by Drew Hayes
“In our defense, we did manage to get it contained very quickly,” Ben pointed out.
“You did, I’ll give you that,” Dean Blaine said. “Though you were somewhat slower in response to the glacier that now occupies a chunk of the river.”
Ben swallowed hard. This was not the way he wanted to spend the first afternoon back from vacation.
* * *
Nick sat on the couch, watching television and applying lotion to the side of his nose. He’d miscalculated the necessary SPF to defend him all weekend and was now paying the price. The boy knew a lot about sunshine and desert heat, but less about the sunscreen-washing-off properties of a river. Alice walked over from the girls’ side, clad in tank top, flip flops, and shorts.
“Sun got you, too?” Nick asked perfunctorily
“Like I owed him money,” Alice said. She sat down next to him and pulled out her own bottle of lotion, one that was both more expensive and more effective. “Where is everyone? We’ve had all morning to rest up, I figured they’d have swung back to life by now.”
“They have,” Nick said. “Vince left with Sasha a few hours ago. Mary came in a little after lunch, so she and Hershel took off to catch up and be all couple-like.”
“Well, they are sort of a couple,” Alice noted.
“Thus the word choice.”
“Ah,” Alice said. “Not to be forward, would you mind getting the backs of my shoulders?”
Nick hesitated for a moment, then said, “Okay.” Alice realigned her couch position so her back was facing Nick, then handed him her lotion. She slid the straps of her tank top down to the sides of her arms and pulled her long blonde hair around front, revealing the bare upper half of her back.
“So, when are you going to see Bubbles next?” Alice asked as Nick’s hands worked the soothing cream into her skin.
“Probably in a couple of days,” Nick said blandly. “I’ve got stuff to do and what not.”
“We didn’t have any homework over the break. What kind of stuff do you have?”
“You know, just stuff,” Nick reiterated lamely. He was having trouble conjuring up his usual silver tongue, mostly because he was focusing on keeping his physical tells under control. Ever since that kiss in the woods he’d lost his ability to deny that he was physically attracted to Alice. He’d coped with this new development by keeping his distance, but now he was kneading her flesh with his hands and things were getting more difficult. If Nicholas Campbell had any weakness, it was women.
“Just stuff, okay,” Alice said, letting it go. “You know, Nick, about the first night of the river trip, there was something I wanted to say.”
A lesser man would have let his hand stiffen in fearful anticipation of what was coming next. Nick may not have been a better man; however, he was a better liar. His fingers never paused and his voice betrayed nothing.
“And what’s that?”
“Just that I wanted to say thanks for coming after me. I don’t remember if I ever expressed gratitude; I was pretty drunk, after all. So I just wanted to make sure I thanked you,” Alice said.
Nick relaxed a bit internally and got back to the task at hand. So she didn’t remember things too clearly. That would make proceeding from here much easier.
Had Nick been sitting a few inches to the left he would have been able to see Alice’s face in a mirror that hung on the wall. And had he been gifted with that vantage point, he surely would have noticed the wry, cunning smile on her face.
* * *
Jill was sitting in the central area of their dorm room, reading a magazine. She flipped casually to the next page, ears working hard to ignore the sounds seeping through the walls around her. She zeroed in her attention on an article about toning one’s thighs. For a second she thought she had obtained a Zen level of focus, because the sounds ceased. This theory was disproven moments later when Sasha emerged from her and Julia’s room clad in a pink robe.
“Hey,” Sasha said, making a beeline for the fridge.
“Hey,” Jill said back, turning to another page.
Sasha reached in the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water, then stood at the door for a moment staring into its depths. She reached back in and grabbed four more, juggling the six vessels as she made her way back into her room and firmly shut the door.
Jill sighed. She would get maybe ten or fifteen minutes before the noise would start again. Maybe she would go to the library and read for a while. Or just go for a walk around campus. Or go see what Will was up to.
Jill was still contemplating her options when the ruckus began once more. She needed to have a talk with Sasha about turning on the radio or something during boyfriend time. Really, though, Jill realized she needed to start freaking meeting men. This was just getting insufferable.
* * *
“So all things totaled, you had approximately five thousand dollars’ worth of damage caused by the students under your watch, destroyed a small patch of a national forest, and caused ecological damages to no less than nine different species’ habitats,” Dean Blaine surmised.
“Yes, sir,” Ben said weakly.
“Looks like it,” Angela agreed.
“Well then, good job, you two,” Dean Blaine said, setting down the packet of papers.
“Beg your pardon?” Ben asked.
“That’s one of the least destructive river trips in the last decade. You did your jobs very well. You have my thanks and the thanks of your school.”
“Sweet,” Angela said, hopping up. “So, we done here?”
“Yes, Ms. DeSoto, you are free to go,” Dean Blaine replied.
“Cool; come on, Ben, let’s go grab a late lunch,” she said, tugging on her fellow chaperone’s arm.
“Okay, I guess,” Ben said unsurely, getting out of the chair and allowing himself to be pulled from the room.
