Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  Slowly, Globe turned away and began to walk back down the cemetery path, Clarissa still gently holding his arm. Behind them, a gust of wind caught the fresh bouquet, blowing a few delicate petals against the headstone marking the grave of Detective Jack Reynolds.

  * * *

  Nick sat atop the remains of what had once been a water tower, watching his friends as they trained, ate, and scurried about. He’d found the place on his second week at their makeshift summer camp, and since then he’d scarcely let a day pass without climbing up to think for at least a few minutes. It kept things in perspective, reminded him that while training in the dirt with the others was fine, it was his responsibility to keep an eye on the big picture.

  Things outside their little camp were bad. Worse than the others knew. Getting them away from all forms of media had been a smart call—none of them needed to hear the sorts of accusations being bandied about regarding Lander. At least Dean Blaine would still be around; hearing that news had lifted a tremendous weight from Nick’s shoulders. Of course, Lander, along with every other HCP campus, would likely be crawling with the DVA now, and perhaps for good reason. Being taken off guard was one thing—any opponent with sufficient time, money, and planning could overwhelm even the best defenses—but not learning from it, failing to tighten security in the wake of what had happened, now that truly would be a mistake to lay at the HCP’s door.

  They’d have to deal with all of that soon enough; summer was already winding down. Only a little while left to live in this sprawling, dusty oasis before they had to go back. Months of healing might be undone simply by walking on campus. That much, unfortunately, Nick couldn’t help with. It was up to each of them to decide if they were willing to walk back into that world, now that they really understood what it entailed.

  And it was Nick’s job to watch over the ones who stayed, whether they wanted it or not.

  * * *

  Mr. Numbers ducked a shower of sparks flying from the nearby crew, hopping so close to Mr. Transport that he nearly bowled the taller man over. Mr. Transport took the cue and swung wide, giving Mr. Numbers enough room to steer clear of the men working tirelessly on the lift system.

  “Do we know where they’ll be going yet?” Mr. Transport asked.

  “I’m sure someone does,” Mr. Numbers replied. “The only thing I’ve been told is that the exits had to be moved—at least all the ones that were used for civilians.”

  “I imagine it will still be quite difficult for the students to slip away, now that their classmates know the system they’re using to vanish from plain sight.” Mr. Transport flipped through the pages stacked on his clipboard. “No helping it, though. Not unless Lander is willing to spring for a full-time teleporter.”

  “Even then, there’s no way to coordinate so many students’ schedules,” Mr. Numbers pointed out. “But don’t be surprised if they try and get you to fill in on occasion.”

  “Sadly, I fear that’s already begun. I’ll have to make sure to start turning them down more. The last thing we need is for them to depend on me while we’re on assignment.”

  The two men, still wearing their usual suits, continued down the hallway of Lander’s underground campus, carefully avoiding more contractors from the Department of Variant Human Affairs. On top of redirecting the lifts, they were also incorporating emergency escape routes to various points both on and off campus. Similar renovations were occurring at the other four HCP campuses, as no one wanted to be caught in a situation where they were pinned down again. Mr. Numbers had even heard rumblings that the backup security designed to test whether a campus had been cut off from communication was having its frequency increased from every hour to every fifteen minutes. No one was taking any chances with the HCP or the Heroes it produced looking vulnerable again.

  Once had done enough damage.

  “Any news on the dorm situation?” Mr. Numbers asked.

  “The school board was set to pass the new regulations quietly, but it seems a student activist group brought the issue into the public eye. Heaven only knows how they found out about it over the summer.” While Heaven might have known, Mr. Transport had no doubt how they’d found out. He’d been the one to send the emails and place a few careful fliers, not that any of it would trace back to him. “Looks like they’re rallying the students who remain in town over the summer and refusing to let the issue go uncontested.”

  “Good. After we finish today’s meetings, let’s swing by and see if there’s anything we can help with. Discreetly, of course.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Transport agreed.

