Super Powereds: Year 1

by Drew Hayes

  “Everyone run over here and take a knee.” They followed his instructions quickly, never more happy in their entire lives to sit down on the hard wooden floor than they were at that precious moment. Coach George stood in front of them and Coach Persephone came up next to him. Somewhere inside him, Hershel felt Roy stir at the sight of her. Hershel shoved him down immediately. It was bad enough he was getting dirty looks from Julia all day. The last thing he needed was to be labeled as the student who tried to bang a coach, even if it wasn’t really him that was doing it.

  “You did piss poorly today,” Coach George began. “That amount of exercise shouldn’t even faze a Hero, but you all were struggling just to make it to the end. With precious few exceptions, I daresay none of you would have finished if we kept going for the extra thirty minutes.”

  Hershel certainly wasn’t going to argue that point and he didn’t suspect any of the other freshmen were either.

  “When this year is over, you’re going to look back on today with a sense of nostalgia for how light the workouts were. You’re going to have fantasies that when you come into class we just tell you to run most of the time. This will be the happiest day of your career in gym, because from here on out it only gets worse,” Coach George said. The scariest part of his mini-speech was that he wasn’t yelling or trying to put fear into them. He seemed to be sincerely warning them, which made it all the more terrifying.

  “Now, before I hand things off to Coach Persephone to talk about how the rest of this year will work, there are two people I want to see up front. Chad Taylor and Mary Smith, get up here.”

  Mary made her way slowly over to the front. She was dripping with sweat and still breathing hard, but she seemed to have held together better than many of the others, Hershel included. The boy who rose up was the short-haired blond who seemed perfectly at ease. It was as though he had been sitting in air conditioning all day; not even his hair was too ruffled. Hershel didn’t know what his ability was, but in this situation it was an awesome boon. It was humorous to see the two standing next to each other, Chad with his height and broad shoulders next to Mary’s slim frame and understated smile. If someone was looking in from the outside, they would have never guessed what those two had in common.

  “Okay class, I want you to take a good look at these two. Before, they were just names, but now you’ve seen their faces. These are the two freshmen standing at the top of the heap. They are the number one ranks from both sexes, and I have to tell you, there is a large gap between them and the rest of you. So burn these faces into your minds, because from now until the end of the year your only real goal is to beat them. You have one year to get stronger, get faster, get better, and take another shot at the combat trials. In the world of Heroes if you aren’t the strongest, you’re just next in line to die. Work hard,” Coach George said. He dismissed Mary and Chad to go sit down then took a step back as Coach Persephone came to the front.

  “I want to speak briefly with you about the year to come,” Coach Persephone said. “For the first semester we will be spending all three hours as we have today, only with gradually increasing intensity. This is done to give you the base endurance and strength that every Hero needs to function. After winter break, however, the format will change. We will still be spending the first two hours with physical training, but afterward we will be splitting you into two classes. They will be combat training and alternative training.”

  There was a murmur among the students. What kind of training was there besides combat? Coach Persephone ignored the commotion and went straight to answering the implied question.

  “Alternative training is where we will help those of you with skills ill-suited to fighting learn to use them effectively in the field. Though some of you will no doubt think that this is inferior to combat training, let me assure you that there are ways to protect the innocent for those of us who can’t throw a tank.”

  She paused for a moment and Hershel thought he saw her dart a glance at Coach George. But as she resumed a moment later he assured himself it must have been imaginary.

  “As for who will go in what class, the top five ranked students from each sex will automatically be in combat training, while the bottom five will automatically be in alternative training. The rest of you will be evaluated by Coach George and me to determine where your talents lie,” Coach Persephone explained.

  A hand went up shockingly fast. Hershel recognized the question asker as Sasha from his morning misadventure.

  “Yes, Ms. Foster?” Coach Persephone said, pointing to Sasha.

  “What if we are in the bottom five but really want to do combat training? Is there any way for us to prove we can handle it?”

  “Actually, yes,” Coach Persephone said. “You can challenge another student for their rank. The two of you will be assigned a supervisor, a combat room, and a healer on hand. Then you will duke it out, and whoever is standing at the end keeps the higher rank.”

  “But why would people with higher ranks agree to a challenge? All they can do is lose,” Sasha pointed out.

  “They very well might deny you the right to challenge. Of course, this is a graded class that requires a passing grade to continue with the Hero Certification Program, and you will find nearly all of you lack the physical strength to pass it on merit alone. Fighting in challenges earns you bonus points, and successfully defending your rank earns you significantly more points. On the other hand, declining challenges will take points off of your grade, so sitting pretty on your rank is a dangerous move to make unless you are confident that you’re strong enough to handle every hurdle Coach George and I will put before you,” Coach Persephone said.

  Hershel felt his heart sink. He had been certain that the fighting was behind them until the end of the year. Hershel comforted himself by trying to remember that he wouldn’t actually have to fight anyone: Roy was the one with the ranking.

