Meta (Book 3): Rise of The Circle

by Reynolds, Tom

  "That was centuple the original weight," he says.

  "Centuple? What is that, twenty times?"

  "No, it's a hundred times. You just lifted 500,000 pounds. That's almost what a 747 weighs."

  "Great. That's good to know in case I ever need to pick one up."

  * * *

  The rest of the day follows more or less the same pattern. John sets up a test that he doesn't think I can do, and I blow it out of the water. We attempt to test my running speed on a specially built treadmill housed in a separate room, but it maxes out before I'm able to hit what I think is even close to my maximum speed. That means moving over to another room meant more for testing agility than speed.

  This room, labeled “Endurance 2,” contains a track over ten miles in diameter. It's more of a circular tunnel than anything else. It makes me think of what a subway line would look like if they forgot to put down the tracks. Orange LED lights line the walls every hundred feet or so, and the walls themselves are baffled and built to withstand multiple sonic booms.

  John waits in an alcove near the entrance and watches as I run. I have to enable my suit for this test, unless I want my pants to catch on fire from friction. There's a reason why a lot of metahumans don’t wear corduroy.

  Later he shows me the tape from my trials. In the beginning, I look like a blip that appears in front of the entrance every few seconds, but after I break through the sound barrier, the occasional blip turns into a streak, and then that streak turns into a solid wall of red.

  * * *

  The final test of the day involves flying, or more specifically, speed and agility while flying. They already know I can fly, obviously, but not necessarily how well. I've always assumed that every metahuman who could fly more or less did it the same way, but apparently that's not the case. While I just have to imagine myself moving through the air to do it, others rely on different methods. Some are able to “launch” themselves into the air, traveling great distances but ultimately succumbing to gravity sooner or later. Others can fly, but not at any kind of speed. This effectively makes them human blimps and not particularly effective crime fighters.

  The test takes place in a gigantic warehouse-sized room. The ceiling must be at least twenty stories high and the room could easily fit a dozen football fields or more. It's not until I enter the room and look around at just how big it is that I realize it's been a while since I've really flown. Flying around Bay View City was a big no-no after Silver Island, and the same goes for above ground here on campus. All of a sudden I'm excited about being able to stretch my wings again. My figurative wings, that is. I don't have real ones. That would be weird, even weirder than being able to fly.

  "Last test of the day, Connor. How are you feeling?" John asks me as he taps at his tablet.

  I assume he's entering notes or results from the other tests today, but he could just as easily be playing a game for all I know. He seems pretty intent on not letting me peek at what he's doing, and judging from what I've learned after spending a day with him, I'd be surprised if he wasn't playing a game on there.

  "I feel great. It's nice to finally get to exercise some of my abilities. I was starting to worry that I’d forgotten how to use some of them," I answer.

  "They're like riding a bike, Connor. You never really forget. To this day I remember the feeling of flight. The wind in my hair. The earth beneath me. That feeling of complete and total freedom."

  "You could fly when you were a metahuman? I didn't know that."

  "When I was a metahuman? No. I'm talking about my Cessna. Yeah, I used to have one of my own back in my heyday. That was before the sponsorship money dried up and I had to sell it to get the creditors off my back. You'd think the bank would jump at the chance to have a metahuman as their official spokesman in exchange for forgiving a few late loan payments, but apparently not.

  "Anyway, this is a test that will combine a few of your skills so we can accurately judge not only your individual abilities, but also how well you're able to integrate them with each other. It's not like walking and chewing gum at the same time, you know. Some abilities can be very difficult to use simultaneously.

  "To start with, let's have you hover up there into the middle of the room, and I'll explain how this is all going to work."

  I do as he says and lift myself effortlessly into the air, gliding to what looks to be about the center of the room before coming to a stop. When I turn back, I see that John has climbed a ladder along the side of one of the room's walls. At the top of the ladder is what looks almost like a tiny flight control tower. John finds a seat inside the small window-lined perch and moves a microphone into position in front of his mouth.

  "All right, Connor," he says, his voice amplified through the microphone to fill the room.

  "I have enhanced hearing, you know. You don't have to use the mic," I tell him, having to shout since I don't have a microphone myself.

  "The test regulations require that the proctor uses a microphone, so that is what I will do, thank you," John says into the microphone, causing a massive amount of feedback that makes both him and me wince. "Okay, we'll start off nice and easy. I'm going to be releasing a drone into the room. It has a kill switch located underneath its belly. All you need to do is catch it and press that switch to deactivate it as quickly as possible. Got it?" John asks me.

  "Got it," I reply, thinking to myself that this sounds like a piece of cake.

  John presses a button in front of him, and on the far side of the room, I can see a tiny opening appear in the wall. A section of the wall has receded, and a machine about the size of a toaster emerges. The drone holds itself in the air with four rapidly spinning helicopter blades, emitting a soft, consistent hum. It remains a few feet from the wall, completely still, waiting in the air. I look over to John, not sure if I should go yet or if there's a problem with the drone. He looks back at me and simply gestures toward the drone, telling me to go deactivate it. I shrug my shoulders and glide forward.

