Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  No, he was here for one patient—the lone person in the state who’d jumped out at him from the thousands upon thousands of records he’d been perusing. Honestly, Nick wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. There was so little to go on, he might stare directly at his objective and never even realize it. This was better than just records, though. Here, he could get a sense of things, trust his instincts.

  “Everything checks out,” the nurse announced. “Let me get someone to accompany you. Policy, you know.”

  “I’m well acquainted with it.” Nick’s pulse picked up, just the barest of a touch. Was he nervous? No, that was idiotic. Perhaps excited, then, though technically he had no reason to be. This was going to be one of countless dead ends; he was just getting it out of the way. Yet as he waited for another nurse to lead him down the hall, there was no denying that something in him seemed eager to get moving again.

  Perhaps it was a hunch, some collection of instincts whispering knowledge his conscious mind had missed. That was unlikely; Nick’s observational skills were highly trained, and he generally knew where his hunches came from. This didn’t feel like one of those. It was different, more ineffable.

  A new theory wiggled its way into Nick’s mind, seemingly appearing from thin air. In reality, it was a bubble that rose from his memory of last May when his power had been dialed up to an impossible level. This felt just the tiniest amount like he had then: a feeling of certainty, of knowing where all the pieces would fall. But he wasn’t using his power—even if he’d wanted to, the only sunglasses he’d brought were sitting in the rental car.

  Unless… was it possible that he was feeling luck’s presence? Nick’s very power proved that luck was more than an intangible concept, at least for him. Maybe being in ultra-mode had heightened his awareness of it. It would be a strange side effect, but no odder than his power was in the first place.

  The sound of shoes echoed down the hallway, and the feeling grew stronger. Something was happening, that much was undeniable. If he really was sensing the presence of luck, then there was one very important question he needed to answer quickly.

  Was it good fortune or ill gathering around him?

  41.

  The events of Friday had left even the highly-trained seniors exhausted, and with no call from Nick to stir up trouble, all of Melbrook was fast asleep by ten that evening. Adding to the decadence, everyone—except Chad—slept in as well. Not until almost nine did the others appear in the kitchen, hastily preparing meals to replace all the energy they’d expended the day before. Perhaps nine was still early for most college students, but those people weren’t on a rigorous class and training schedule that often had them up well before the sun.

  To their surprise, only a half hour after the Melbrook residents began moving about, Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport emerged from their apartment behind the kitchen. It wasn’t that anyone had forgotten the two men lived there; it was simply that aside from the Saturday chess game and occasional check-in, their eternal chaperones liked to give the younger Supers plenty of space. This was supposed to be like a real college experience, or as much as they could safely allow with test subjects.

  “Morning, everyone.” Mr. Transport took a long swig from a coffee cup that would have seemed unnecessarily oversized if it weren’t currently filled to the brim. “Before you all set off for the day, Mr. Numbers and I wanted to have a quick chat.”

  Chad noted that everyone else in the room seemed to tense at those words, though he didn’t know why. From his perspective, both men had always been courteous and trustworthy. Of course, they’d never left him stranded at the base of a mountain, so that might have been why he saw them in a different light.

  “Relax. It’s nothing that bad,” Mr. Numbers said, visibly reading the room. “Word came down from on high that given your special circumstances, preparations we need to make for your covers could take a little longer than normal. This means we need you all to make those choices as soon as possible to give us ample time to work in.”

  “Our covers?” Vince was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his brain barely working at half-capacity.

  “In case you graduate,” Mr. Transport told him. The taller of the misters walked to the living room and took a seat, causing the rest of the group to follow him, some with toaster pastries in hand as they did so. “Once you leave the HCP, the secret identity rule will no longer technically be in effect, meaning you are free to live openly as a Hero, as many have before. However, due to all the risks that come with that, the DVA provides a helping hand in the form of setting up cover identities for those who want them.”

  “Basically, we run you through real corporations, just operating under special branches or classifications. You exist on the books, but your real work is as a Hero. That way, you’ve got a ready-made explanation for when anyone in the mundane world asks what you do,” Mr. Numbers added.

  “So that’s what we wanted to talk with you all about.” Mr. Transport pulled five flash drives out of his pocket and set them down on the coffee table. “First off, these stay in the dorms. If taken outside, they’re essentially set to liquefy and become unusable. On each one, you’ll find aptitude tests for fields related to every major in order to find a job that fits you well. Choose your major, take the tests, peruse your options, and pick a career path you think you can pull off. Remember, you don’t actually have to do the job, you just have to be able to convince people that you do.”

  “Though we are supposed to mention that, should you not make it to Hero graduation, this would be a useful tool for picking a non-HCP career.” The sour expression on Mr. Numbers’ face made it clear how felt about passing along such a message. “Chad, the rest of the class will have to do these later in the year, but since you’re living here, it made more sense to knock yours out along with everyone else.”