  “There are rules for the challenging process, though,” Coach Persephone continued. “The main one is the rule of five. You can only challenge someone within five ranks of you. If you want someone higher, you’ll have to climb your way to them challenge by challenge. Additionally, the top five on either side cannot be challenged by anyone lower. So rank six cannot go after rank five even though they are one rank apart. This is due to the difference in ability that the top five have compared to the rest of the class. They may challenge within their ranks, but otherwise none of you can fight them until the end of the year. Aside from that, make sure all fights are registered and monitored. Otherwise they don’t count, and in fact will be punished severely. Everyone understand?”

  The class nodded collectively.

  “Good. Now go hit the showers. You all stink to hell. Oh, and enjoy the weekend. It’s the last one you’ll have for months with only minor soreness,” Coach Persephone said.

  22.

  “Mary Smith, daughter of William and Rebecca Smith. Diagnosed with abilities at age two when she was discovered telepathically lifting her blocks. Confirmed to be Powered at age five when training and coaching left her unable to block out others’ thoughts. Several more years of attempts to gain control ended in failure and validated the diagnosis. Left home at the age of ten to live in the woodlands her grandfather had willed her mother. Maintains contact with family when she goes into town for supplies, usually semi-annually,” Mr. Transport read from the top paper stuffed into the manila folder.

  “If she still sees her parents shouldn’t she remember her name?” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

  “Apparently she never really learned it,” Mr. Transport explained as he flipped through her file. “Since her telepathy was always active she could sense when people’s thoughts were directed at her. The name wasn’t reinforced and eventually the few people who interacted with her lost the habit of using it.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose. What it doesn’t do, though, is explain why she can tolerate a range of five miles if she’s been out of civilization for seven years.
Her focus should have atrophied, not evolved,” Mr. Numbers said nervously. He rose from the table in the living room of his and Mr. Transport’s apartment and went to the fridge to get a bottle of water.

  “I’ve been digging on that,” Mr. Transport replied. “It seems that even in the forest she never got silence. Animals still have thoughts; they’re just more primordial than humans. From the telepaths I’ve talked with, they describe it as hearing a conversation in a foreign language. It might be loud, but because it’s gibberish, it’s easier to ignore. That’s why she was able to live there and hold onto at least some of her sanity.”

  “Some of her sanity,” Mr. Numbers mumbled. “For all the pity people keep showing her, the girl seems to be adjusting fine. The bear thing is a bit odd, but otherwise she’s doing as well as the others and better than some.”

  “She’s a telepath. She knows what normal people are thinking, so she emulates those thoughts and the actions that follow. Just because she can fake societal adaptation doesn’t mean there aren’t some scars on her from her years as a Powered,” Mr. Transport said.

  “Yes, except those scars have turned out to be riverbeds that send her abilities gushing forth in blasts far beyond what her experience should warrant,” Mr. Numbers said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Mr. Transport retorted. “What is experience if not the accumulation of scars and lessons that allow us to use our mind, bodies, and powers more effectively?”

  “I’m not getting into a philosophy or semantics argument with you. I’m just laying the facts out on the table. You and I recommended a girl whose experience as a Powered has likely made her one of the strongest, if not the strongest, Supers of her generation,” Mr. Numbers said with as much control as he had available at hand. Opening his water he retook his seat and began looking through the files on his side of the table.

  “You’re worrying too much,” Mr. Transport said. “The only reason the dean even looked twice at her is because he knew about her past, which is why I lobbied not to divulge that information to staff. Aside from that, we both know she isn’t the strongest. You watched the combat tapes with me and read the files.”

  “True,” Mr. Numbers agreed. “I daresay the only reason this hasn’t fallen down on our heads is because compared to that boy even Mary would have one hell of a fight.”

  “Exactly. It doesn’t matter if she is near the top; hell, Roy was fifth and Vince was eighth so she has company. The only thing that cannot happen is Mary becoming the undisputed strongest in her grade. It would be troublesome with any of them, really, but with her we would have to own up to the oversight,” Mr. Transport said.

  “Who would have ever thought spending all those years without any control would actually help her so much?” Mr. Numbers asked with no expectation of an answer.

  “It’s my fault,” Mr. Transport said. “I handle research. If I had only looked into telepathic training methods I might have discovered this.”

  “It’s no one’s fault or it’s both of our fault. Neither of us goes down alone, you know that,” Mr. Numbers corrected immediately. “Besides which, I think it might be a good thing in the long run.”

  “How do you mean?” Mr. Transport asked.

  “What would be worse to deal with: a tremendously powerful telepath who can control her abilities or one that has no say whatsoever in what she does?” Mr. Numbers asked.

  Mr. Transport was silent for a few moments, imagining each encounter realistically rather than snapping off the obvious acceptable answer. There were several things about Mr. Transport that Mr. Numbers didn’t always care for, but his tendency to take each question posed to him with seriousness and analysis was not one of them.

  “Well,” Mr. Transport said at last. “I think that would depend on the context of dealing with them. If they are on our side, then control is preferable; however, if they’ve gone rogue, then I’d rather have them lacking any real influence on what their power does.”

  “A good answer,” Mr. Numbers said honestly. “So that means we should worry less about precisely where we might have gone wrong, and focus on ensuring that Mary Smith and every other subject we recommended into the program stays on the straight and narrow path. That’s the best way we demonstrate the sound judgment of our selections.”

