by Hayes, Drew
Reaching down, Roy gripped the corner of the washer and easily hefted it into the air, the strain negligible compared to his strength. “Call it about fifty-fifty. I was never one to take kindly to someone telling me there was something I couldn’t do.”
“Your HCP career proves that many times over,” Owen agreed. He leaned against the grill of his truck, careful not to move his legs too fast and accidentally shove the whole thing back. “So, what has someone told you that you can’t do this time?”
“Not someone: me. Us, actually; Hershel’s struggled with it too. See, with Intramurals and graduation running up on everyone, it’s hard to ignore the fact that we have to get our internship sorted. All year we’ve been thinking about it, wondering who the hell we should learn from to get the best start. When Granite tossed us the offer, it should have been an easy choice, but neither of us wanted to jump on it. Because, deep down, we knew there was another contender. Even though Hershel and I had both been thinking that we couldn’t intern under you, part of us was pushing back on that idea. Whether we like it or not, nobody can train us like you.”
While Owen might have personally disagreed – there were bound to be Heroes out there who could do as good a job, if not better, than Titan as their educators – even he could concede that he was among the top candidates. Assuming one ignored all the complications of their relationship, of course. “If you want to talk about internships, then why didn’t you set this up at the HCP? It’s really more a conversation for Titan.”
“Not the way we see it.” Roy set the washer down carefully, being sure not to let it smash on impact. “Hero and intern might be a sacred relationship and all that shit, but father and son still matters more. We ain’t doing ourselves no favors by pretending that that wouldn’t be our dynamic. It makes things harder, no denying that, but not impossible. Hershel and I have thought about this for months, considered all the risks we’d be taking, and come to the decision that strained and risky as it might be, we’d still rather learn from you than anyone else. Because you can make us better than we’d ever be on our own.”
There was a pause, long enough that Owen almost started to respond, before Roy spoke again. This time, his voice was a little softer, the bravado dialed back as well.
“And, at the end of the day, you’re our dad. You fucked up so hard I still can’t always wrap my head around it, but… we’re pretty deep into Hero training these days; I’m starting to get how one brief decision can have a bigger impact than you ever see coming. That doesn’t make it okay. I doubt anything ever will. I just don’t want to hate you for it anymore. Not because you deserve forgiveness, but because Hershel and I deserve to move on.”
Roy walked over to the truck where Owen was still leaning and mirrored his position against the grill. Neither looked directly at the other, instead casting their gaze to all the broken, yet perhaps not unsalvageable, hunks of metal around them. “A junkyard like this was the last spot we really trained as a team, not just you giving me pointers. Seemed a fitting spot to either start things up again or put the matter to bed for good.”
“Hershel picked this place, didn’t he? That boy always had a bit more of the theatrical in him.”
“You have no idea. One day I’ll fill you in on the LARPing, a word I hate myself for even knowing. And yeah, Hershel picked the spot. Only seemed right to give him some input, seeing as I was the one who’d do all the talking.”
“It was a good choice.” Owen finally looked over to Roy, who met his gaze right back. The boy never backed down from a challenge, perceived or otherwise. That was going to be one of the many problems they’d have to deal with during his intern years. “I won’t disrespect the amount of thought you both clearly put into this by telling you it will be hard – and dangerous – to learn from your father. Part of me will want to go easy on you, which means I’ll have to be all the more strict out of caution. Treating you with kid-gloves wouldn’t just do you a disservice, it might get you killed. This is going to be a rough road, emotionally and physically, and we’re putting a fragile relationship in the mix.”
“Fragile? If Hershel and I can come here and ask you to teach us after everything that’s happened, I would say that relationship must be pretty damn tough in its core,” Roy replied. “But we both know it ain’t going to be easy. That’s part of why we want to do it. The more effort demanded, the stronger we come out the other side.”
Carefully pulling himself up from the truck, Owen stuck his hand out to his son, who accepted it and shook. “Make sure to graduate, Roy. My team is counting on a new intern next year, so it wouldn’t do to leave them hanging.”
The grin that spread across Roy’s face took Owen by surprise, though not nearly as much as the hug Roy pulled him into a second later.
248.
Finally, it was done. It had taken years of effort, of planning, of lies and schemes and coming perilously close to the edge of failure, but it was done. George, now taking a long-needed rest, had finished decrypting the files stolen from Lander’s system. Many windows for action had come and gone in the years he’d been working on the supposedly impossible task. Thankfully, another was fast approaching, and it was one of the better windows they’d had. In less than a week, it would all be over. Maybe they’d win and the truth would be dragged out for the world to see. Maybe Charles would be a step ahead of them, and this was their final week of life. Either way, this would finally be done, and after so many years of running, Globe couldn’t deny that he was ready to see the finish.
A knock on his door interrupted his reverie. Clarissa showed herself in a few seconds later. “You know we’ve still got days until the mission, right? The tension in this place is so thick I nearly choked on it walking inside. Everyone needs to calm down or they’ll burn themselves out before the first punch is thrown.”
