by Hayes, Drew
“What does this make us, anyway? Relation-wise, I mean.”
“Funny, I asked the same thing,” Alice said. “I’m not sure what the term for our connection would be, considering that our parents seemed to have dissolved any association between themselves, but if you ignore that part, then we’re cousins.”
“You forgot to factor in that I’m adopted,” Vince pointed out.
“I didn’t forget a thing; I just can’t imagine how that matters to anyone in the equation. You’re Globe’s son, and that comes with a lot more trouble than usefulness, but it’s the truth so far as everyone is concerned. Also, I guess this means Professor Hill and Professor Pendleton are kind of your uncles, too.”
“And Shelby is my aunt.” Vince’s gaze lowered to his hands, like he was ticking off the new relations as quickly as his mind could form them. “I went from orphan to having a whole lot of family really quickly.”
“Sorry the Adairs aren’t a more loving or connected bunch. I’m afraid, if we ever manage to have a family reunion, there’s no way it won’t end in bloodshed.” Alice couldn’t quite bring herself to say the rest, even though she’d given Vince all the details. It was a little much for her to actually speak out loud that she was the reason everything was so messed up. If not for her, Shelby’s power would never have gone out of control, Charles wouldn’t have turned into such a bastard trying to fix her, and maybe he could have kept Globe from killing Intra. True, Vince wouldn’t have been part of the family without Globe finding him, but that just meant he might have had a chance to find people who could have given him a real life, not more chaos and uncertainty.
“I won’t disagree that the last generation really messed things up, but that doesn’t mean the whole family is a lost cause.” Vince rose from his chair and crossed over to Alice in a few steps, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “All this means is that we have to do things better. Stay connected, and make sure whatever families we build from here on have love and support as part of their foundation.”
“Well, it won’t be hard to do better,” Alice said, returning Vince’s hug. Shows of affection were still strange to her: growing up with Charles had never been an existence full of kind words and reassuring embraces. Even Nick buried his adoration carefully, so one had to be really looking to find it. Vince was the only one she knew who would just blurt stuff like that out and pair it with a hug. It took some getting used to.
But the more she thought about it, Alice realized she wanted to get used to it. Her family didn’t have to be like the one she was born with. She could make it whatever she wanted. And perhaps mixing in a little of Vince’s open affection wouldn’t be such a bad addition.
It seemed like the sort of family her mother would have wanted her to have.
* * *
Mary sat quietly, listening to the thoughts of Alice and Vince as they came to terms with their newly discovered relation. In her lap was a worn, but well-cared for, stuffed bear. Once upon a time, it had been her only friend, the one creature whose thoughts she didn’t have to hear. Then there had come the procedure, and the control of her power, and Melbrook, and everyone who lived there. She’d moved well beyond needing her stuffed friend but had always kept him around, just because it was nice to have a source of comfort during the hard times.
Carefully, Mary wiped a small tear out of her eye. She was glad that Alice had come clean—the more support she had, the better. That was going to be important, soon. The first semester of their senior year was nearly over, which meant Mary’s meeting with Dean Blaine came soon after. She was prepared for it, had been for some time now, but that didn’t mean the prospect was an easy one.
Running her hand over the soft fur of her bear, Mary tried not to let her mind drift to the worst-case scenarios. She trusted her friends, and she loved them, and she believed in her heart that they wouldn’t desert her. But that didn’t take away the shadow of fear continually darting across her mind: reminding her of what things were like before, whispering that she’d end up alone, threatening that soon the bear would be all she had again. Mary knew these were only lies, her own terror trying to deter her from taking the right path.
But she still hugged the bear a bit closer all the same.
100.
Roy jumped back, narrowly avoiding the spray of heat and concrete that rained down from the spot where Ashley’s fist had landed. She was doing markedly better than in the first fight Hershel had overseen—Professor Fletcher had obviously been drilling her control well—but that didn’t mean her explosions weren’t still fluctuating wildly at the high end. After taking a few of the weaker strikes as a test, Roy was pretty sure he could handle her stronger attacks, but it wasn’t something he quite felt the need to test until there was good reason.
“Okay, judging from the hole in the ground, that would have blown off someone’s leg,” Roy said, carefully examining the fresh crater, one more pock in the spotted cell they’d been working in. “Was that the level of power you were aiming for?”
“Blowing the leg off might be a bit much. I was trying to throw a punch that would just shatter some bones,” Ashley replied.
To her credit, Ashley had proven to be immediately honest about the moments when she fell short. Roy had come in braced for having to sit her down and have a long talk about how covering up her failures just stunted her progress, but it hadn’t been necessary. From the jump, she’d owned up to her intentions, regardless of how well the strikes lived up to them. The woman had come to train, there was no question about that.
Roy looked at the hole again. A normal person’s bones would have been broken; she wasn’t wrong about that. “You came in hot for that goal, but let’s try to use it. Give me ten more attacks just like that one. Same explosive power, as near as you can make it. I’ll judge your success by the craters you leave behind. Once you’re used to that level, we’ll work on dialing it back, using the leg-blowing measure as our standard.”
