by Hayes, Drew
“We’re the ones who allowed a Sim to crush a building and kill a civilian.” Alice could still remember the Sim breaking away, trying to jump Rich from the side. Unfortunately, that path had taken it through a one-story house that it turned to rubble in the process. In that moment, she’d had a hunch they’d lost an innocent, and Dean Blaine’s announcement had only served to confirm it.
“Bullseye,” Professor Pendleton said. “If you want to take charge like that, manipulating the battlefield, then you have to be good enough to account for unexpected movements. As you know, you direct your own training this year, so I’d recommend putting an emphasis on strategic positioning and mock battles. Don’t just expect the unexpected: become a damn oracle. See what an opponent will do before they even know it. This one is easy to shrug off; it was just a robot, after all. But when the time comes that you make a mistake and a real life is lost, it won’t be nearly so easy to deal with. The better you are at what you do, the longer you delay that event.”
“Understood.” Thinking back now, Alice could envision a half-dozen ways she might have halted the Sim before it hit that house, but that was all afterthought. She had to see these options in the moment or she may as well not pick up on them at all.
“Had a feeling you would.” Professor Pendleton flipped a page in the file, even though he barely needed to glance at it to know what was contained there. “Your other mistake was not checking up on Mary’s team after your first fight ended. At that very moment, they were about to be flanked by a second unit of Sims. They won, obviously, but it was a much harder battle than it would have been if you and Shane had stopped by.”
“Hang on. I’ll own the dead civilian robot, that’s on me and I accept it, but I don’t consider trusting my teammates to handle their own work to be a mistake,” Alice said. “I knew Mary was strong enough to get the job done, and I had faith in her judgment to call for backup if she needed it.”
“Which is a point that will definitely get brought up on Mary’s evaluation,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “But for now, we’re talking about you. At the time you made the call to go hunt Sims, both of the active fights were being dealt with. The Sims who were posted throughout the city didn’t pose an immediate threat to anyone, yet you still decided to run off without so much as checking on your allies nearby. Even if you didn’t fly to her, which would have taken moments, you could have radioed in. Yes, Mary and the others won that fight, but it cost unnecessary time and caused collateral damage. If you’d spared half a minute, that wouldn’t have been the case, and they could have gone to assist with the bigger battle.”
“So, I’m supposed to spend every battle babysitting my teammates?” Alice asked.
“No one’s saying that. But you do need to learn to communicate.” Professor Pendleton tapped the file in front of him like he was trying to punch through it with just a finger. “Do you know why one of the first things the Sons of Progress did was try to take out our communications? It wasn’t just so that we couldn’t call for backup; it was an attempt to keep us from talking to each other. As a Subtlety major, you know the value of information. That value doesn’t vanish on a battlefield; if anything, it increases. Communication, strategy, and allocation of assets can make all the difference in combat. The more you know, the more powerful you are.”
Alice met his eyes for several seconds before finally allowing her head to dip slightly. “I guess you might have a small point. In the next exam, I’ll try to be better about talking to everyone.”
“With a team, you’ll often create a verbal shorthand so that you can rapidly relay information between yourselves with only a few words,” Professor Pendleton said. “Might be something to read up on, especially if you can get the rest of the class on board. Anyway, aside from those screw-ups, you handled yourself well. Use the mistakes to learn and improve so that you can make a set of fresh ones in the next trial. Oh, and speaking of improvement: I got word that your special Subtlety training tool should be ready by Thursday, so be braced for something new.”
“You’ve sure got me curious.” Alice paused, waiting for the professor to continue. When she was met with silence, she decided to broach the looming topic herself. “But for now, let’s hit the big question: what are the new combat rankings? You definitely assessed us off of this, right?”
“That we did,” Professor Pendleton said. “However, you might have noticed that not everyone saw much time in battle. Seeing as we have these senior trials monthly, it made more sense to do a cumulative evaluation. The new rankings will be released at the start of next semester, just in time for you all to start debating who to send to Intramurals.”
“Come on, not even a hint?” Alice opened her green eyes wide and put on her best charming smile.
Professor Pendleton’s response was to lean back in his chair once more, pulling out the romance novel and flipping through the pages. “Here’s a hint: you’re training to be a Subtlety Hero. If you want information, dig for it.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?” Alice rose from her seat and headed for the door, but before she took the knob, Professor Pendleton called to her.
“I’ll say just this much: if you keep performing like you did last Friday, I’d be shocked if we didn’t see a Subtlety major hit the top five. And that’s a pretty rare occurrence, so I think I might like to witness it.”
Alice smiled and opened the door. “Then I guess I have some training to do.”
44.
“I’m curious, does this clandestine organization have any sort of requisition form, or do I just submit my order verbally? Because honestly, that seems like a great way to let lots of things fall through the cracks.”
The others had barely gotten in their seats when Nick spoke, taking charge of the meeting before it could properly begin. He, along with Dean Blaine, Mr. Numbers, Mr. Transport, and Professor Fletcher were all gathered in the abandoned Hero bunker, the same place they’d had all of their off-the-books-meetings since Nick’s mental resurrection. Often Professor Stone and Professor Pendleton joined them, but sometimes it was just impossible for everyone to slip away. Better to give reports later than risk discovery. Secrecy was everything here.