“If we’re lucky, there won’t need to be any punches.” It was a flimsy, unsubstantiated hope that even a perpetual optimist like Globe had trouble holding on to, but it would still be nice if they could get the job done without hurting anyone. There had been more than enough blood spilt thanks to these secrets; there was no sense in adding more. Sadly, experience taught him that it would probably be necessary, no matter how distasteful it seemed. “I take your point, though. Tonight at dinner I’ll start easing people’s nerves, and I’ll help them stay relaxed until it’s time for action. I don’t blame them for being wound up; after all this time it’s hard to believe we’ve finally got the location.”
“‘Location’ is a pretty grand term for the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Speaking of, when are you and I going out there? You know I need to visit a location to open a rip.”
Globe shook his head. “We can’t risk getting too close. Charles might have Supers out there getting paid to do nothing but monitor for people sneaking around near the lab. If we go, we risk tipping them off, which we can’t afford. Not after all this. There’s a town about fifty miles away that we’ll visit so you can open a rip when it’s time to strike, and then I’ll transport us the rest of the way manually.”
There was a long stretch of silence and a worried look from Clarissa before she replied. “Don’t you think that might be a touch paranoid?”
“Charles has had nearly limitless funds, a scheming mind with a talent for planning, and almost two decades of time to work with. Paranoia is our ally in this venture. Whatever mad thoughts we come up with, if they’re effective enough to be worth the effort, Charles has almost certainly had time to consider them.”
She was tempted to argue, but the results rather spoke for themselves. Charles Adair had successfully covered up one of the most infamous murders of a Hero in modern history, turning his own brother into a scapegoat in the process. Overestimating him was a setback they’d have to risk; if they thought too little of the man, he’d surely gain the upper hand.
“On the subject of being paranoid, I came by to ask when you wanted me to pull Adam out of Lander. We’re obviously going to need
him on the day of attack for the Mobius technique, but I didn’t want to pull him too soon just in case. We could have him withdraw from the HCP officially this week to get him off the DVA’s radar, though.”
“No, leave him be until the morning of,” Globe told her. “The less attention on him from any direction the better. And no one will notice if one student fakes sick on a day with as much excitement as Intramurals. Besides, the boy doesn’t have much time living a normal life left. Let’s at least give him a few final days. When this is over, if he and George keep their promise to each other, he’s never going to be the same.”
The pain on Globe’s face was evident as he mentioned the arrangement between Adam and George; he’d spent years trying to talk them out of it. But both had held firm, to the point where they weren’t willing to help if he couldn’t respect their bargain. Ultimately Globe had been forced to accept that it was their lives to do with as they saw fit… even if it ended with Adam taking George’s head from his shoulders.
Clarissa didn’t mention any of this; she was well-accustomed to remaining silent while Globe tore himself up inside. There were no words to help. He would always carry the world on his shoulders whether he needed to or not. The best aid she’d found to offer was practical, helping to keep things running smoothly so that the guilt couldn’t slow him down. “Got it, extraction on the morning of. I’ll tell Adam to be ready and have Gerard prep Quentin as well. That boy is going to be cross when he finds out we’re leaving him behind.”
“I’d rather he be cross and alive than drag a child into this sort of operation. Maybe when it’s over, he’ll be able to have something of a normal life. Normal for Supers, anyway.”
“Yes, I’m sure after being saved from a group of criminals who trafficked Supers, raised by Gerard who was always on the run from the law, and ultimately brought into a makeshift family of Supers fighting against a corrupted Hero system, Quentin will quickly push past it all to become a mundane office manager with no lingering issues at all.” The words came out a bit harsher than she intended, but Clarissa didn’t regret them. Since Intra was gone, someone had to temper Globe’s optimism with pragmatic truths.
To her surprise, he laughed at her outburst. It was soft, but still laughter all the same. “You’d be amazed what people can overcome, when given the chance. Look at this team: people who the Hero world turned its back on but are still willing to put everything on the line to try and save it. Or Vince, who has come from literally nothing to being a standout in an HCP class so tough it has a nickname. People can be more than their past, when they have a chance.”
“For Quentin’s sake, I hope you’re right.” Clarissa stood in front of the door for a few seconds longer, looking carefully at Globe. “So we’re going out to that city tomorrow then?”
“I’d rather wait until we’re a bit closer. If something goes wrong there will be less time for Charles to be alerted,” Globe said.
“That’s fine. I was just thinking maybe we could get some dinner while we’re out there… talk about old times and old friends, make a few toasts to those who have gone. Relax and unwind, as it were. You’re as tense as the rest of them, and we both know your power can’t calm your own nerves.”
He didn’t reply right away, instead rubbing his hand on his knee like she knew he did when pondering. “I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to take a night off like that, given how close we are to the final operation.”
“Maybe so, but we both know how you expect this to end, at least for you,” Clarissa reminded him. “I’d say if there was ever a time to try and cherish life a little, this is it. It’s probably going to be your last chance.”
249.
