by Hayes, Drew
Super Powereds: Year 4
By Drew Hayes
Edited by Kisa Whipkey (kisawhipkey.com)
and Erin Cooley ([email protected])
Cover by Ashley Ruggirello (coardboardmonet.com)
Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Hayes
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
This one is for Erin: my dear friend, trusted editor, and the first person to have my back on this insane idea of writing books. I quite literally couldn’t have done this without you.
Additional thanks go out to the amazing beta readers who have helped with this and many other series: TheSFReader, E Ramos E, Ruby, Bill Hammond, and Priscilla Yuen.
Prologue
Coughs and the sound of shuffling papers filled the room as Blaine Jefferies sat patiently staring at the row of people looking down on him. This was not a hearing, per se, and the five people assembled wore no black robes, but there was no misunderstanding the circumstances either. These people were his judges, and what they determined in this room would shape the remainder of Blaine’s life, to say nothing of the Lander Hero Certification Program.
“Dean Blaine Jefferies.” Senator Malcolm was the one who spoke, of course. As the chairman for the Department of Variant Human Affairs, he was at the top of the chain. Short of presidential involvement, Senator Malcolm’s word was law, and no sitting president would touch this mess with a thousand-foot pole. “This task force has reviewed the witness statements, forensic evidence, meager surveillance footage, and affidavits regarding the incident at Lander. Is there anything else you’d like to submit for consideration before we share our findings with you?”
Blaine’s hand tightened at the word “incident,” and he shoved it below the small table before him lest they see his reaction. What had happened at Lander was not an incident in the slightest: it was a tragedy, an attack on the world to which he’d dedicated his life. What Blaine wanted more than anything was to be out there, kicking down doors, tearing Crispin’s location out of his subordinates by force. But there were other Heroes who could do that job, some better than he. This was something only Blaine could do.
“No, sir, I do not. Everything I could submit or say has been presented. There is nothing new to add, so I am ready to hear your findings.”
Blaine had faced death countless times, yet, as the senator leaned forward and began to read from the paper in his wrinkled hands, he still felt a wave of fear try to drag him into despair. He wasn’t afraid for his own career or position; all Blaine cared about was protecting his staff and students from the fallout. If he could be the only casualty, Blaine would consider it an unmitigated triumph.
“The attack by the Sons of Progress on Lander’s campus highlighted many weaknesses and failures in the HCP campus’s defense protocol,” Senator Malcolm began. “Given the fact that Supers with new, unexpected abilities are constantly surfacing, we’ve always known that no area could be designated as completely unassailable. Thus, when the protocol fails, it falls upon the Heroes on staff to react in ways no mere system could. Your reaction failed to capture the man leading the attack, put uncertified students into a combat situation, and cost one of them her life.”
Senator Malcolm paused, taking a sip of water from a nearby glass and moving on to the next page in his hands. There was a tense, heavy silence as the elderly man found what he was looking for in the document. Blaine had been on the other side of authority enough to mark the pageantry for what it was. They were keeping him dangling, reminding him that for all the power he might possess, they were the ones in control.
“However, the actions you took also saved more civilian lives than we are presently able to determine, though the best estimates put it in the hundreds. Your students were technically empowered to act as emergency responders, so we cannot fault you for using them as such. And you did manage to bring down the enhanced Supers employed by the Sons of Progress without losing a single Hero. There is good and bad on both sides of the scale, often so interwoven it’s impossible to tell how things would have fallen if you’d taken different actions.”
Setting the papers down, Senator Malcolm looked at the legendary Hero with stern yet uncertain eyes. “Let me level with you here, Blaine. This is a fuck-up. The Hero world just took one on the chin. Most people want to burn you at the stake for it, lay all the blame on your shoulders and come up with a laundry list of mistakes you made to explain away how an HCP college could suffer such an attack. Your junior wasn’t the only life lost. There are families out there howling for blood. The only thing that’s stopping me from making the easy choice is this: we talked to the deans and staff of every other HCP, and none of them could tell us a better way to handle the situation. Methods differed, since they have their own staff, but at the end of the day, everyone backed you.”
Blaine felt a rush of gratitude for his fellow deans and professors. The spirit of competition between the HCP colleges was no secret, but the bond of fellow Heroes went far deeper than that. Moreover, what meant the most was that Blaine knew if they did see a better way, they’d have told the DVA. They’d have had to. Right now, new procedures and protocols to better protect the students were being drafted. Keeping them safe came before anything else.
“Since I’m not inclined to punish a man for doing nothing wrong, I can’t say that torching you for this sits right with me. More than that, though, things are harsh out there right now. With Crispin still at large, there’s no telling when, or if, another attack might come. Robbing Lander of one its greatest Heroes and most experienced educators when it needs you most… no, if I let that happen, then I become the one who destroyed Lander. Therefore, this task force finds that given the threats you were facing, the actions of you and your staff were well-considered and justified. There is no human fault, and as such, no punishments for any of you. Honestly, I’d offer commendations, but that wouldn’t sit well if it got leaked.”
