Nova Academy: A Superhero & Supervillain Novel

by Scott Olen Reid

  He sounds confident and matter of fact, “Last week they had to let some supers go over in Valencia. They had to. Because, if they hadn’t, they would have torn up half the town if they tried to fight them. It was reported after that they got away with almost twenty-million dollars in rare gems that were stored in a private vault." I can almost see the glazing over of his eyes as he gives into fantasizing what it would be like to get hold of that much money. Dad and I are a lot alike.

  My dad, the genius, never misses a car chase, shoot out, or any other "crime in progress" breaking newscast that comes on TV. And, I don't think my dad, the genius, has a clue the guy who came out of the building in the shootout had to have been a telepath. I have always hated watching these things. There are better things to be doing with my time.

  Can I afford to talk to him about what telepaths are doing? It is clear he does not know. And, he is too smart not to have figured it out. If I do tell him, will some telepath just erase the memories, or will they do more than that? Will they come after me because I know too much? Carly doesn't think so, but Carly also said every telepath does what they think is right and every community is different on how far they think they should go in protecting themselves. I can't take that risk with his life, or his mind, which means I can't talk to my dad.

  "Theo," my mom calls from the kitchen. "Can you give me a hand in here?"

  "Sure," Giving my dad a last look of disappointment for something that's not his fault, I go help Mom.

  I go into the kitchen and Mom is leaning against the sink and I can't see that she needs anything. "What you got?" I ask her.

  "I was listening to you and Dad talking. About the shootout." Her voice is soft. Softer than she usually speaks.

  "Did you see what happened?" I ask her, not keeping my voice down at all.

  She puts her hand on my arm in a calming touch, "You mean about the man walking out of the building in the middle of the shootout? Yes. I saw it. I've seen it, and things like it. A lot in my lifetime."

  I am a little slow on the uptake and do not get the message in the message she is giving, "But, why would that happen? That guy should have been shot, or at least running!" I'm pointing back at the swinging door going into the den and my voice is starting to rise from my frustration in not being able to talk about why I think it really happened.

  Mom presses her hand more firmly on my arm, "Now, keep it down,” she tells me, chastising my being so loud, “You've seen things like that happen before, haven't you? What did you think about it the other times?"

  "I've seen things like that, yes, but I don't think I was really paying attention before. It’s weird. I mean, it’s not right. The absurdity of it is just crazy." Oh yeah, I’m just a well of reasoned thought put into words, I am.

  Mom looks at me with those loving Mom eyes. Her head tilts to the side just a little and a half smile on her face that she gives me when she sees me learn something new. She also looks at me like that when she is trying to figure out if I'm lying, but I do not think that is the case here. "Yeah, it can be, can't it,” she agrees. Then, she changes the subject, “Can you get me down my big blue mixing bowl from the top shelf? I'm going to need it for the mashed potatoes.”

  I get the bowl down for her. She keeps it on the top shelf, and at her 5’4”, she never can get it without the stool, “Thanks, honey."

  What was that? Mom just…I'm not sure what Mom just did. Maybe it's not Dad I need to talk to. I decide I can be a little more direct as long as I don't say anything that would get a telepath's attention. "What do you know about telepaths?" How's that? If she doesn't know anything, because her memory was altered, then she won't say anything that could get her in trouble.

  This time it is Mom who looks to the door to the den. Dad is still watching the shootout that is still in progress according to the local news announcer sounds coming from the TV. "Theo, let's talk about this later when it's just the two of us."

  "You know, don't you?" My heart rate is speeding up and I feel my anxiety building to match.

  "Later dear," glancing at the door for a moment she adds, "and yes." Giving me a tight smile, she changes the subject once again, and asks, "Have you confirmed with Tess that she's coming over tomorrow for Thanksgiving supper?"

  Actually, I’m not sure she is changing the subject. That can just as easily be a warning, "Yeah, she texted me this morning that she's still coming. I'm also going to meet her tonight over at Benny's Lobster Shack to catch up." Mom knows how fast my metabolism is and does not bat an eye that I am saying we are going out to a restaurant after dinner.