  Everything seems to be going fine until I am right in front of the drone and reach out to find its deactivation button. An instant before my fingers reach it, the drone's blades suddenly turn off, sending the whole thing plummeting toward the floor. I think there's a problem at first, except the drone powers its blades back up a foot from the ground, preventing what would have been a nasty collision with the ground.

  I follow, lowering myself to the ground after the drone. Again, everything seems too easy until I reach out to grab the drone. All at once, the helicopter rotors spin into high gear, emitting a sharply pitched whine as the drone rockets back up toward the ceiling and out of my reach.

  Glancing over at John, I see a smirk growing across his face, and I realize that this is part of the test. Of course the drone was never going to be easy to catch. I smile back at him, hoping to catch the drone off guard when I rocket myself back up to the ceiling.

  A split second later, a very loud gong echoes through the room. It's the sound of my head colliding with the ceiling after the drone quickly moved out of the way and I missed it again. The room's speakers click on to broadcast the sound of John laughing and then click back off. He turned on the microphone just to laugh at me. On top of that, my head really hurts since I wasn't expecting it to hit anything and didn't have time to brace myself. Even with superpowers, I can still hurt myself through my own clumsiness. Another one of my unexplored powers.

  The drone hovers back to the center of the room, where I began the test. It doesn't have a face since it's just a machine, but even still, I feel like it's taunting me. I launch head first toward it. This time I won't make the same mistake of assuming that it will stay in place long enough for me to reach it. Sure enough, it takes off sideways right before I reach it, but now I'm following it.

  It darts back and forth across the room, covering an almost impossible amount of ground in an instant, zigzagging in every possible direction with seemingly no rhyme or reason. But I don't give up. I stay on its tai
l as it moves throughout the gigantic room, never straying more than a few feet but never close enough to grab it either.

  My eyes are locked onto it like a homing missile, and I'm more determined than ever. I make myself as wide as possible with my arms and try to prevent it from doubling back on me. It's confined to just a corner of the hangar and its movements are even more erratic. It doesn't have the amount of space it needs to outmaneuver me, and finally, when it's completely cornered, I grab it. The drone struggles and twists to break free of my grip, but there's no way I'm letting go of it. With the button on its underbelly pressed, the light on top of the drone changes from red to green, and it gently returns back to the center of the room before lowering down to the ground.

  "Not bad. Usually it takes a good twenty minutes before the test subject realizes they can't just chase the damn thing to catch it. Let's see how you do with a few more," John says over the loudspeaker while tapping away at the console in front of him.

  A few seconds later, what seems like hundreds of new doors along the wall open all at once. From each, a single drone flies a few feet forward before locking into place as their lights change from green to red.

  * * *

  It takes nearly an hour for me to put down every last drone and another twenty minutes of having to listen to John tell me about how they didn't have tests like this back when he was a meta, and that he couldn't fly, but if he could he would have finished the test in five minutes, tops. I don't know if I could honestly tell you which was more exhausting: the drones or listening to John brag about something that he’s never actually done.

  There's nothing worse than thinking you're done with a test only to find out there are more questions printed on the back of the page. The equivalent to that for me today is forgetting that, even when I'm done with the tests John has put me through, I still have to head over to meet with The Physician for even more tests. These are tests that I'd have to undertake anyway, but the fact that my metabands are damaged has piqued his interest even more. Honestly, I'm just glad I don't have to spend any more time with John today.

  Walking down the corridors, I wouldn't have realized it had gotten so late if it weren't for the relative emptiness. One of the many disadvantages of being a mile underground is it makes installing windows difficult, logistically speaking. The halls aren't as empty as they were last night, but certainly much more empty than they were earlier this afternoon. From what I can tell, the students that are still here are doing the equivalent of extra credit work, practicing abilities that aren't quite honed yet, or at least not honed to the point where they'd feel comfortable practicing them in front of an audience.

  "Ah, Connor, there you are," The Physician says to me as he emerges from the exam room I'm walking toward. "I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule tonight. As much as I'd like to learn more about you, I have a more pressing matter that I must attend to this evening. I hope you understand."

  The tired grin across my face must say it all to him. I couldn't be more relieved to be let out of an obligation than I am right now. I practically want to race him to the elevator.

  Part of me definitely wonders what the doctor, and everyone else who isn't a student for that matter, works on during the day. Tonight that wondering will have to wait, though. I've got my mind on a hamburger and nothing on earth is going to stop me from getting it.

  16

  After I finish scarfing down a late dinner, I head back to my room since I've got not only nowhere else to be, but also nowhere else to go. I'm hoping that Tyler isn't waiting in the room we share, but I know that is probably hopelessly wishful thinking. From what I can tell, he barely even leaves it to go to class.

  Before I even reach for my doorknob, I can tell that my wish isn't going to be granted tonight. There's laughter coming from my room. Not the kind of fun, carefree laughter you hear from people just having a nice time. It's the kind of almost yelling, aggressive laughter that sounds more like a way of claiming territory than anything else. Worse yet, from the sound of it, Tyler isn't alone in there either.

