Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  “Really? I mean… you just said it was something you did with your dad.” Roy and Hershel had managed to keep things civil with Titan during their summer training, though there was never much personal interaction between any of them. Vince was led to believe that this was progress, but he was still surprised at the idea that Roy would take joy in such a memory.

  Hershel’s face pinched again, just for an instant, before he replied. “I’m sure it’s fine. Roy and I have been holding on to that grudge for so long, we’re both exhausted. This is something that brought us a lot of joy; I don’t think Owen should get to ruin it for us. And there’s a bonus to choosing this idea.”

  “What’s that?” Vince asked.

  Digging through the rack, Hershel yanked out another costume that was similar, though not quite identical, to the one he’d selected for himself. “Tag teams! Now you’ve got a costume option, too.”

  Though he put a large smile on his face, Vince covertly fumbled in his pocket for his phone, hoping to see a text about Nick’s impending arrival. Suddenly, getting railroaded by Nick’s taste in costumes didn’t seem quite so bad.

  61.

  “You want to blackmail a dream-walker?” It wasn’t the craziest plan Alice had ever heard, especially not from Nick, though it did almost demand a bit of theatrical reeling as she processed the boldness of what he was proposing. While the others were off at work or costume shopping, Nick had called her over for what he would only describe as a “very important discussion.” She’d thought perhaps he wanted to talk over the idea of a couple’s costume, though what she’d gotten was much more true to the man she’d accidentally fallen for.

  “‘Blackmail’ feels a bit strong. I’d prefer to use the carrot before the stick,” Nick said. “But yes, I will have the stick on hand just in case it’s needed. The bigger question is whether or not you’re okay with this. The whole plan somewhat hinges on using your brain to make contact, since you’re the only person he comes running to.”

  Nick wasn’t wrong; outside of allegedly doing a favor for Globe, Abridail hadn’t been so much as mentioned in anyone else’s Rich-induced naps. The “why” was simple to puzzle out at least —Abridail was checking in on her, since he was good friends with her mother, or at least claimed to be. Nick’s idea certainly had risk: there was the chance that Abridail could ignore them, leave, and never show up in a dream again. But it also had merit. There was a chance she could finally squeeze the answers she so desperately wanted out of the mysterious man: what had happened to her mother, where she was hidden, and what on earth any of it had to do with Globe. Freshman Alice would have rejected the idea outright, but years of Subtlety had changed how she thought. Now Alice’s first concern was making sure all the details were in order.

  “And you’ve got someone who can replicate Rich’s power, an unknown Super that I’m just supposed to trust?” Alice asked.

  Nick fidgeted slightly, the sofa cushion beneath him gently rustling. It was the sort of thing she’d have missed before; now she knew it marked his discomfort with the topic. He didn’t like this aspect of the plan either, it seemed.

  “We’re using a carefully selected resource, one who understands the scale of importance in discretion without knowing the actual stakes. As much as we can trust someone under contract, we can trust her,” Nick said.

  “This woman is who, exactly? Another contact from Vegas, like Eliza and Jerome?” Alice kept pushing, determined to root out whatever Nick was hiding from her. She knew he kept her in the dark about a lot of his off-campus activities and could even appreciate the need for it, since she spent her weekdays underground with DVA agents. Still, what kind of Subtlety student would she be if she didn’t try and glean every bit of information she could from a source?

  “She’s someone who comes on excellent referral.” Nick’s fidgeting stopped. He’d realized she was probing, and his expression visibly went from “empathetic friend” to “information defense” in the span of a glance. “We can call it off, if you’re not comfortable. I know it’s asking for a lot of trust from you. Just know that if this lead peters out, I don’t have any more strings to pull on. The hunt for your mother is going to hit a dead end.”

  Alice rested her arm on the back cushion of the couch as she considered her next move. She didn’t entirely believe Nick that this was their last hope—that seemed a little too convenient and melodramatic to be factual—but she could accept that this was their last good lead. Shelby Adair was clearly hidden extremely well, and someone was intent on keeping her that way. Even Nick’s sources of information had limits. Abridail knew something, or he was the world’s most incredible, sadistic bluffer. Either way, she could live with taking on a strategy where some parts were kept secret from her far easier than she could live with letting a real lead on her mother slip away.

  “I want a show of trust,” Alice said at last, arriving on the decision Nick had no doubt been expecting. Her conditions, however, she hoped would take him by surprise.

  “The asset doesn’t do that sort of thing,” Nick told her. “Just the contract and the pay.”

  “Not from her, from you.” Alice leaned a few inches forward, narrowing the small gap on the couch that separated her and Nick. “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith here, and while I can understand why, you have to admit it’s a bit lopsided. So I want a show of trust from you, just for good measure.”

  Nick’s eyes scrutinized her carefully while he tried to puzzle out where she was going with this, completely absent any golden glow—Alice watched carefully for the telltale giveaway. “What did you have in mind? You do know that a lot of my secrets are actually the Family’s secrets, meaning I can’t share them without endangering you.”

  “Oh no, I don’t need anything as grand as all that. I just want you to trust me with something very near and dear to your twisted little heart.” Alice let a pause drag on between her words, savoring the rare occasion of keeping Nick uncertain for a few moments. “I want you to let me choose your Halloween costume this year.”