  "That's nice," is Mom's reply in what has become a very neutral voice and seems to be struggling with saying something.

  Tess being a telepath is not something I was even thinking about. I reassure Mom, "I'm sure we'll just catch up on what's been going on since I left for school. Don't worry, I'll be home early." We are so tap dancing around this, which makes me certain now Mom and I need to have a talk about telepaths.

  Meeting up with Tess is pretty uneventful. At first I felt like a moth flying too close to a flame and all I could think about is what she can do to people with her telepathic powers, but then I relax after a couple minutes because, if she could read my thoughts, then she would know what I was thinking and it would be too late, but since she can't, it doesn't matter and I can relax already. That, and she has been my friend for years. Why am I doing this with Tess? I know her. Then I realize that I didn't know her before, and what I know about her now is what's bothering me. I just need to not care about what she can do, like I did before. Like when I thought it was cool she has telepathic powers, but I don't think of them as anything to be afraid of in a worldwide unspoken conspiracy among telepaths. She’s my friend. Why didn’t she tell me like Carly was willing to tell me?

  We hang out and I finally have fun catching up, once I let go of my paranoia. Tess never asks about my having a girlfriend, unlike Maria, which is what you would expect from Tess. I give her a ride home and she gives me a hug and kiss when I drop her off and I head home. We see each other a couple more times over break. It is nice. No expectations, no demands. We both give and take what is offered. I don’t ask about who she is seeing, and she does the same.

  Thanksgiving is good, and uneventful. My mom's two sisters and my cousins come over, and my dad's brother and his family. I'm the oldest, which is nice when you have a girl come over to spend thanksgiving dinner with us and there is no one older that tries to embarrass me in front of Tess. All that wrestling in the back yard with my cousins when we were growing up is paying off. They all know I'll turn them into a pretzel if they mess with me while Tess is here. Really, they know. Because that's what I told them I'd do. Tess and I do our familial duties and have a great meal with the family, then excuse ourselves to the back patio.

  Later, when Mom and Dad go up to bed, Mom asks me, "I'm going out to Henderson Ranch tomorrow morning to buy some of those brown eggs your dad likes so much. You want to go?"

  "Sure," I reply, hoping this is Mom setting up our private conversation.

  Chapter 43

  The car ride out to Henderson Ranch takes about thirty minutes and is several miles past the fairgrounds out in the country. Mom waits until we get out of town before speaking. "You know, I think I like the car ride more than I like the eggs. It's so beautiful out here."

  "It is, isn't it." I'm looking out the window at the forest of trees along the two lane country road. The fall colors have been in full bloom for a month and the trees are starting to lose their leaves to take on that skeletal winter look that reminds me of haunted houses out in the woods you see in scary movies on Halloween. "Mom, I want to ask you about…."

  "Telepaths," she finishes for me. "Before we start, I have a single question, "Has anyone ever read your mind? Not that you would know, necessarily."

  "No. Telepaths can't read my mind. Mom, I'm dating a telepath at school. Her name's Carly."

  Mom's giving me this look that i
s clearly asking, "And, why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend sooner?" But, instead she says, "You know you don't call me enough. You've maybe called me six times and you've been gone for three months. Maybe."

  This conversations NOT on the topic I want it to be on, "Sorry, I'll call more. I promise. Right now, though, I need to talk to you. Can telepaths read your mind?"

  "No, they can't. And that seems to be why they can't read yours, either. I was hoping your ability to protect your mind was strong enough, but didn't know for certain. It's not like I can go ask a telepath to test it out for me. The less you bring to their attention, the better."

  "Are you afraid of telepaths?"

  "Let's just say telepathy is the most powerful ability there is, and they don't like feeling threatened. About anything."

  A few months ago I would have argued with her about which power is the most powerful, but not anymore. "Does Dad know?"