  Turning a corner, they arrived at the door to Dean Blaine’s office. Inside was the rest of Lander’s teaching staff, as well as a few representatives from the DVA. These lackeys were at least the silent type, here to observe and report, not interfere. Both men considered them a pleasant alternative to dealing with Ralph Chapman, though neither said it out loud.

  After his help last year, Lander’s most bothersome DVA agent had earned a small, begrudging kernel of everyone’s respect. It didn’t mean they enjoyed him, but it did halt them from being quite so vocal with their dislike.

  * * *

  “Senator Malcolm, if I may—”

  “Ralph, your arguments have been heard, logged, and noted,” the senator snapped, turning to face the younger politician head-on. “Now, I may only have a short time left as the DVA’s acting chair, but I’m still in charge, and I say the exemption is allowed.”

  Around him, the room of agents, assistants, and general help watched silently from their seats at the conference table. An old projector whirred gently as it struggled to keep the image up on the white screen. Everyone waited to see if Ralph Chapman would let the matter pass, or keep pestering like he had on so many other occasions.

  “I just worry that it sets a precedent,” Ralph began once more. He’d barely gotten the words out before Senator Malcolm replied, his voice no longer as controlled or cultivated.

  “You’re goddamned right it sets a precedent, and I’m glad it does. If some crazy sons of bitches storm an HCP campus, killing civilians and targeting our students, then they get to have a break on the cuts. Or is it your opinion that after being attacked by madmen and burying one of their own, we should have forced the students to take their final exams?”

  Senator Malcolm turned his gaze from Ralph to the stenographer who was dutifully recording the session. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that this meeting was on public record, and anything said in it could be used freely in the future. Senator Malcolm was on his way out, he could swear and take stands as much as he liked. Ralph Chapman, on the other hand, still had ambition. His words mattered, to his future self if no one else. And coming down hard on people who’d gone through a tragedy was a risky stance to take, Super or not.

  “No, sir,” Ralph said at last. “I was just advocating some extra testing at the start of term to get their numbers in compliance with the other programs. If people think Lander is getting special treatment, it’s only going to hurt them in the long term.”

  “The graduating number is still the same, and at the end of this year, all the classes will be cut back down to regulation size. Given what Lander’s been through, I’m not going to ask more of them than we do from the others.” Senator Malcolm looked down at the papers in front of him and carefully checked a few figures.

  “Besides, with the way we’re getting hammered out there, classes being too large might be the opposite of our problem.”

  * * *

  Her blonde hair was matted to her skull, the twin terrors of effort and heat drenching the long strands in copious sweat. Alice shoved a section back, making sure she had a clear line of vision, and focused on the boulder. It began to wobble, then plummeted several feet down before its descent slowed to an eventual stop. Taking a deep breath, Alice turned the area’s gravity up even higher, and the stone began to wobble once more.

  Seated roughly fifty yards away, Mary was staring at the sa
me boulder. Unlike Alice, her job was to try and raise the thing as high as she could. They’d been undertaking this same exercise since the first week of summer, Hank pitting them against each other to create a resistance workout. At first, Mary had easily been able to negate Alice’s gravitational warping, but with every passing day, the fight got a little harder. Now, with summer drawing to a close, the matches went on for tens of minutes. They both knew they’d grown in power—though without something outside the camp to test themselves against, neither was certain of how much. The others were no help either: Hank had them on their own training regiments that were yielding exceptional results.

  Five more minutes passed before Mary was finally able to pull the boulder so high it appeared to pass the water tower, the marker they’d set for a telekinetic victory. Letting out a long sigh, she lowered it back to the ground while Alice rose from her seat, floating up from the ground rather than bothering to get up under her own power. The blonde walked over, meeting Mary just as the rock settled.

  “Thought I had you that time.”

  “You say that like you haven’t already won several of these,” Mary pointed out.