Once the door was shut, Dean Blaine turned his attention back to the paperwork required for the cleanup. Even with such minimal damage there were still a lot of forms to file and sign. He briefly wondered how many documents had to be filled out by the dean after his class went on the river trip.
He couldn’t be certain without the hard numbers, but he suspected it was enough that he would quit by way of setting the building on fire should such a pile ever be presented to him.
129.
“You all look nice and rested,” Coach George said as he walked in front of the line of members of the combat class. “That’s good. I’m glad you all got time to heal up and re-energize, because we have now entered the last mile of your freshman year. And does everyone remember what happens at the end of your freshman year?”
There was no response; he’d long ago drilled out the habit of speaking without being called on. There was fear, though, fear and uncertainty dancing behind nearly all of their eyes. He’d have preferred to see it in every last set of orbs, but some of them were just too stupid to face the possibility that they wouldn’t make the cut. There were also a few too smart not to know they were a shoe-in.
“That’s right: at the end of the year we have ourselves another set of matches. These won’t just be fighting this time; they’ll test every aspect a Hero needs to bring to the table. Strength, intelligence, cunning, resourcefulness, and yes, even a bit of battle prowess. So keep those memories of your time off tucked away in a nice safe spot in your mind. You’ll need them to keep you sane every night when you crawl into bed, your bones creaking and your spirit crumbling. These next two months will be hell on you because I am going to be personally applying the pitchfork. You see, this is my last chance to get you pansies strong enough to actually survive the second year’s training, and I take that responsibility very seriously. So, do we have any questions?”
Not one person’s hand even dared to entertain a thought about ascending.
“Glad to hear it,” Coach George declared. “Pair up as I call your names and get into your fighting circles. Oh, and we’re changing something up today.”
The
students looked at him with an uneven mix of anticipation and trepidation.
Coach George gave them a winning smile. “Today, my little charges, I declare that you have had you asses whipped in mortal ways long enough. As of now, you may begin using your powers.”
There was a physical mumbling, if not a verbal one. It was the sound of backs cinching up in fear, knuckles cracking in excitement, and eyeballs roving in their sockets as they sized up their opponents in a whole new way. If Coach George could he would record that sound, put in on a loop, and play it continuously as he nodded off to sleep every night.
Instead he began hollering out the pairs.
* * *
“As you all know by now, not every member of this class will make the cut into the sophomore program,” Coach Persephone said, walking in a nearly identical fashion to her male counterpart. “Now, while George likes to take this time to deaden the nerves of his students, I prefer to sharpen the minds of my own.”
Curiosity danced in the eyes of the Supers lined up before her. That was good. Curiosity meant listening and listening meant thinking. Thinking was what would make the difference between success and failure for her charges. That, along with creativity and determination.
“Some of the tests you’ll endure will be combat-based. I won’t sugarcoat it for you: with precious few exceptions, most of you will come out the loser in these encounters.”
The gazes of several faces turned toward the floor.
“That is an acceptable loss, though, because it does not comprise the entirety of these evaluations. Think of it as giving away a pawn in order to take their king. They will hone their bodies and battle instincts over the coming months. We will be honing our minds and adaptability instead. We will double down on our strategic lessons. Your minds will ache with effort and you will tear out your hair in frustration, but you will improve. And at the end of May, when you go into your trials, you will emerge as victorious sophomores.”
It wasn’t the best inspirational speech in the history of the school, but it did seem to bestow her kids with a bit of hope. At this point that was really the best Coach Persephone could shoot for. These Supers were fighting an uphill battle, proving that they were useful even without the ability to fend off an army. When they crested that hill they would understand just how powerful they really were. Until that point, all she could do was keep them working hard in hopes of achieving what most of them saw as impossible.
Persephone at least had the advantage of knowing something they didn’t. Sometimes attaining the impossible was simply a matter of continuously putting one foot in front of the other, no matter what.
* * *
Dean Blaine and four other figures stood in a small room lined with television screens. Normally these screens would show a variety of rooms with different teams from different classes on each one. Today, however, they showed different angles of the two rooms where the freshman class was being addressed.
“Interesting crop,” said the smallest figure, a woman’s whose voice had seen its share of days.
“That’s what you say every year,” Dean Blaine pointed out.
“It’s true every year,” she countered.
Dean Blaine had no rebuttal to this - he never did - so instead he moved on to the task at hand.
“You’ve seen their files, you’ve watched the tapes, and you know their names. Today we divvy them up, and you have one and a half months to devise their test, then half a month to get it all set up,” Dean Blaine explained.
“George and Persephone already made their picks?” This time the voice came from a tall, male figure.
“Turned them in to me before Spring Break,” Dean Blaine said.
“Such a prompt pair,” said a new female voice, this one young and lilting.
“Would that I could see such efficiency from the rest of you,” Dean Blaine said.
“Let’s be fair, you don’t keep us around because we adhere so well to the red tape,” said the old voice.