  "No, or at least not any more. I tried to talk to him about it when we were dating, a long time ago, but within a couple days he would forget I ever told him anything. Several times I tried,” she starts to explain, “Back then we lived in Rosemont, but I moved us out of there as soon as we became engaged. It got so I felt like I was being watched all the time, and I think it was because everything I told your dad was being read by telepaths and then erased from his mind. They were finding out what I know from what I was telling him.” Her hands are spending as much time waving around while she is communicating with me as they are on the steering wheel.

  “They thought I was a threat or something, I don’t know. It felt like I was in one of those movies where a couple moves to a small town run by a cult. And, I was born there!" She exclaimed at the end, hitting the steering wheel with both hands. I can see tears starting to build up in her eyes.

  I'm stunned, and horrified that could even happen. "Carly's told me what they do, and it all sounds so," I search for a word, "antiseptic. Like they think they are doing the world a service. That there’s nothing wrong with what they're doing."

  This time it's Mom that's stunned, "She told you? About telepaths — what they do? Oh my god, that's amazing!” She reminisces her experience, “I have been looked at strange by telepaths my whole life, but not one has ever bothered to talk to me. Not about them, not about my powers.”

  I put my hand on the dashboard, "Could you pull over? Stop the car – before you run into a tree?" Mom's driving isn't doing a good job staying straight, but at least she lets off the gas pedal and we probably won't die when she hits a tree.

  With a loud, "Oh!" Mom straightens her driving and pulls off onto a dirt siding just before a big curve in the road coming up.

  "Tell me," are Mom's next words and I realize that she may get more questions answered than me in this conversation.

  I tell her everything Carly has told me, even about Malcolm Beaumont, and what I have seen at Nova Academy. I answer all her questions. I tell her what is happening with the neural neutralizers and the "investigation" Carly and I are doing into what's been happening. It seems like the more I tell her, the bigger her eyes get, and I see big tears beginning to well up even more than before.

  "So, you decided to do it. You're going to be a superhero.”

  Wait! What? Where did she get that? Too stunned to talk, I just stare at her.

  “And, the first thing you take on is the biggest secret there has ever been." She looks out the front window and I can see her beginning to shake. She's scared.

  Damn. I should have just talked to Dad. “No, Mom. I have not decided to be a superhero. But, someone needs to find out what is going on and no one else seems to know to even look. We are going to give whatever we find to the police and let them handle it. I promise.”

  Mom mulls it over and I am not sure she believes anything I have said by the look on her face. "Why did she tell you?" She finally asks.

  Taking a moment to sift through all the reasons, I can't find a single thing, "I don't think she likes that that's what telepaths do very much. She's not trying to change it, or anything, it's just that I think she sees in me someone who she can tell her secrets without worrying about someone else being able to take them out of my head. I'm someone she can trust who is not a telepath, but who can protect their thoughts."

  "She must trust you very much."

  "She does, Mom. And, I trust her."

  "You still need to be careful with her. No matter what she says, she's still a telepath. She’s one of them. And you're about to poke a hornet's nest."

  "That's just it; I'm not trying to expose telepaths. I've thought that through and even if I could expose them, it would just go back the way it was within a few days. The only way to stop it from becoming secret again would be to kill all the telepaths, and that's so far beyond wrong there's no way. They're not Evil Overlords, they're people.” I didn’t add my concerns about hoping they stay that way.

  "I didn't have as much information as you, but I came to the same conclusion twenty years ago when I wanted to tell everyone about what I was seeing telepaths do. You’ve made the right choice. Besides, there isn't another option.” She’s looking out the windshield, working out what we’ve been saying, “But, what are you doing then? With these 'neural neutralizer' people? How can you stand in the way of them being able to protect their memories?"

  "That's not what's happening, though, Mom. They're being controlled. Somebody is making them wear the neural neutralizers AFTER they change their minds. Not the students. They’re not changing their own minds. The telepaths behind this are changing the minds of the students, and then putting a neural neutralizer on their heads to stop them from being discovered. I assume to hide it from other telepaths.”