“Thank you, Senator.” Blaine rose from his chair slowly, only half-certain that what he’d heard was real. He kept waiting for guards to rush him, to take him by surprise and drag him off to a cell somewhere. “I have to ask, though; you said the public needed a scapegoat. I don’t disagree with that assessment, and as much as I’d hate to be it, I can’t sit idle if I know someone else is taking my place.”
“Sit or stand, it’s all the same to me.” Senator Malcolm took another sip of water before meeting the dean’s eyes. “The error was in the protocol that failed to account for powers we should have seen coming. As the DVA chairman, the buck for that stops with me. In a few weeks, I’ll be stepping down from my post with apologies. The public can have someone to blame, and I’ll be free to spend more time with my grandchildren.”
“Senator… you love your post.” Senator Malcolm had fought and clawed his way into his position decades ago and had rebuffed all attempts by others to take it for themselves. He was a tough old man, but he tried to balance the difficulties Heroes faced with the duty owed to the public. While far from universally loved, he was highly respected, which, in the Hero world, mattered far more.
“I do,” Senator Malcolm agreed. “But age is catching up with me. Sooner or later, they’re going to shove me out of here, and I don’t have the energy to fight like I used to. Better t
o go out on my own terms, I think. Make it count for something. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that sentiment to you.”
“No, sir, you don’t.” Lowering his head, Dean Blaine turned from the five people watching him and strode down the short walkway to the door. With his position secure, it was time to turn his attention toward all the tasks that only a dean could handle.
There was much to be done before the new school year began.
* * *
“Another three have fallen, sir.” Sherman laid the file down in front of Crispin, who snatched it up and began to read. “The Sons of Progress are being ripped apart far more effectively than we anticipated. Somehow, they’ve run down nearly every member of our leadership staff.”
“It’s not ‘somehow,’ Sherman; it was the money. It’s always the money. Part of why I never sully my hands with the stuff. Necessary evil though it may be in this world, it’s too sticky. It seems the sources Nathaniel Evers used were not as secure as he led us to believe.” Crispin lowered the file with a heavy sigh. “But we always knew that would be a risk of working with such an amateur. Our ranks have swelled thanks to the prestige gained by showing Lander’s weakness; other members can be promoted to leadership. When the dust settles, I think we shall look back on this venture as a net gain.”
Sherman merely nodded as Crispin reached into his desk and pulled out a laptop that was tethered to an Ethernet cord and connected to the wall—a visual reminder that the small concrete room they were in blocked every kind of remote signal known to man and Super. It was inconvenient for taking calls or staying in touch, but it had the upside of keeping Crispin completely concealed from all the angry Supers searching for him. The tech-genius Supers, especially when given a bit of enhancement, were truly capable of crafting marvelous wonders.
“There’s something else I’d like you to look into, Sherman. I’ve been picking up some chatter here and there since we poked the Lander beehive. It seems that their HCP might be a bit different from the others, with an extra-special secret all its own. This might be nothing but rumor and hearsay, but the way it’s being so expertly squashed makes me a bit curious.”
“Of course. What should I be digging for?” Sherman had followed Crispin for years now; he had complete faith in the man’s hunches and intuition. If Crispin told Sherman to eat a bullet, he’d have trusted it was important to the cause and not given it a single second thought.
“Quite the strange rumor, actually. It seems a bit far-fetched to me—I can’t believe even the DVA and its cronies would be able to keep such a secret. However, if it is true, then this represents an opportunity unlike any other we’ve come across. This could, in fact, finally turn the tides fully in our favor. Sherman, do you know offhand how many more Powereds there are than Supers?”
“It’s hard to get a precise estimate, since many of both groups hide their abilities, but the most educated estimates would say there are two to three times more Powereds than Supers,” Sherman said, mentally pulling up the data from his most recent briefing. This was a skill, not an ability, and one he worked on daily to keep sharp.
“That’s what I found, too,” Crispin agreed. “Now, imagine how the world would change if the Sons of Progress could turn all those Powereds into Supers. Our poor, suffering brothers and sisters would be filled with gratitude towards the ones who set them free, not to mention ready for revenge against the world that looked down on them.”
“It would be quite the boon,” Sherman said. “But no one has ever found a way to turn Powereds into Supers.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought, too.” Crispin turned his laptop around and showed Sherman the screen—it showed a small message board on an out-of-the-way site deep in the internet’s catacombs. “Commit this to memory; it will likely be purged within a day or so. This is what I want you to dig up, Sherman. Find out if they really have cracked the secret. And then tell me how we can steal it.”
Sherman nodded as his eyes quickly scanned the screen. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
* * *
“Sniper.” Roy shoved Vince off the bench where he’d been eating, knocking the silver-haired Super to the dirt below.