“No, but I still expect you to take tasks like this seriously. You have the room for the next two hours. Make your selections and have them on my desk by the end of the day,” Dean Blaine instructed them. He walked briskly out the door before any other snide comments could be made.
“Now then,” said the fourth figure, a voice like silk being torn thread by thread, “I think it’s time to get down to business.”
130.
“Shit!” Coach George yelled, diving for cover. The errant bolt of electricity sizzled by his head, narrowly missing him. Instead it stuck a hard concrete outcropping a few feet behind him as other bolts followed different paths to similar results.
“Sorry,” Vince said sheepishly. The first time he’d been tripping over himself in concern that he’d wounded his teacher, but truthfully, after so many near misses the initial panic had become notably subdued.
“No harm done, Coach George assured him. “Refuel and try again.”
Vince and Coach George were having a one-on-one session for ranged training. They were in a room with exceptional insulation and no electrical conduits or metal. Coach George hadn’t been exaggerating about the variety of resources at Lander. They really did have a room for nearly every conceivable training necessity. That was proving to be a very good thing, because by George’s calculations the kid would have caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in wiring damage by now if they’d been outside this room.
“Yes, sir,” Vince said, jogging back over to the car battery at the edge of the room. In the weeks they’d been training he hadn’t been having much luck, so they were now trying a new tactic. Instead of draining the battery at once, Vince only took a little bit of electricity at a time, used it in an attack, then drained a little more. This had two benefits in that it allowed a single battery to fuel him for a long training session, and it kept the damage from being too spectacular when his blasts went off course, which, to date, was pretty much every time he threw one.
“Let’s decrease the distance again,” Coach George suggested once Vince had, in a sense, reloaded.
Vince nodded and approached a small pile of concrete on the ground. So far they’d tried breathing techniques, aiming techniques, and even rubber gloves with the fingers cut out. None of it had kept the electricity from splintering, so now they had gone back to basics. The only time Vince had successfully used electricity was against Thomas with a very small gap between them. The new set of tests was to see if there was a distance which was small enough that it didn’t allow time for the energy to slip out of control. If such a measurement did exist, then the next step would be to increase it.
“How far this time?” Vince asked.
“Last time we did forty feet. This time let’s take it to thirty,” Coach George told him. He repositioned himself carefully behind his student. While a shot of lightning certainly wasn’t going to kill someone like George, that didn’t mean it was something he was chomping at the bit to experience. Especially not in his human form.
Vince narrowed his focus and slowed his breathing. He concentrated on the pile of rocks in front of him, on the spot just at the very top. He raised his hand carefully, his fingers tentatively outstretched. Vince imagined the electricity, bright blue and white hot, arcing from his palm to the rocks in a single, brilliant beam. He held that vision firmly in his mind, drowning out the rest of the world. Nothing existed outside the room. There was no coach standing behind him. Even he didn’t exist, nothing permeated this world save the rocks, his hand, and the arc that would connect them. Vince expelled a breath outward and let the energy fly.
It struck seven different spots, though to give appropriate credit one of them was fairly close to the rock clump.
“Crap,” Vince swore.
“Chin up, Reynolds,” Coach George said, walking forward. “Believe it or not, this is progress. It didn’t split up as much this time.”
“Yeah,” Vince agreed, dejection slithering in his voice. “So that means if I get re
ally close it probably won’t splinter at all.”
“And that’s a good thing,” Coach George reminded him.
“It is and it isn’t. To be honest, I was holding out hope that the reason I was able to use electricity against Thomas was something to do with my mindset, or my technique. That way I could learn it, master it, and begin relying on a new form of energy in combat.”
“Which is what we’re doing.”
“Not exactly. What we’re really doing is finding at what distance the lightning separates. That isn’t me affecting anything except how close I can be when I use it. I suppose I would just prefer overcoming a personal limitation to a physical one.”
“Heh, that in itself makes you an oddball,” Coach George said. “Listen, Reynolds, this kind of thing is a process with any power. First you get the concept of it, then you find its flaws and limits, then you figure out how to circumvent as many as you can. It’s something all Heroes have to go through, and it can take a long-ass time. Hell, why do you think we put you through four years of this before you’re even allowed to work under an existing Hero in the field?”
“I just wish I had better control,” Vince said.
Coach George patted him on the back. “That’s the hardest part of all this. Throwing cars, bouncing off bullets, jumping between continents, all that shit it easy if you’ve got the gift. But knowing how to do it safely, and, even more importantly, when to do it, those are the real skills a Hero needs to master.”
“I guess that means I won’t be adding lightning to my arsenal anytime soon,” Vince noted.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Coach George said. “The best arsenals are versatile ones. So if we find out you can’t use electricity safely from more than ten feet then yeah, you won’t be including it in your ranged repertoire. On the other hand, it could be a devastating technique to whip out in close combat. Even if it was down to a few inches, you could make it so that every punch you throw is an over-clocked taser.”
Vince considered the idea and thought back to his first fight of the year with Michael. If his one punch had carried just a little extra juice, the whole thing could have turned out differently.