She raised her already-glowing fist and readied another explosion, but moments later, the light began to fade as Ashley looked back to Roy. “I can do that, and I will, I just wanted to know when we’re going to get to the sparring. Punching holes in concrete is something I can do on my own.”
“Maybe so, but until I get a sense of what your power is compared to your goals, I won’t be able to offer much help.” Roy walked over to the still-smoking crater and jammed his foot inside. “This is something visible, measurable. Like the weight on a bench press. When you can make a hole this size at will, you officially have a leg-blowing-off attack. That’s something we can establish and demonstrate on concrete anytime we need to. So when you know, a hundred percent, that you’re throwing an attack of this level, then you can hit me with it. A lot, probably, as many times as needed until I know what it feels like to take that one. We’re going to develop standards, so that anytime you hit me with a strike, I know roughly what sort of impact that would have on a normal person.”
“I thought I was the one who needed to know that,” Ashley said.
“You need to be able to hit the mark you’re aiming for, even in the stress of battle,” Roy told her. “Even when you’re scared, or tired, or hurting. Your power is too strong for mistakes. To get real life experience at that, you need someone to call you out when you fuck up. That’s why we establish the standards first. Every time you throw an explosion that’s too weak, or too strong, I’ll damn sure make certain you know it. Learn through failing, through trial and error. It might not be the best method, but it’s the only one I know how to teach.”
Ashley moved closer to him, getting a good view of the concrete crater she’d created. She hunched down, examining it, her forehead furrowed as she concentrated. Finally, she stood back up and walked a few feet to a stretch of unspoiled concrete. Roy had a hunch there wouldn’t be many of those left by the time this session was over.
“You know, I didn’t expect everyone to be so big on control until I got here,” Ashley said,
lifting her fist once more. “I grew up seeing Hero fights, and I always assumed it was all about raw power. The stronger Super was the victor. It never occurred to me how important control really was, until the first fight where I needed it and didn’t have enough.”
“A lot of freshmen come in that way.” Roy bit back a derisive chuckle, but it still managed to escape as a half-snort. “Hell, I may have been the worst of the bunch. I thought that just because I could hit like a train, that was all I’d need to come out on top. Then Chad whipped the shit out of me in two seconds flat when I came after him, and I started to understand that raw power might not be enough. Of course, don’t let yourself forget that power does have its place. You ever hit someone you couldn’t move? That your absolute best, most powerful shot did nothing to?”
Ashley shook her head. “I always assumed my best would kill whoever I used it on, so I’ve never thrown it. That pretty much rules out seeing it fail.”
“You will. Sooner or later, you will. I fought a professor freshman year that I could barely dent, and last May, I caught an ass-kicking from an enhanced strongman who tossed me around like I was nothing. Control is important, but so is power. Because when the moment comes that you need to let loose, to hit like a pissed off locomotive, the last thing you want is to come up short.”
The crackling glow around Ashley’s fist started again, growing brighter for several seconds until it became steady. She let out a long breath; however, she didn’t move to attack. “When you say last May…”
“The attack on Lander. We were out there, helping protect civilians. See, there was a group that came on campus to—”
“I know what happened here.” The glow flickered, getting sharply brighter before dimming back to its previous strength. Though her voice was steady, that moment told Roy plenty about Ashley Beck, and perhaps even explained why she was only now learning to train her power. Not everyone started out wanting to be a Hero, but loss and anger could both be powerful motivators. “What I wanted to ask was about the strongman who fought you. Since you’re alive, I’m guessing you beat him. How’d you pull off a win if he was that much more powerful?”
“I didn’t. My… a Hero who was in town came along and took him out with a few punches,” Roy said.
“I thought that this guy was one of the enhanced Supers. A regular Hero beat him that easily?”
Roy realized there was no skirting this, and he only had himself to blame. “Well, the Hero was Titan. Like I said before, power matters.”
Ashley’s eyes widened a bit, but her glowing fist stayed steady. “You got to see Titan in action? All I’ve seen are videos, mostly the new stuff from Brewster. What was he like in person?”
“Strong.” That much, Roy could say without hesitation or malice. For all that he felt about his father, no one—him least of all—could deny that Titan was strong in a way that defined and defied the word all at once. “Now quit stalling and throw that punch, before you forget what the last one felt like.”
She hadn’t been stalling; Roy knew that already. Ashley was trying to hold the feeling, to get a sense of how much power should be in her fist so she could move it up or down for the next attempt. Still, this was a topic he didn’t want to get into, and she wouldn’t have the luxury of spare time to adjust her power in a fight. Better to learn by doing, quickly and frequently, until it became second nature.
Because the truth was, when Ashley learned to control that power of hers, Roy had a feeling she was going to be a serious contender for the top of her class.
101.