  “And you’re sure of this?” Mom asks, still skeptical.

  “Yes. I think the neutralizer is being used to keep other telepaths from changing their memories back, or knowing what is being done to them. Carly said one of the ways telepaths police each other is if one telepath sees something changed in a person they don't agree with, they can change it back, or fix the change so it doesn't affect the person. We were able to get a neural neutralizer off of one of the science students and Carly scanned him. He'd been given compulsions to do stuff and to never take off the hat his neutralizer was hidden in. He's being made to get on some bus and they take him somewhere like three times a week. He thinks it’s his job."

  "Who do you think is behind it?" Mom asks the obvious question. She knows I don’t know. She’s only asking because she does not want to let go of her objections to me being involved.

  "We don't know." What I don't tell her, is what my gut's telling me. That there is a powerful telepath behind this who wants to be the next Malcolm Beaumont.

  I think Mom has finally had enough. She is restarting the car and just says, "You WILL call me every day from now on. Right?"

  "Yes." Because, "No" is not an option for me to say to my mom.

  "By the way, we can't speak about any of this to your dad."

  "I know." But, I wish I could.

  The rest of the week after Thanksgiving gives me a break I didn't realize I needed and it's good to be home. The only thing I'm not thrilled with in being back is my lab in the basement. It's barren compared to the student labs, which makes me think that now I know why mad scientists like to break into corporate labs all the time, steal equipment, and build lairs. I know a website that tracks all the major corporate laboratories in the nation. I might need to check it out.

  Chapter 44

  The airport shuttle pulls into Atlas Quad and I pick up my package for my parts at the lobby desk. I break open the box when I get up to my dorm room and pull out the five sets of Dragonfly wings I ordered. Two sets of little ones for the tracker with a backup pair, and three large sets for a much larger, support version of the Dragon Tracker, that I'm calling my Black Dragon. I built it at the same time as the Tracker and mounted a simple compressed air gun with an automatic targeting system that can hurl a 7/8" steel be
aring out at two hundred miles per hour at a designated target. Carly's flight is not due in for a few hours, so I take the time to assemble the wings onto the bodies of the Dragons and do some test flights around the room. We're in business.

  Neither of us feels like we can wait any longer, so we choose the first day back from break to attach the Dragon Tracker to the bus that's due this evening. We do everything the same as we did before, except I don't have to approach the bus this time. Instead I toss the dragon up as the bus goes by on the road to turn into the parking lot and the Dragon Tracker unfolds itself in the air and buzzes over to the bus to attach itself to the roof of the vehicle. I am having a hard time following it as it is silent and well camouflaged to match the background color of a blue-gray sky.

  I wait to see that it's working right and, just like I designed it, the Dragon Tracker takes off and hovers a thousand feet over the bus when it comes to a stop, and then lands on it again when it starts to drive away with the science students on board. Unless you're searching the bus while it's moving, good luck trying to find the tracker.

  Once the bus drives away, Carly and I high-five and head over to the Tesla Quad Commons to get some dinner as we've worn out the menu at Atlas and it would be nice to have something different for a change of pace.

  We meet again for breakfast in the morning, because we don't have any classes together on Tuesdays. "We got it," is my greeting to Carly and I sit down across from her in the little cafe next to the Liberal Arts buildings. Reaching into my bag, I pull out my tablet and say, "Have a look," and open up my maps program. "I've input the tracker data to my maps app. Look here, they did the same stop as last time where they found the first tracker." I get some satisfaction in saying that for the unspoken fact that they did not find the Dragon Tracker. "Guess where they ended up?"

  Carly takes over control of my maps app and pushes the map down until it comes to a stop at a place the track line indicates they spent the next nine hours. "That's on the other side of Chicago," she says. Switching the road map to the satellite map, Carly zooms into a top-down view of a big industrial building. "Do you know what that place is?"