“It depends on what you want,” Dean Blaine told him, already too accustomed to the outbursts. “If it’s something standard, I can probably get it whenever I have to order more equipment and Sims—a very regular occurrence, as you can imagine. If it’s something special, that could be a little more difficult.”
“Truth be told, I’m not totally sure which camp it fits in,” Nick admitted. “Basically, I want one of those sleepy-time headbands like Coach George used on Mary freshman year.”
“Ah.” Dean Blaine glanced at Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport. “Those are a bit of an issue. They’re classified as forceful Super suppression gear. Not much use in a real fight, since you have to get it around their head, but once it’s on, you can contain almost any Super indefinitely. The indefinite part is why the DVA regulates them carefully. If that tech fell into the wrong hands, it could be dangerous for a lot of people. Lander has some on hand as a necessary safeguard when training young Supers, but if one were to go missing, it would be quickly noticed.”
“From your look at these two, I’m guessing they have a couple as well, just in case one of us ever totally lost it.” Nick turned to Mr. Numbers, who nodded confirmation.
“The trouble with ours is that they’re hardwired to send a signal to our organization the minute one is used. That wasn’t originally the case, but after Mr. Transport and I stepped in freshman year, there was concern that we might try to cover it up if one of you needed suppressing, so precautions were implemented.”
“Let’s take this a step back,” Professor Fletcher said. “Why do you need a knock-out band in the first place?”
“That much I’d think was obvious,” Nick told him. “For Alice.”
“You might want to elaborate on that,” Dean Blaine said. “And be thankf
ul that Sean isn’t here. I doubt he’d take kindly to you suggesting we incapacitate his niece.”
Nick sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m not saying Alice needs putting down, but we all know that right now there is exactly one—count them, one—real thread we have to pull on: Abridail, the mystery man from her dreams who seems to have all the answers we’re after.”
“Who has them and was very emphatic about not giving them to Alice,” Dean Blaine reminded him.
“Right, but let’s say that just maybe that’s changed,” Nick replied. “For argument’s sake. Now, we can’t keep using Rich to put her down; even he’ll catch on eventually. But Abridail doesn’t seem to show up unless she goes into a weird coma state. I figured one of those sleep devices was as close as we were going to get to replicating what Rich does.”
“Actually, that’s exactly the wrong direction,” Mr. Numbers corrected. “Those bands work by shutting down everything nonessential for life, creating an almost dreamless sleep, like a perfect blackout. Near as we can figure from seeing how Rich’s ability works, he dials up the mind’s processing but turns it inward, trapping it in its own delusions.”
“Well, shit. Do we have a device that does that?” Nick looked back and forth around the room, genuinely curious to see if he’d get an answer. One never knew what the tech geniuses of the world were cooking up behind the scenes.
“Not that I’m aware of, and I’m one of the first people who would be made aware of exactly that sort of thing,” Dean Blaine said. “There are some other options available, but they won’t be easy to obtain, so I’m going to need a little more than ‘for argument’s sake’ to justify going down those routes. What makes you think having her talk to Abridail again will be worth the effort?”
A wry grin wriggled onto Nick’s face. “Her? Nothing. She did a great job getting so much out of him already, but we’ve reached the limits of what guilt and diplomacy can accomplish. No, now that we know Mary can drag folks along into dream states, I think it’s high time that I had a discussion with this Abridail fellow.”
“Mary’s power is hardly news,” Mr. Transport pointed out. “Why now? Why do you suddenly think you can get more out of him?”
“Because I’m not going to try and appeal to his humanity or goodness. I’m going to do exactly what I spent a lifetime being trained to do,” Nick said. “I’m going to make a deal.”
“You’re obfuscating.” Dean Blaine leaned forward, locking eyes with his former student. “I’m keenly aware that trust doesn’t come easy to you, so let me make this clear: what you want will require cost and risk from me, and I am more than willing to pay both if it gets us closer to our goal, but not without a solid reason. Cards on the table, or find your own resource.”
Slowly, Nick reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a thick wad of folded paper. He slid it down the table’s recently polished surface, where it came to a stop inches in front of Dean Blaine, who unfolded it. He read through each page carefully, taking in every detail before handing it off to his right, where Professor Fletcher began to peruse the document.
“Solid enough?” Nick asked.
“It’s still a bit of a stretch,” Dean Blaine said. “We don’t even know if that’s the right person.”
“Near as I can tell, everything lines up. Yes, I could be wrong, but we’re never going to be certain if you don’t help me get that meeting inside Alice’s head. Besides, I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” Nick smiled again, though this one was less showy. It was quick and cunning, much like the young man who wore it.
“And lately, I’ve been learning to listen to my hunches.”
45.
Hershel was pretty sure he felt something in his hand snap as he blocked Vince’s kick, and the throbbing rush of pain confirmed the suspicion seconds later. Still, he kept his focus on the fight, doing all he could to halt the assault of strikes that flowed seamlessly from his opponent, like a river of pain crashing over him. Months of training had made Hershel better, but that only meant he managed to block a couple of the attacks instead of taking them all at full-force.