  “Take a few weeks to make your choices,” Mr. Transport instructed them. “We’ll want to know your chosen covers by the middle of October.”

  “You know what, speaking of majors, I’ve got a question for Vince,” Hershel said, twisting over to look at the still sleepy student. “What major did you end up picking, you know, outside of the HCP? Freshman year you were undecided, and with all the HCP stuff, I never thought to ask what you landed on.”

  “Oh… well, I had a meeting with an advisor last year, and she asked me what I really knew a lot about and enjoyed,” Vince said. “The only thing I could think of was traveling, since I did so much of it for most of my life. She said that sounded like a good fit for a Geography major, and I just sort of went along with it… Mostly because it didn’t come with any extra math requirements.”

  “Huh, I guess it’s not the worst match,” Alice noted. “Though I’ll be damned if I know what sort of cover you can manage with a degree in geography.”

  “They’ve had to work with far worse,” Mr. Numbers assured her.

  “I have a question.” Chad politely raised his hand as he spoke. When no one talked over him, he took the cue to continue, lowering his arm in the process. “This seems to all work off the assumption that we want to have cover identities. What if we decide to live in the open as soon as we leave the HCP?”

  “Well, you’re free to do that, but it will severely limit your internship options,” Mr. Transport replied. “Remember, your mentors will be taking you along, teaching you like a live-in student. If you don’t have a cover, then that exposes them as well, since anytime they’re seen with you without their mask it risks their identity. I’m not saying there are none who would take you, just know that you’d be working from a much smaller pool.”

  “Ah, that explains it,” Chad said. He looked around the room at the confused stares and explained. “I always wondered why Angela was so willing to accept keeping her identity a secret when she left the HCP. Her identities are so close to one another, I’d expected her to at least consider not bothering with it. But if it limited her training options, she’d obviously draw a li
ne between Angela and Charon.”

  “Most Heroes do,” Mr. Numbers told them. “And that’s not an accident. It’s good to get out into the world and see what things are like before making that kind of decision. Remember, there are a lot of safeguards to protect your identity, but once you choose to release it, that genie can never be put back in the bottle. Your mundane life is a precious thing. Don’t let it go easily.”

  “But for now, just worry about taking the tests and choosing a good cover.” Mr. Transport tapped the flash drives for emphasis. “I urge you to take it seriously. This is your fake future we’re talking about, after all.”

  42.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know,” Will whispered. He and Camille were seated by wilting plants, away from the rest of the small group (but still larger than they’d hoped) of attendees waiting for the meeting to begin. The Lander Student Center was vast and largely deserted—not much of a surprise on a Saturday afternoon. One of the more moderately-sized meeting rooms had its doors open, homemade posters alerting all to what was happening inside.

  As the time to start drew near, Camille felt familiar knots of tension in her stomach. She would probably never get over having poor nerves, but she’d long ago learned to push past them and focus on the task at hand—be it a battle or something she was less experienced with.

  “That’s my line,” she told Will. “I’m the one who invited you along.”

  “I was just throwing it out there.” Will turned slightly away, carefully examining the faces of the other nearby students.

  “Were you really going to just let this slide without keeping tabs on them?” Camille asked.

  “No, but my methods involved a less personal touch.” Will sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Though I suppose there is something to be said for firsthand experience.”

  “Excuse me, everyone.” A tall woman with clearly dyed red hair stepped into the hall, drawing all eyes to her. “If you could come on in, we’re about ready to get started.”

  Camille and Will joined the rest of the herd as they filed into the room. Rows of padded folding chairs were set up for people to rest on. Camille took a bit of vicious joy in the fact that there were far more seats than people; they weren’t drawing as much of a crowd as they’d hoped. Then again, she would have preferred to see the room entirely empty, so it was a bitter victory.

  No one seemed to pay much attention to either her or Will as they made their way to a pair of chairs near the middle of the room, far enough back to not be crowded but not so near the exit as to draw attention to themselves. Both of them had worn loose, layered clothing to hide their physiques. It was one of the reasons she’d asked Will to come along—his naturally slender frame meant that while three years of HCP training had left him strong and toned, when well-covered he could appear scrawny. Being fit was hardly a dead giveaway of HCP students in a school this size—there were dozens of sports and athletic clubs without even counting the people who just liked to exercise—but every little bit they could do to blend in was key. Powers aside, neither she nor Will stood out as particularly remarkable, and for once, that was something she considered a strength.

  The room quickly settled as the other attendees found seats; mercifully none of them came too close to Will and Camille. Not that they would do anything as risky or stupid as trying to talk during the meeting, but she still preferred not to sit any closer to these people than she had to. Even being here made her skin want to crawl. She found herself suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that her power hadn’t forced her to go the Subtlety route.