  Alice met her friend’s accurate memory with a shrug and a mischievous smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to rack up a few more. Besides, you’re way ahead of me in terms of overall score.”

  “As one of our professors would no doubt say: where we were when we started is irrelevant. It’s only where we’ve reached that matters.” Mary hauled herself off the ground, using her actual arms and legs, and headed back toward the cabins. Hank had made it clear that they needed to rest between bouts, at least ten minutes, and that rehydrating was always crucial. Going to fetch some water would fix both issues.

  “I feel like that’s an easier philosophy to embrace when you’re the one in the lead,” Alice said, falling into step next to her friend. “You up for two more before we start working on finesse?”

  “Let’s do one, and I’ll see how I feel. Plus, we need to see if Alex is free.” Mary scanned the area for Alex’s thoughts as they walked, quickly locating him amidst the relatively small number of other minds. Compared to life on Lander, this was like sitting in a quiet room listening to a refrigerator hum.

  Alex was training with Roy and Chad, a fact which was hardly surprising. Since they’d arrived, he’d focused almost exclusively on mastering his ability in melee confines. Alex had even declined joining them in the boulder matches. It was curious, given how hard he’d tried to catch Mary in terms of power before, but after what Alex went through, he was entitled to a certain degree of curious behavior.

  “If he’s not, we should see if Violet is up for some aerial work,” Alice suggested. “I hate to admit it, but she’s nearly as good of a flier now as I was when I first got to Lander. The sparring has gotten downright decent.”

  “She’ll probably be with Thomas, but it’s worth a shot,” Mary agreed.

  From nearby, crackles of electricity and blasts of exploding flame could be heard. Vince, no doubt training with Hank again. Mary had been a bit skeptical about their trainer’s claim that his shield could stop any attack, but after months of easily taking everything they could dish out without so much as a scratch, she conceded that his words had turned out to be true.

  Everyone took turns working with Hank, having their progress and form checked, but Vince and Shane seemed to grab every available moment the man had. Finally being able to attack without restraint must have been freeing for them in ways Mary could only imagine. It would be good for them, too. Knowing their limits would make them all the more effective in combat. Mary had only been exposed to a few stray thoughts about the state of Lander, but she was keenly aware that they’d need to be very strong if they wanted to make it through the next year.

  A set of knuckles rapping lightly on her skull pulled Mary’s mind away from thoughts and speculation, bringing it back to the matter of the blonde woman knocking on her forehead.

  “Hellooooo. Mary? You in there?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “Dunno. You were definitely drifting off, though.” Alice finally ceased her light attack, though the gaze in her eyes had turned uncharacteristically serious. “Anything you might want to share with me?”

  “No news about the school, if that’s what you’re wondering. Aside from the fact that Dean Blaine and the staff are coming back, of course. But I told you that weeks ago.”

  “And yet I can’t help but get the feeling that you’re still holding out on me.”

  “People have their own fears and concerns, and I’m overhearing them; however, I wouldn’t call protecting their private worries ‘holding out’ on you.”

  “I would agree, assuming that’s all it is.” A mild sliver of accusation slithered through Alice’s words, but she looked back at the cabins they were heading toward and let the matter drop.

  Mary did her best to keep a neutral expression as Alice’s scrutiny ended. The truth of the matter was that her friend was right; there were things Mary was keeping to herself. Most of them were just what she’d claimed: personal fears and thoughts of others that she had no right to share. But some of it was a touch scarier—bits she’d gotten from Nick about how the world was processing the events at Lander.

  And the deepest secret she had, the one Mary hoped the hardest that no one would learn, was a worry that belonged solely to her. Sooner or later, she would have to tell Alice and the others. But not yet.

  Not while there was still so much work to do.