  From the way he recoiled, Alice had a hunch he’d have preferred if she asked for the Family’s deepest, darkest secrets.

  “I’d get some veto approval in this process, right?” Nick asked, hurriedly trying to define the deal’s parameters.

  “Not a bit. You stay in the dark until the actual day arrives, at which point, I show up with a costume and you wear it. No argument, no worming out of the deal, and I expect any complaining to be kept to a minimum.” She didn’t even try to hide the sadistic grin on her face as she laid down her terms, her mind already spinning with possibilities. This, at least, would give her something to focus on until the dream-meeting could happen. Her other option was to dwell, and she had neither the time nor inclination for that. “It’s a pretty paltry request, compared to you asking me to let a stranger trap me in my own head. I do promise not to make you look too bad, though. After all, I can’t have an embarrassment on my arm.”

  If he really tried, pushed and prodded in the right ways, they both knew he could slip out of the deal. What he had asked was necessary; hers was nothing more than fun. Nick was smart, however, and he recognized that even if he managed to weasel free from the demand, it would be a hollow victory. Sometimes winning wasn’t as important as everyone walking away happy with a deal, or at least not mad about it.

  “Fine.” He lowered his head in defeat. “Just try not to make me look any sillier than what Vince comes up with. I’m supposed to be helping them shop right now, so odds are he’s going to pick something completely idiotic.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Alice assured him. “When do we get this show on the road, anyway? I can ask off from Six-Shooter this weekend if needed.”

  “Sadly, the asset has a schedule of her own, which means we have to use her when she’s available.” Nick pulled his head back up, and Alice noticed a bit of the old taunting spark back in his eyes. He’d given in to her condition, but it seemed he still had a trick
or two of his own to unveil. “If you’re ready to get a jump on things, I’ve got the date of her first availability. It won’t be until late, and she can only work for around an hour at a time, so I doubt it will even interfere with our plans.”

  “We don’t have any plans,” Alice said. “Just work, Wednesday game nights, and of course… oh, you have got to be shitting me. Really? That’s really the first night this asset of yours is available?”

  “I triple checked, just to be sure,” Nick replied. “After that, we can’t book her again for three weeks. So, if you don’t mind waiting—”

  “No, no, I’d rather get this done with, or at least find out it won’t work.” Alice tilted her head back and let out a long breath at the ceiling. “Of all the days, though… it really had to be Halloween?”

  Nick nodded in agreement at the awful timing.

  “Fucking Halloween.”

  62.

  The costume rested on Alex’s spare bed, furniture that would have been inhabited by another student if he hadn’t sprung for the single occupancy dorm room. Not many seniors were left in university housing; most had moved off campus to rent houses or apartments, stifled by the dormitory rules that prevented things like passing out drunk in the hallways. At first Alex had stayed for so long because he’d had no reason to leave. His closest friends lived on campus as well, and with all the time he spent at the HCP, it made more sense to be within walking distance. Near the end of last year, he’d considered seeking out a different home, somewhere with a little more privacy and a cleaner bathroom for when Sasha stayed over. Then the attack came, and suddenly Alex couldn’t bring himself to leave this dormitory. He told himself it was because he wanted to be here, always around in case another attack came. And some part of him knew that was true.

  It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  Though Alex’s eyes were closed, he could sense the costume, or rather the barebones-beginnings of what ultimately would become his costume. There wasn’t much time left to craft one—he’d purposely put off the decision for as long as possible—but now that he was committed to the choice, he was going to do it well. If nothing else, he took pride in his costumes, regardless of what they were. No discount-Halloween-store, off-the-rack ensemble would cut it for him, no sir. He’d be spending as much free time as he could finding ways to improve and augment his outfit before the Halloween party arrived.

  Letting out a deep breath, he pushed the thoughts of patterns and designs out with the air. That would all come later; right now, he had a different task.

  Keeping his body still, he narrowed his focus, trying to work deeper into the mysterious energy that he used to locate and move objects, what he’d always considered to be the Force. For a long time, it had only been a point of pride, something he felt to be true and preferred others to recognize. In the long run, it hadn’t really mattered if he was an advanced mind or a Force user; the effects were nearly the same. There was the usual bit of variation between the categories, but that would be true regardless: as their professors constantly reminded them, every power was unique.

  Now, things were different. Alex couldn’t be content just believing that what he wielded was the Force. He needed it to be true. What he was trying to do, no telepath on Earth would be able to manage. So far as he knew, this went outside the realm of anything an existing Super had ever accomplished. It was uncharted ground; all he had to guide him was his power, bolstered by a relentless belief that what he wanted was possible.

  It had been months, and still no progress could be seen. Yet Alex remained undeterred. Whether he was a Jedi or not, whether his task actually was impossible… he couldn’t let those thoughts inside. All he could focus on was the effort at hand. If he let himself give up, accept that it couldn’t be done, then Alex knew he’d fall apart. And he wasn’t entirely certain he’d be able to put himself back together again.