Vince stared at him, momentarily dazed, then closed his eyes and let out a frustrated grunt. “Crap.”
“You’ll get there. It’s not supposed to be easy.” Roy leaned down and offered his hand, which Vince gladly accepted. He easily pulled the smaller man up from the ground, then took the open seat next to him and set down his own meal.
Sunlight poured down on them as they ate their cold sandwiches at the communal bench and picnic table. Aside from training with whatever Hero or Super had shown up for the week, there wasn’t really a schedule anyone had to adhere to at their little summer camp. Not anymore. Hank had given them a set number of tasks to complete each day, and so long as they accomplished those, they were free to use the rest of their time as they saw fit. This wasn’t Lander. Here, they determined the best way to better themselves on their own.
“Is Shane still sparring with Hank?” Vince asked as he dusted himself off.
“Last I checked. That guy seems pretty thrilled to have someone he can fight without hurting. Can’t say I blame him, either.” Roy tore into his ham and turkey sandwich with gusto, despite it being chilled from a morning spent wilting in a cooler. “You’ve got the afternoon shift booked, right?”
“Yeah. I like an invincible target as well. How about you?”
“Resistance training with Alice. She worked on stopping-power last time Titan visited, and now I can barely reach her. All that sparring with Mary probably helps a lot, too.”
As the discussion continued, Thomas walked over, quietly scooping a sandwich of his own from the white ice chest full of the things. As he headed to the table, he took a quick detour, grabbed Vince by the shoulder, and shoved him off the bench once more.
“Sniper,” Thomas announced.
“Crap!” Vince hurried to his feet and did his best to dust off the well-worn clothes he had been training in, but it was a losing battle. On the upside, at least his lunch wasn’t going to get any colder, no matter how much time he spent on his back.
* * *
The old man walked carefully between the headstones, making his way through the graveyard as the midday summer sun burned overhead. He didn’t search as he walked; this was a journey as familiar to him as the path home. If anyone was watching, they might have noticed he was a bit spry for one so advanced in years, but, as is often the case in a cemetery, everyone present had more pressing matters on their minds.
He arrived at the headstone to find someone already standing there, a beautiful woman with sharp features and short blonde hair. Seeing her, he let out a long breath, then walked over and stood next to her, staring down at the name on the headstone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered at last.
“I was going to say the same to you,” Clarissa replied. “There’s still a manhunt on, even if the Sons of Progress momentarily stole the spotlight.”
“I needed to come. After everything that happened… I just feel a bit lost.”
Clarissa reached out and took the old man’s arm, wrapping her own around it. “You did everything you could.”
“No, Shims. That’s the problem. I could have done—I should be doing—so much more.”
The image of the old man rippled, and then disappeared. Clarissa was familiar enough with Globe’s power to know when he was stretching an illusion. If anyone else looked upon them, they’d still see the old man and beautiful woman mourning at a grave. Only she could see his real face, and the grief etched into it.
“I could have saved so many of them. I could have stopped the Sons of Progress dead in their tracks. But I didn’t. Because if Globe came to the rescue, that truly would have killed Lander. All because the world sees me as a monster. If only… I just can’t bear the weight of many more deaths. I’m so tired, Shims. So many years spent like this. So many people I co
uld have saved, lost because I was in the shadows. I can’t take much more.”
“You won’t have to.” She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him, wishing she could squeeze him hard enough to make him see himself the way the others did. “George is close. Maybe months, maybe weeks, but he’s close. We’ll find the lab, and when we do, you’ll have all the proof you need.”
“And what a joyous day that will be.” His voice was hollow as he stared down at the marble marker in front of them. “Some days, I still think I can reach him. That there’s something I could say or do to bring him back from whatever abyss he’s fallen into. I know it’s crazy, though. Chuck is gone—at least the version of him that could be saved. He still sends flowers, though.”
The world-renowned villain nodded to the tasteful bouquet set just in front of the tombstone. It had been delivered earlier that day, a date that matched the final one on the headstone. A fresh bouquet came every year, as did ones adorning the two other gravestones Charles Adair ensured were properly decorated on their anniversaries.
“What do you think Jack would say if he could see the way things went?” Clarissa asked.
“If he were around, I doubt they ever would have gotten this far in the first place. But if he could see us now, he’d probably tell me I was trying to take on too much. ‘Supers aren’t gods’ was one of his favorite ways to remind me that even I had limits. Then again, maybe he’d say I was on the right path. He always did try to make sure I understood that power came with duty.”
“Sounds like, either way, he’d think you were doing what was right.” Clarissa released her embrace and went back to holding his arm, supporting Globe in ways even he didn’t know he needed.
“I hope so. I really do. I’ve set this course, and I’ll see it through no matter what. All I can do now is pray that it will turn out to be for the best.”