  “Afternoon, everyone.” The redhead was now standing at the front of the room, a large whiteboard and folding table filled with fliers behind her. “As many of you know, my name is Kennedy Dawson, and I’m one of the students who has helped shape this activist group. Now, some of you are familiar faces, but I see a lot of newcomers in the crowd as well, so please forgive me while I briefly introduce what we’re trying to accomplish here. Simply put: in light of last year’s events, we believe that it is no longer safe to house Hero Certification Programs on campuses with normal, non-Super students. While no one here wants to disparage the work that actual Heroes do, this situation puts us in unnecessary danger. It is our goal to make the administration recognize that fact and take action to correct it. We want to take Lander back for the regular people.”

  Years of shyness and forced facial control paid off as Camille fought to keep a sour expression from breaking through her placid facade. Will also remained stoic, which was the other reason she’d chosen him to come along. Showing up as a lone woman to something like this risked inviting unnecessary romantic attention—Camille wasn’t particularly prideful about her looks, however she’d been hit on enough to know it was a possibility—but the other men she trusted were a little too passionate. None of them would be able to hold his tongue listening to this. Much as she loved him, not even polite and sociable Vince would remain silent if he heard something he felt was wrong. That attitude had its place, but this wasn’t it. They just needed to know what was happening. Information was worth more than speaking up, for the moment.

  “Now, there have been some concerns raised, probably by the HCP members themselves, that this sort of rhetoric falls in line with hate groups like the Sons of Progress,” Kennedy continued. “So I want to take this moment and make it clear that we are in no way a group calling for any sort of harm or end to Heroes or the Supers training to become them. We have lots of respect for what they do; we just want them to do it somewhere else.”

  “You know Lander was founded as a school for the HCP in the first place, right?” The voice came from a broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut, sitting by himself near the back of the room. “So saying you want to take it back is inaccurate. This place exists because the Heroes needed a place to train where they could still get an education. Without them, you wouldn’t even be here.”

  “It’s just a phrase we picked to encapsulate our goal.” To her credit, Kennedy handled the interruption with surprising calm, even smiling at the man as he glared at her.

  “Uh huh. And what about all the Supers and Powereds who aren’t with the HCP? Do you think they need to get off campus as well?”

  “Of course not. We are certainly not advocating for any policies that infringe upon the civil liberties of Supers or Powereds.” Kennedy’s words were so crisp, it betrayed the fact that they’d obviously been rehearsed.

  “Your type never does, at first.” A few of the other organization members who’d been lined up near Kennedy had worked their way around to the man with the buzz cut, who stood from his chair as they drew closer, revealing just how much larger he was than them. From the way he held himself, Camille had a good hunch it wasn’t useless muscle, either. If it came to violence, her money was on the buzz cut, and not just because she really wanted him to win.

  “I’ll go on my own, thanks,” he offered to the people edging towards him. “But if you want to try and grab me, I’ll welcome the chance to exercise self-defense. I’ve heard enough, anyway. I know the makings of a hate group when I see one.” He literally spat on the floor as he walked past one of the men sent to grab him, his face red, daring anyone to try and get too close. “The HCP students weren’t the ones who attacked us, you know. They risked everything to help us. One of them saved my best friends. So you have your little meetings, stir up the same anti-Super bullshit, but know that you’re not going at this uncontested. We stopped the administration from kicking them out of the housing, and we’ll get you shut down as well.”

  With that, he pushed open the door and slammed it behind him.

  “Sorry about that, everyone,” Kennedy said, somehow still composed after that tirade. “As you can see, emotions on the subject run high, which is why we have to be all the more stalwart in our determination. Some people are going to react poorly, even though we’ve got the school’s best interests at heart. Don’t worry though, we’re all committed to supporting
one another, and if we keep at it, together we can make a difference at Lander.”

  Her cheery tone lightened the room as the faces of the more devoted students lit up with fresh hope. Crazy as it was, there was always the chance that this movement could pick up steam and, as Kennedy has promised, change the very face of Lander.

  And that was exactly what Camille was afraid of.

  43.

  Alice strolled into the meeting room where Professor Pendleton was already waiting, feet propped on the desk and romance novel in hand. He glanced over to acknowledge her arrival but held a finger up, instructing her to wait, and then turned the page.

  “Rodrigo too swarthy to put down?”

  “Professing his admiration for the countess in a truly touching scene,” Professor Pendleton replied. “But you’ve already spoken and ruined the spell, so I’ll have to start over once you leave.” He slipped a bookmark between the pages and placed the book in a drawer, simultaneously pulling out a file that he then flipped open on the desk.

  “Right then, time for your exam evaluation. So far as combat goes, there wasn’t much in the way of notes to give. You used your power well, controlling the battlefield to make it easier on the other students and only destroying limbs when necessary. You did a good job at keeping the battles quick and contained, which helped minimize the civilian bots that were destroyed. Overall, we were impressed by the way you took charge and handled the situation. That said, you had two key failings in the exam, and I’m sure you already know what one of them is.”