  * * *

  Every check had come back clean. Well, not clean, clean—these were still college students, after all. But among the highest members of the Take Back Lander campaign, Will had managed to uncover four speeding tickets, two public intoxication arrests, and one off-campus suspension for fighting in high school. That last one had seemed promising, since it belonged to none other than Kennedy Dawson herself, but digging into the records had made it clear that she was fighting in self-defense and had been punished only because of a zero-tolerance policy.

  What wasn’t showing up, no matter how deep Will dug, were any connections to anti-Super groups like the Humanity First Movement. He’d been sure that their type was lurking somewhere in the shadows, offering guidance or funding to students not savvy enough to recognize that they were being used as pawns. And yet, everything continued coming back clean. Will had even gone the other route, seeing if perhaps it was an anti-human group using Take Back Lander as a way to make Supers seem more sympathetic. Again, nothing but dead ends.

  It wasn’t bad news, really. Will sat at his computer, resting his fingers on the custom keyboard he’d crafted to fit his hands perfectly. If there was no bigger threat at work then the campaign would likely continue to fizzle out and lose steam. Already, he and Camille had noted a roughly thirty percent drop in meeting attendance when they showed up, which was making their own investigation more difficult. The smaller the group became, the harder it was to exist on the sidelines. He could always switch to remote work, but there was something to be said for getting the read on a room in person. If the pattern held, there might not be much need for reading the room, though. All in all, coming up so dry should have been good news.

  But Will didn’t trust it. Maybe the campaign was organic, grown out of terror from last year’s events. It was easy enough to believe. In some ways, he didn’t even blame them. Most of what he saw among the meeting’s attendees wasn’t hate, it was fear. Given what the campus had been through, there was good reason to be afraid. All the same, if Take Back Lander did have benign origins, that made it all the more tempting a target. True, it could peter out and die as people lost interest; however, if someone with a little vision happened to take notice, they might recognize a grassroots student movement as the perfect vehicle to further their own cause.

  Logically, it was unlikely. The idea was convoluted and would be difficult to execute. Will might have dismissed it outright, save only that manipulating the movement would be exactly what he would have done, were his situation different. Professor Pendleton had told them time and again to always assume their enemies were equally smart, if not smarter than they were.

  Pulling open a new file, Will began to search the history of some of the other meeting attendees. Perhaps it was paranoia; perhaps it was caution. Either way, he refused to let Lander be caught off guard again. If he found nothing, then that was a blessing. But if he found a threat, then he would be ready to meet it head-on.

  63.

  “A complete dead end? This isn’t like you, Sherman. Usually you let nothing stand in your way.” Crispin reviewed the files, printed papers that had been brought to him in his insulated safe house. They told the same story he’d been hearing for weeks, underground accounts suggesting five Powereds had in fact been made into Supers, although no one had the slightest information about the details surrounding the procedure.

  “And I won’t stop this time, either,” Sherman assured his leader. “Though someone took great pains to keep the information secret, they must have made a mistake somewhere along the line. I will keep picking at the details until I uncover it for you, sir.”

  Crispin gave a half-nod, mind still focused on the information he was digesting. “Whoever put it together had some serious funding. Memory-wipes on every member of the staff who worked on the procedure, a facility that was purchased and then demolished as soon as the work was done, to say nothing of the costly medical equipment you’ve found broken in the rubble.”

  “A hefty investment indeed, though nothing compared to what one could reap from selling the conversion to all the P
owereds out there who long to control their abilities,” Sherman added. “I daresay many would spend their life savings just for a chance at being human. To become true Supers, there is precious little they wouldn’t part with.”

  “But only if it’s safe, and it works,” Crispin said. “That’s why they did it in a small batch, I assume. Run the beta-trial, gather the necessary proof of function, and then sell it to the world at large. Putting them in the HCP, though, that is a stroke of marketing genius, assuming it’s true. Have we been able to confirm anything about that?”

  Sherman turned his gaze down toward the rough concrete floor. “No, sir. The HCP and DVA were always difficult systems to crack even slightly, and after our assault they’ve become nigh impregnable. Rumors say that the test-subjects are at Lander, but there is also chatter that they’re in Sizemore and Korman. Misinformation is obviously being spread to conceal the true location, if they are in fact enrolled in the HCP at all.”

  Slowly, Crispin lowered his files to the desk, thinking carefully over everything they’d learned about Lander in the lead-up to the assault. “Tell me something, did we ever receive confirmation on how Nathaniel Evers died?”

  “He was found in a pile of our mercenaries, throat cut,” Sherman replied. “The general consensus is that he was either mistaken for a student, or, given that his bank account showed him to be an associate of the Sons of Progress, he tried to assault a Hero during the infiltration and was neutralized. At least, that’s what his family was told.”

  “Which is quite curious, really.” Crispin had a far-off look on his face, the kind that Sherman had learned meant his leader was deep in thought. “By the time I amplified him and sent him off, most of our mercenaries had already fallen. With the power he was wielding by then, he should have been able to escape even a trained Hero. Nathaniel was many things, but senselessly brave was not among them. Knowing the fight was lost, I’d think he would have turned tail and run. In fact, I can only imagine one reason why he might have stayed and fought.”