In a lot of ways, sparring Vince reminded Hershel of Roy’s time with Chad freshman year. The difference between them seemed immeasurable: a lifetime’s worth of training made Vince into a seasoned combatant, while Hershel was struggling just to figure out where the next punch might come from. Oddly, those memories of Chad beating Roy senseless filled Hershel with hope, of all things. Roy might not have closed the gap between himself and Lander’s top student, but he’d unquestionably narrowed it. If he could do something that incredible, then Hershel could at least improve. Besides, in every session where Hershel truly pushed his limits, win or lose, he increased Roy’s potential, and that was the real goal.
His mind had wandered, which was why Vince’s next strike seemed to manifest from thin air—a punch on course to dislocate Hershel’s jaw, more than likely. With no time to think, something like instinct—but not quite the same—took over. Hershel leaned back, just barely avoiding the blow while punching with a counterattack of his own. It was easily the best strike he’d thrown all day, which wasn’t to say it was enough. Vince still caught the blow and flipped Hershel to the ground.
“Going to need a second,” Hershel wheezed, the air from his lungs largely absent.
In an instant, Vince was there, his focused battle expression replaced by the usual mix of guilt and concern. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to spar earnestly, and every time there was an injury, Hershel feared his friend would call off their training arrangement. This ended up being good, overall, because it forced Hershel to fight through the pain rather than let on how much he was hurting.
“Are you okay? I can go get Jada,” Vince offered. Jada was the bubbly sophomore healer currently on duty outside the sparring rooms. While it was nice to have Camille around, she did have her own training and work to do, which meant that sometimes they had to use whatever healer was volunteering to help people while they trained. Jada wasn’t quite as potent as Camille, and mended the injuries rather than stealing them, but her kind bedside manner helped. And something was working; since they’d returned to Lander, Hershel had definitely noticed an uptick in the ratio of his training to Roy’s increasing potential.
“Fine,” Hershel assured him. “Just catching my breath.”
Vince nodded, but sat cross-legged by his friend, intent on waiting nearby just in case Hershel changed his mind. “That last dodge was really good, by the way. You nearly caught me off guard.”
“Enough training, and even I’m bound to learn something,” Hershel replied.
“You’re making great progress,” Vince assured him. “Remember, all your training partners are seniors in the HCP, and a lot of us were doing this sort of stuff for years beforehand. Comparing where you are to where we are isn’t fair to yourself. By normal standards, you’d be able to hold your own by now.”
“Pity we don’t play by normal standards.” Hershel tested his chest. It was once again taking in breath with only moderate complaints, though there was now an ache in his ribs from where he’d hit the ground. It was always strange, having Roy’s memories and knowing how much his brother could endure, then doing these sparring sessions and feeling every single blow. Sometimes Hershel thought that he might understand the divide between humans and Supers better than anyone.
A loud rumble echoed beyond a wall of their combat cell, causing both Vince and Hershel to tense up. Despite all the assurances from the staff, the countless new security measures, and the DVA’s presence on-site, deep down there was a part of them that was always waiting for the next attack to come.
Several seconds later, the door to their cell opened and Jada popped her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to let you know that that was a freshman from a few cells over. Probably won’t be the last one, but didn’t want anyone to worry.” She closed the door behind her, off to pass the message along to
the other people currently sparring.
“Did she say a few cells over?” Vince asked.
“She did indeed,” Hershel told him. “I’ve got a pretty good idea about the cause, too. One of the freshman matches I oversaw had a girl with a hell of a lot of power and not nearly enough control.”
“That’s a problem I can feel for.” Vince hopped up in one movement, then reached down and helped Hershel to his feet. “But if she can get that control anywhere, it’s here. Look at what Lander did for me.”
“Trust me, Roy had a great view of you in the trial. I’m all too aware of what Lander has done for you.” Hershel could still see, through his brother’s eyes, the bolts of lightning, blasts of fire, and Sims falling under Vince’s precise punches. More than once, Roy had wondered how he’d beat Vince in a fight if they were ever matched against one another. While there were a few ideas swirling around Hershel and Roy’s thoughts, there was also no question that it would be one hell of a tough fight.
“I’d say the test went pretty well for all of us,” Vince corrected. “The only thing I was disappointed in was my review. They told me the tactical decisions I made were wrong and that I have to work on those, but there wasn’t much commentary on my fighting. Honestly, now that I’ve finally gotten some control over different energies, I’m a little lost on how to proceed. I guess I can keep doing more of the same training, maybe try and experiment with some new ones, but I feel like that’s starting to pay off less. I’d be better off figuring out my weaknesses and working on them.”
“Oh yes, all those incredible weaknesses of yours,” Hershel teased. “How about you live with the diminishing returns and leave a little glory for the rest of us?”
“You forget, I saw Roy fighting too. I don’t think you two are going to have any trouble seizing plenty of glory for yourself,” Vince said. “He keeps getting tougher and stronger, almost by the fight. I’m not completely certain my normal attacks would even work against him anymore.”