  * * *

  “You know, normally I bill by the hour. Do you even want to guess how much this mystery guest of yours running late should cost?” Hallow leaned back in the stiff, government-issued chair. Senator Malcolm’s office was moderately sized, but he’d never taken the chance to spruce it up much during his tenure. Some thought it was because he spent so little time in it that he saw no point, while others believed he preferred his guests to be uncomfortable. Very rarely were people called to Senator Malcolm’s office for positive reasons.

  “Sure, go ahead and tell me. Then we can discuss how many flight plans that plane of yours is going to have turned down by the FAA, the tax records I think the IRS needs to do a full audit on, and every other petty inconvenience I can foist upon you.” Senator Malcolm smiled from his own, far more comfortable chair, spreading his arms out across the wide desk. “I’ve got two days left, Hallow, but I’ve also got more people here who owe me favors than you can count.”

  “Here’s hoping your replacement is a little less free with abusing his power,” Hallow muttered, half under his breath.

  “Whatever happened to you, anyway? I read up on your files; you used to be one hell of a Hero. Selfless, giving, devoted to your team. How did that guy turn into the greedy, self-involved jackass I see before me?” Senator Malcolm didn’t seem accusatory, despite the harshness of his words; he came off more as simply curious. The man had been dealing with Supers and Heroes for a long time; he’d mastered the gentle grandfatherly persona he used to grill them.

  Sadly, Hallow didn’t get the chance to answer, as a sharp knock came from the door. Without waiting for permission, it opened to reveal an old man—at least a decade ahead of Senator Malcolm—with a large cane. He entered and shut the door behind him, taking care to turn the lock as he did. Only when the entrance was secure did he face the senator, his attitude anything but gentle.

  “All right, I made the damn trip here—last minute, I might add—so tell me what the hell is so important that I had to fly all the way to D.C.” The man moved with more speed than his age and the cane would indicate, helping himself to the other free chair in the room, directly next to Hallow. If he was bothered by its lack of comfort, he didn’t show it, which made Hallow feel a touch insecure about how annoyed he’d let himself be by the minor detail.

  “Graham, I’d like you to meet Hallow; Hallow, this is Graham DeSoto,” Senator Malcolm pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers on h
is desk and slid it across to Hallow. “As you may recall, you’ve signed a nondisclosure for all work done for the DVA. I just want to remind you of that, because trust me when I say that if a single word of today’s meeting leaves this room, I’ll do a lot more than give you a few small problems. You will be leveled, all that money and opulence you’re so fond of traded for a cell. You’d still get to wear white, though, so that’s something.”

  Despite the warning, Hallow merely rolled his eyes. “I’ve done DVA work before. You can skip the threats. Even I know there are some mistakes money won’t buy me out of.”

  “That’s nice and all for you, but it still doesn’t tell me why the hell I had to fly out here,” Graham interrupted.

  “Well, you’re partly here for my going-away party,” Senator Malcolm replied. “Seemed only fitting, since you were so instrumental in helping set up the DVA back when things first began. Wanted you to be here for my ending. And I decided to give you a little present while I was at it, just something to say thanks for all those years you spent helping us, and me. The man next to you is a healer unlike the world has ever seen. He’s so powerful that he can actually heal the damage from the cell degeneration of growing older. One touch, plus a bit of effort, and you can be back in your prime again.”

  Graham raised both of his gray, bushy eyebrows, staring back and forth between the senator and Hallow for several long, silent seconds.

  “This feels less like a gift than it does you trying to get me back into the field.”

  “We can’t force you—you helped draft the very legislation that makes compelling a Super into Hero-service illegal—but we damned sure would do everything we could to convince you to put the mask back on.” Senator Malcolm looked out his window onto the sprawling green ground bathed in sunlight. “Things are bad right now, Graham. Dangerous. Hard. That attack on Lander kicked up a lot of unrest, gave the wrong sort of people too much hope. Folks need to be reminded of why they believe in Heroes, of the trust they have in them. The return of Captain Starlight would put a lot of people’s minds at ease, mine among them.”