  “Very good plan,” Mr. Transport commented. “That leaves us with the meat of the matter. How exactly do we do that?”

  23.

  Logically speaking, there had to be a part of Alice that didn’t hurt. She comprehended that in a rational, understanding-of-biology sort of way. Unfortunately, all that knowledge couldn’t convince her body to find a position that didn’t provoke spasms of soreness coursing through her nerves. Never in her life did she suspect she would ever look back on her one-on-one sessions with her personal trainer as such a light, peaceful workout. Yet here she was.

  “Here”, in this case, was sprawled out on the sofa in the communal area, watching TV and trying desperately to get comfortable. She would have much preferred to be in her own room, or even in just the girls’ lobby, but returning home had led to the discovery that the cable had only been hooked up to the common room so far. The other rooms only had access to basic channels, and subpar entertainment wasn’t going to do much to take her mind off of what today’s workout had done to her.

  Unfortunately, the others seemed to have had the same idea, as they were slumped over and groaning in the chairs and loveseats scattered throughout the room. Everyone was there except Hershel, who had excused himself a few minutes ago to change. Alice couldn’t really imagine he owned more comfortable clothing than the sweat pants and Star Wars t-shirt he had been wearing, but she supposed anything was possible. The rest of them were watching a sitcom, shifting occasionally and presumably trying not to think about how they had an entire week of this starting on Monday. Even Mary’s presence didn’t take the top spot of worry in Alice’s mind for the moment. The only thought that telepath was going to pick up from her was: “Ow. Ouch. Ugh. Why did I sign up for this?”

  Alice’s forced focus on the flat-screen was interrupted by a bottle of water bumping gently against her head.

  “What the hell!” Alice exclaimed. She relaxed as she noticed the bottle was not alone. It seemed to have come with an assortment of friends who were hovering a few inches from the faces of Vince and Nick. Mary was already sipping on hers. Alice may have been weary, but she wasn’t so tired she couldn’t put this simple puzzle together.

  “Oh. Thank you for the water, Mary,” Alice said as she took the bottle and twisted off the cap.

  “No trouble,” Mary replied honestly. It wasn’t as though the bottles were heavy or hard to maneuver. The four weary would-be warriors sat in suffering silence after that, the only punctuation aside from groans and television banter being the occasional sip from a bottle of water.

  “Well, well, you ladies sure can’t handle your exercise,” said a deep voice from the side of the room. Standing in the doorway to the boys’ side, wearing a different shirt and jeans but sporting the same cowboy hat, stood the man from the karaoke platform last night. For a moment, Alice thought she had certainly slipped off to sleep in her fugue of pain and gladly welcomed the dream that was beginning. That delusion was quickly shattered by Vince.

  “Who are you and how did you get in here?” Vince cried, pulling himself halfway from his chair. It would have been a grander gesture if he had made it all the way out, but given his current physical condition it was still somewhat impressive.

  “Now come on, Vince, is that anyway to talk to the man whose mess you cleaned up this morning?” the tall man asked, waltzing over to the chair Hershel had been sitting in and plopping down forcefully. Alice had no idea what he was talking about, but now that she knew it wasn’t a dream she was beginning to feel concern gnaw at her. She had been privy to the designs of this place. There should be no way he could have come in through the boys’ side. The only entrance was the front one. So how had this cowboy b
roken into their home?

  “Roy?” Vince asked skeptically.

  “Sure as shit in an outhouse,” Roy replied. “Pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh.” Roy leaned over from his chair and grasped Vince’s hand, giving it a hearty shake.

  “Hey, that’s cool that you guys know each other,” Nick said. “Maybe now you explain why there’s a stranger sitting in our home. Who else thinks that would be awesome? Just me? Come on, show of hands, people.” Nick threw up his own hand and Mary followed suit.

  “Um,” Vince began awkwardly. “This is Roy. He’s Hershel... kind of.”

  “How can he be Hershel?” Alice asked incredulously.

  “Well, you see, my beautiful blonde cohabitant, I’m the form the fatty turns into when he can’t take it anymore,” Roy explained. “Not only does he get stronger, faster, leaner, and all around sexier, but he also gets a pair of testicles and a shot of social sense.”

  “So when Hershel said he was going to change earlier...” Alice let her thought die out as she put the pieces together.

  “Tubbo was hurting, and he doesn’t cope so well with pain, especially from a workout obviously, so he went to his room and invited me to handle things. I don’t suffer from shit like pain or fatigue,” Roy said as he flashed a set of pearly-white teeth around the room.

  “Stop calling him fat,” Vince said. “It isn’t nice. Hershel is our friend, and he’s just a little out of shape.”

  “An action figure in the microwave is a little out of shape,” Roy said. “Hershel is a doughy chickenshit. Besides, I can talk all the trash I damn well please. I am Hershel, after all.”

  “No, you aren’t,” Vince disagreed. “Hershel might be awkward but at least he has always been kind to everyone. You’re not.”

  “It might not be a fun truth, but that doesn’t take make it not real. Just deal with it, Freak Hair, me and Husky are the same person,” Roy said.