It was a testament to how strange Ralph Chapman’s life had become that he wasn’t especially surprised to find that someone had broken into his apartment. There had been a stretch of relative peace since Dean Blaine more or less told Ralph he was a kept man, so if anything he was overdue for some casual breaking and entering. While he might have been worried in other contexts, fearing that the friends of a Hero he’d put away had finally come for revenge, once Ralph recognized the person sitting on his couch he knew there was no cause for alarm. If Nick Campbell wanted him dead, there was little chance he’d even hear the gunshot. No, the only reason someone like Nick pulled this type of stunt was when he wanted something.
“Should I offer you some refreshments, or just assume you helped yourself?”
“Since we both know you don’t stock alcohol, I did you one better and brought my own.” Nick reached down to his feet and pulled out a bottle of fine scotch, much nicer than anything Ralph kept on hand even in his drinking days. “Seeing as I’m here to talk business, it was necessary. Having this on hand is something of a Vegas tradition.”
“You just said you know I don’t drink.”
“And no one is telling you to. It’s the pouring and toasting that matter, the ceremony of it all.”
Once, Ralph might have been tempted to try and push Nick away, throw him out of the apartment without hearing a word more. But it never escaped Ralph’s memory that, despite having an army on his side, Nathaniel Evers had been the one who mysteriously ended up dead during the attack on Lander. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever be able to prove, even if he could convince someone to give him the resources for a full investigation, yet he kept it in mind all the same. To his reckoning, that death spoke to a level of competence on Nick’s part that meant he might be a useful ally, or a very dangerous enemy.
Rather than hurling Nick out the door, Ralph set down his briefcase, went into the kitchen, and brought out two glasses filled with a scant few cubes of ice. He set them down in front of Nick, who poured from the bottle while Ralph took a seat in an adjacent chair.
“Should I ask how you got past my security measures?”
“It’s cute that you think what you have constitutes ‘security’, it really is. I hope you’ve got more resources on Lander for Intramurals than on this apartment complex.” Nick handed the first glass to Ralph, who patiently waited as Nick took a sip. Apparently drinking might not be required, but it was allowed.
“I’ll just go ahead and take that as a ‘no’ so we can move on. Since we’ve dealt with each other before, how about we skip the pretense and go right for the main point: why are you here?”
“Because I need your help. And when you come to someone to ask a favor, it’s only right to meet them on their turf, observing basic rules of hospitality. Granted, breaking in doesn’t quite fit with accepted decorum, but I assumed you’d prefer I not make this approach in public.” Nick eased back against the couch, seemingly defenseless as he settled in. “To cut to the chase, I want to attend Intramurals. I want to watch my friends fight, cheer them on, and generally be supportive during what has to be a huge moment for all of them. Now someone in the HCP might be able to make that happen with enough wheeling and dealing, but the man in charge of overseeing the DVA at Lander could pull it off with a snap of the fingers.”
Ralph nearly dropped his glass in amusement at the sheer outlandishness of the request. “So we’re clear: you want me to bring a supposedly mind-wiped, expelled former student to watch one of the most historically secured annual events at an HCP that endured a surprise attack last year?” Reaching forward, he picked up the bottle, and checked the label in detail. “You should have brought nicer scotch.”
“That can be arranged. Besides, I didn’t come here planning on dealing in booze. I get that this is a big ask, and I’m willing to compensate you for it.”
“Are you offering me a bribe?” Ralph asked.
This drew a sharp laugh from Nick. “A bribe? Why bother? I’ve seen your financials, Ralph, you barely spend half of what you make as is. Since all you do is work, there’s not much to sink cash into. I know a bribe wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s printed on for you. No, what I’m offering is a little more versatile: I’ll owe you a favor.”
After several seconds of waiting, R
alph realized that Nick wasn’t going to continue. “A favor? That’s it? You want me to go through all the effort of getting you in to watch Intramurals, subjecting myself to a lot of questions that I don’t have good answers for in the process, all in exchange for the promise to give me a hand somewhere down the line? I know you don’t like me, Nick, but I’d hoped you at least respected my intelligence more than this.”
“Don’t dismiss the favor that quickly,” Nick cautioned. “First off, I never welch on these kinds of deals – part of my upbringing, which I’m sure you’ve done enough digging to know. Second, I am a surprisingly capable and competent person when properly motivated. Third, you could use that favor to have me turn up your good luck or turn down someone else’s in a key moment, and that creates all sorts of possibilities if you’ve got an active imagination. Last, but certainly not least, there’s no expiration date on what I’d owe you. Right now, I’ll admit that the sorts of favors I can grant are limited. That won’t always be true, though. I do respect your intelligence. I know that you can see me for what I am: a man with ambition and determination. I won’t be a mere college student for long. A decade down the line, I may very well be higher up in the government than you. And that is the sort of person it’s good to have owe you a favor.”
Easy as it would be to dismiss Nick’s words as the bluster and bravado of a child who’d yet to face the real world, part of Ralph knew he was right. Between the power over luck, the skill, and the capacity for manipulation, Nick would probably rise high in whatever field he set his sights on. And even if he didn’t, that luck ability alone could have plenty of uses when properly applied.
