critical thinking and applying this stuff is good, but let’s not forget the lecture. Or the other people in the classroom.”
Is he trying to get people to dislike him? Clockblocker wondered.
The professor on the screen was answering a student’s question, “…I think Eidolon expresses a single power. But thank you. Good question, and good lead-in to the next section of the course we’ll be discussing. After we wrap up on trigger events, we’re going to be moving on to what we call ‘outliers’. Parahumans or parahuman-related elements that deviate from the norm. Any guesses?”
“Scion.” A student on the TV spoke. The camera shifted to him late, and by the time he’d responded, the professor was pointing to another.
“Endbringers.”
“Nilbog.”
“I wouldn’t suggest Nilbog, but we can debate the point later,” the professor spoke, “Perhaps a subject for a course paper. Scion, yes. Endbringers? Yes. We have no reason or evidence to suspect they gained powers by normal means. Another group you may or may not be familiar with are what the PRT terms Case Fifty-Threes. Often the ‘monstrous’ parahumans, we’ll get into more depth on the subject.”
Clockblocker glanced at Weld. The boy was digging through his canvas backpack for something. Was he one of them?
“Weeks five and six, assuming we’re on schedule, we’ll pull all earlier material together and discuss the beginnings of the parahuman phenomenon. Not for the individual, as with trigger events, but as a whole. Where do capes come from? There is the patient zero theory, typically working under the assumption that Scion is the source of these abilities. This, however, raises questions about where Scion came from. The theory is corroborated by the case of Andrew Hawke, who came into contact with Scion on the very first sighting of the hero, only to manifest powers of his own… but there are others who manifested powers without ever coming into contact with Scion or entering a location where Scion had visited.”
“There’s the viral theory, supposing some advanced virus, though it is flimsy at best in justifications, with no identified culprits, method of transmission or explanation as to how it provides the actual powers. The genetics theory is popular, but has been thoroughly debunked. We’re going to talk about how it was debunked…”
Clockblocker felt a vibration at his wrist. He reached inside his glove to get his cell phone. A text.
From: Mom
Dad’s not doing well. You may want to come by the hospital.
He stood, and Weld turned to give him a look. He ignored the metal skinned boy, headed for the back door of the classroom, his keypad beeping as he dialed the number. It was ringing as he closed the door behind him.
“Mom?”
“Dennis.”
“How bad is it?”
“As bad as last weekend. Worse.”
He closed his eyes. More statement than question, he said, “He’s not getting better.”
“No.”
“Okay. Do you need me there? I can use my power, buy the doctors time to think or get prepared if there’s a crisis.”
Her voice was tight. “No, Dennis. It’s not that kind of situation. They’ve got him on a respirator, and the doctors don’t have much hope he’s going to be able to breathe without it, again. The antibiotics can’t fight the infection on their own.”
“So he’s going to die.”
“I’m sorry.”
“A few hours? Days? A week?”
“The doctor says it’ll be the next few days.”
He clenched his fist, relaxed it. Not fair.
“Hey, mom? Listen, I’ve got to run.”
“Come by, Dennis. Before it’s too late.”
“I’ll try.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up, paused to compose himself.
Not fair.
Stepping back inside the classroom, he returned to his seat, but didn’t sit down. Instead, he stepped up a little further to where Glory Girl sat and touched her shoulder. When she raised her head, he pointed to the door. She nodded, stood.
When they were both in the hallway, he spoke, “Sorry to pull you away from that.”
She shook her head, golden curls swinging, “Not missing anything. I’ve already taken this class.”
“Oh. Then why are you here?”
“New Wave may be disbanding. My mom suggested that if I wanted to keep being a hero, I should consider joining the Wards. So I’m here, checking things out. Your leader and director okayed it.”
“Are you? Joining?”
“Don’t know. They’re willing, if I agree to some extra rules and stipulations. They’d be putting me on probationary membership, like they did with Shadow Stalker. I came by to get a sense of things, see if it’d be worth going through the hassle instead of going solo. I thought maybe I was ok with doing it until I saw the portraits in the lobby. Now I’m not so sure.”
Clockblocker nodded. She didn’t need to explain. Where the Wards’ portraits hung in the lobby of the PRT offices, the portraits of Aegis and Gallant had been reprinted in black and white, surrounded with thick black frames. They had been repositioned to be just above the front desk and below the PRT logo, with wreaths and flowers beneath, tokens from the PRT employees. The building wasn’t open to the public, and was surrounded by PRT squads, but the public would get their chance to pay respects.
Glory Girl had lost three people she was close to on that day. Gallant – Dean when out of costume – was a loss she shared with Clockblocker. Her boyfriend, his friend.
“I know it’s crass, I know you guys have rules,” he spoke, “I’ll understand if you get angry. But… my dad has leukemia. He was a few days into some pretty rigorous treatments when Leviathan came. He got hurt when one of the waves hit, and some infection got at him through the wounds. He has pretty much no immune system, doesn’t have the strength to fight it off.”
“You want me to ask my sister to use her power on him.”
“Please.”
“Okay.”
The response startled him. He looked up at her, caught off guard.
She explained, “I’m not promising anything. Like you said, Amy has her rules about taking requests. But I’ll see if I can convince her. Again, no promises.”
“Thank you,” he said, “Really.”
“And if you want to pay me back, maybe tell me about Gallant sometime. Share some stories I wouldn’t get to hear otherwise.”
“For sure.”
The door opened, and Weld stepped out into the hall, followed closely by Vista. Clockblocker felt a pang of annoyance, bit his tongue before he could say anything.
“Everything okay?” Weld asked.
I could tell them, Clockblocker glanced at Vista, but the rest of the team would find out. They don’t need another thing to worry about.
“Things are okay,” Clockblocker spoke, carefully.
“We paused the video, waiting until you guys are ready.”
“Alright,” Clockblocker replied. He added, “Thank you.”
“I’ll trust you have reason for this,” Weld smiled slightly, showing a row of white metal teeth, “But don’t take too long. You’re on patrol at two this afternoon, and that doesn’t allow us much leeway for delays if we want to finish watching.”
“Alright,” Clockblocker repeated, his tone growing impatient. He watched as Weld returned to the classroom, shutting the door behind him. To the closed door, he muttered, “Tool.”
“He’s trying,” Vista piped up. “It’s hard to be leader, but he’s working hard.”
“That’s my whole problem with him,” Clockblocker answered, annoyed, “He gets on our case about patrols and training and paperwork, then turns around and says he’s not asking us to do anything he isn’t doing himself. Except he only sleeps one or two hours a night, he barely eats, doesn’t need to use the washroom or shower. He’s got no friends or family here to look after. He can afford to work hard. He’s a f…rigging robot.” He censored himself for his junior teammate.
Vista shook her head. “That robot, and he’s not really a robot, by the way, is doing as much paperwork as the rest of us put together. He only makes us do the paperwork he can’t do himself. Even if he doesn’t have to. That gets brownie points from me.”
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