Eliza stepped through the front door to find Nick’s living room empty, unless one counted the three white banker boxes full of files near the couch. She had no idea what was inside them, as neither she nor Jerome had been tasked with bringing them in. That was generally a dead giveaway that the contents were highly sensitive and related to the HCP. Though that wasn’t always true; once or twice, Nick had put out similarly tempting piles of documents that had turned out to be nothing but printed copies of Sherlock Holmes books. Nick liked to stay unpredictable, even to those around him. Maybe especially to those around him, the more Eliza thought about it.
“Back here,” Nick called from his bedroom.
Ignoring the boxes (for now), Eliza followed his voice to where Nick was sitting at his desk, three more boxes stacked nearby and a computer monitor casting a soft glow onto his face.
“Anything to report?” He glanced away from the monitor, futilely attempting to rub some of the bloodshot from his eyes.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve seen a few people keeping tabs on us—all by-the-book, so presumably they’re DVA agents,” Eliza told him. “Careful little bastards, always staying on public property and keeping their observation just on the right side of stalking. If we documented enough of them, we might be able to make a fuss.”
“Don’t bother; we’re not the ones they’re interested in. And, much as I would love to start a court case just to inconvenience Ralph Chapman, I believe we’ve reached an uneasy truce for the moment. Neither of us is making overt moves against the other, or against my friends, and I won’t be the one to break that,” Nick said.
“And if he decided to?” At no point had Eliza ever doubted that Nick had a plan. That was not the way of their Family, not the reputation Ms. Pips had earned and gone on to ingrain in her nephew. No, there were always contingencies, and they were as brutal as they had to be. Eliza knew Nick had something up his sleeve; the only question was whether or not he’d share it with her. Part of her was hoping he would, solely because it meant it wasn’t that bad of a plan. The closer he kept things to the vest, the more collateral damage there would be when the smoke cleared.
“If Chapman decides to go to war with me, then I will meet his desire with perfectly justified attempts to defend myself and my people.” Nick let it end there. Eliza made a mental note to be sure they were paid up with every politician and beat cop who could fudge evidence, just in case.
“Got it. Jerome and I will do another sweep. Might not hurt if you left the house, you know. At this rate, they’re going to think you skipped town,” Eliza said.
Nick patted the boxes at his side. “Let them think what they want. I’ve got work to do. You know how it is: five minutes of wonder and apparent magic are built on the back of countless hours of research. And this will be a doozy; I may even have to stay here over Winter Break to keep working.”
Eliza was just about to leave, so close to freedom, when his words stopped her dead. She hung there for a moment, split by indecision, duty, and obligation, before turning away. If she faced him, Nick would see everything.
“Go home for Winter Break, Nick. No matter how full your plate is. Bring your work if you need to, but you should go home.”
“It’s tempting. I do miss the food, but Gerry’s always got his hands full with travelers and something tells me Alice would be more than a bit miffed if I picked up my old habits with the waitresses and show girls. Not much there for me.” He was testing her, trying to tease out the information. Nick knew she didn’t speak without reason; he wanted her to tell him why he should go home.
“Maybe all that’s true, but you should still go. You’ll regret it if you stay here. If you trust me at all, if our years working together mean anything, take me at my word on that, because it’s all I can give you.”
She made it out the front door without him stopping her, which was victory in and of itself. Too much, she’d said too much, and there might be hell to pay for it down the line. Still, she wouldn’t take back the words, even if she could. Nick deserved to be there.
No matter how hard it would be.
* * *
“The trouble with using high quality personnel is that they are frequently in demand.” Dean Blaine ran a pen down the calendar in his personal planner—he’d never trust anything this important to digital records—and circled a day in early January. “Galina is booked until after the year changes, just a few
days before the new semester starts. That may be to our advantage, however, as it means the DVA staff will be thin with no students to watch over. Perhaps we could organize an informal gathering of Nick, Mary, and Alice in one of their homes. There’s enough friendship and romance within the trio to justify such an outing.”
“I’ll talk to Nick,” Professor Pendleton offered. “Something tells me he’s got secure facilities in Vegas. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if they had a bunker that put Lander’s underground to shame.”
“Mary’s forest might also be a good spot,” Professor Stone said. “With no one else around for miles, anyone stepping into her range would stand out like a beacon.”
Professor Fletcher tilted his head slightly to the side, a gesture the others had learned meant he was carefully considering the situation. “Despite the fact that Alice has more layers of protection than anyone, it’s probably tempting fate if we try to work right under Charles Adair’s nose.”
“Enticing as it is, I think we’ll have to pass on that,” Dean Blaine agreed. “I’ll confirm with Galina and begin laying out the framework for a plan.”
“While you’re reaching out to her, mind making a few other calls and seeing if we got the borrowed resources?” Professor Pendleton didn’t even bother disguising his excitement; his lanky body leaned so far forward it cast a shadow on the cheap table in their underground bunker. “It’s been two years; I’m tired of having to sit on the sidelines whenever this comes up. Carl probably is, too.”
“I could take it or leave it,” Professor Fletcher replied.
“First off, we are several weeks out from the final trial of the semester,” Dean Blaine reminded him. “We still have November’s to get through.”