  The second I put my key in the keyhole, the laughter is immediately silenced. I can hear rummaging and shushing noises coming from behind the door. When I turn the doorknob and open it, I find the room is packed full of people like a clown car. For the past couple of days, I've barely been able to fall asleep since I've felt so crowded having just one other person in this room; now there's inexplicably over a dozen. There's a stale stench of cheap beer hanging in the air too. Ugh. This is the last thing I wanted to come “home” to.

  "It's my roommate everyone. It's cool," Tyler announces from somewhere in the depths of the tiny living quarters. Instantly, the room turns its collective back to me and conversations resume. Hidden red plastic cups reappear from every nook and cranny in the room.

  This is maybe, literally, the last thing on earth that I want to deal with. What I want is to crawl into a little tiny ball and go to sleep for the next week. That's going to be really hard to do unless I don't mind sharing my bed with the dozen or so other kids currently using it as a couch. Oh, great. Even if they weren't sitting on it, it looks like my pillow is drenched in a mixture of beer and I don't want to know what else.

  I shuffle along the wall of my room, apologizing as I inevitably bump into people who are technically only guests of one half of this dorm room.

  "Shut the door!" Tyler yells unnecessarily loudly from across the room.

  I sigh and turn around, apologizing to these strangers for a second time as I move back along the wall and toward the door. Once I'm close enough to touch the handle, it occurs to me that I don't want to stay here, even if it is my room too. I walk back out into the hallway and close the door behind me.

  As I walk through the otherwise quiet hallway, wondering what I did in a past life to deserve getting the only jackass on the floor as my roommate, I hear something. It's the fuzzy click of a walkie-talkie, followed by voices around the corner. Loud voices. Authoritative voices. Adult voices. It's the police, and my guess is that I know exactly why they're here and where they’re going.

  I quickly spin on my heels and head back to my room. Even if this isn't why cops are here, they're sure to hear the noise coming from the room and decide it's worth a closer look. I don't waste time knocking and instead quickly fling open the door. All eyes in the room are on me, but I can't seem to find Tyler's face in the crowd to warn him. That's when he steps out from around the corner of the entryway, near the closets. He's inches from my face.

  "All right, bro. Enough's enough. I tried to be nice, but apparently you don't take a hint well," he says.

  "Tyler, listen, you gotta hide all this stuff and get everyone out of here," I quickly babble out before I'm cut off.

  "Are you stupid or something? The only one getting out of here is you," he says.

  And with that, he shoves me. We're standing so close to each other that the shove catches me off balance, and I fall backward through the door, landing on my butt and sliding across the waxed linoleum floor into the door opposite ours in the hallway. A chorus of laughter sweeps through the room so loudly that it makes the impromptu party's previous volume seem like a tea party.

  The door slams shut, but I can still hear the laughter. It isn't until I'm back up on my feet that I realize my metabands have already materialized around my wrists. Did I do that? Did I summon my metabands subconsciously, or did they just appear on their own because they somehow sensed I was in danger? Both thoughts are equally concerning, but my more immediate problem is that I can't focus hard enough to make them disappear again. With no way to get rid of them and the threat of being seen with them growing, I turn and walk briskly down the hallway in the opposite direction of where I heard the radio noises coming from.

  I don't dare look back, even when I can hear the door being pounded on and the police announcing themselves. Oh well, I tried to warn them, I think to myself, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think the dose of instant karma was pretty fu
nny.

  17

  It's 10:00 p.m. on a Thursday night, and I've really got nowhere to go. That's not to say that I'm not extremely grateful for avoiding what I'm sure is a mess with the police. As frustrating as Tyler throwing a party in my room without even telling me is, I can't even imagine how ticked off I'd be right now if I was being interrogated for underage drinking.

  The thought of heading down to the facility crosses my mind since technically it's open to us twenty-four hours a day, but after spending most of my day underground and knowing that I'll be back there tomorrow, it's just not that appealing. Private time to myself is few and far between currently. I should really enjoy it while I've got it. Fresh air, the sky, all of that stuff.

  After about fifteen seconds of fresh air, I'm bored with it and take out my phone to see if there's something there that can distract me. I'm walking with little direction, just kinda wandering toward the main library and water fountain as I go through what seems like an endless list of spam and status updates in my feeds. After a few minutes of this, I decide to declare social media bankruptcy. There's just no way I can get through this much junk after being basically offline for a week.

  I'm desperate to find out what's happening back in Bay View City, but any news I can find is frustratingly vague or off topic. I reach the campus’s water fountain and find myself a place to sit along its wall. As if on cue, the screen of my phone changes to indicate an incoming video call from Derrick. I tap answer.

  "Well, well, well. So I guess you're still alive after all, huh?" Derrick asks once the call begins.

  "Yup, I am."

  "All right, just wanted to check. See you later," Derrick says as he pretends to end the call.

  "Sorry I haven't been able to talk much lately."