Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity

by Clevenger, J.

  "Okay."

  * * *

  Kelly didn't know her partner for the drill, a boy named Greg or maybe Craig. It was pretty obvious why they'd been paired up. He was almost as short as she was. They'd been assigned to work together but neither one was interested in making small talk. He looked away when she took off her clothes. Or, well, when she reabsorbed them, really.

  She put on the head cover herself. It was just a black sack. The cloth was rough. She could breathe okay, but she couldn't see anything. Kelly turned around and put her hands behind her back. She didn't know if... Greg, it was definitely Greg. She didn't know if Greg was staring at her when he tightened the little plastic zip tie things or not, but he was definitely going to have to for the next part.

  They stood on the mat, facing each other. Kelly was pretty sure she was facing him. She didn't know how long they just stood there before they started. She could hear everyone else moving around. Some of them had started already. There were little cries of pain or surprise. Someone had just fallen down. A girl was crying, just a little. How could she hear something so quiet when the room was so loud?

  Oh.

  Eventually, he hit her. Not hard, but she couldn't balance right like this and she fell down. Falling without being able to catch yourself with your hands really hurt. He helped her back up. Then he hit her again. She was a bit more ready and his punch was even lighter this time. She didn't fall down so he hit her again, the shoulder this time.

  Kelly had to struggle not to hunch over, try to protect herself. She wanted to get big. She wanted to grow spikes on her skin or armor or extra eyes or something. He hit her again, harder, and she fell down again. It hurt this time too. Her stomach was sore. So was her butt and her hands.

  He helped her back up. He tried to say something but she wasn't listening, couldn't.

  ...

  It went on for a while.

  ...

  Coach Achala made Greg start hitting her harder. She hated him.

  ...

  She felt her nose break. She screamed and started choking. Greg was shouting for a healer but she was already fixing it. Coach Achala said that she shouldn't do that again unless she thought her life was in danger. She hated him.

  It stopped for a little bit while he talked to Greg. When they were done talking something was different. He wasn't hitting her as often and maybe not as hard but she fell down more and they seemed to hurt more. It was like... no it wasn't just like that, he'd actually told Greg where to hit her so that it would be the most effective. She hated him.

  ...

  It was over. He said they could stop and go home. She didn't listen to anything else, just changed to her combat form. It ripped through the ties and she tore off the hood thing and then she was running up and through the halls until she was outside and she could see the sky.

  * * *

  The Sky

  She was flying. It didn't matter if she wasn't as fast as a peregrine falcon. She didn't care if there was a dragon above her or a girl she barely knew trying to get her attention. Kelly closed her eyes, felt the air parting over and under her. She was flying. For now, that's all that mattered.

  * * *

  Private Housing

  Kelly landed on the roof, changing back to human. Well, kind of human. He stretched out his arms, elongated in what he thought of as his climbing form. The window he'd left unlocked was easy to open and the tail helped him keep his balance while he slipped through it.

  He could hear his roommates, talking downstairs. They didn't sound happy. Kelly didn't blame them. He wanted to go join them but... no. Not yet. The flight had helped but he needed to do something more to feel normal again.

  Kelly got rid of the tail and the claws, changed his proportions back. He switched his clothes to shorts and a tee shirt then searched the room for his cellphone. When he found it, he did the only thing that had always made him feel normal, no matter what his body was at the time.

  "Mom?"

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3: TURNABOUT

  * * *

  Private Housing

  Hector woke himself up early, so he could get breakfast started for himself as well as the other people in the house. He made oatmeal first. He had a big pot, so he could make enough. He went upstairs to check on his mother. She was still asleep, resting happily. He didn't bother adding anything to it, just a little butter. After setting that out, he got out the ingredients for pancakes.

  Eggs might have been easier but, given the last two days, everyone could use a good breakfast. His alarm went off. Time to get to the restaurant, he was opening today. Don't forget the coffee. Isaac seemed to really need it in the mornings. Another him served out the oatmeal and he started eating. There was one more thing he had to do. He knocked on Isaac's door.

  He could hear movement on the other side of the door. Good, at least he hadn't woken the big guy up. The door opened, just a crack.

  "Yeah?"

  "It's Hector. Can we talk for a bit? Before the others are up, I mean."

  Isaac didn't say anything for a moment. The door opened a little more, just enough for Hector to see his face. He left the house, starting the walk to the Citadel proper and its armory. Isaac hadn't shaved yet. He wore a white tank top with his uniform pants and boots. It made him look less controlled than normal. Hector remembered what the man was like when he cut loose, less controlled was not a comforting sight.

  "Yeah. That's... that's probably a good idea. Come in." The door opened further as the big man stepped back. He sat on the edge of his bed while gesturing towards the room's only chair. Hector closed the door as he entered, then took the proffered seat.

  "Look-" Isaac started, before Hector finished sitting, "-about what I said the other day. I, uh, I overreacted."

  Okay, that wasn't how Hector had expected this to go. He'd provoked the guy into a killing rage during a sparring match, one where Hector was in no conceivable danger, and Isaac was apologizing? "No, I-"

  "You were trying to win." The older man spoke right over his attempt to interrupt. "Trash talking is part of the game. If I don't have my sh- my stuff together, that's not your fault."

  "Um. Well, okay. I just wanted to let you know, I pushed too hard." Hector was watching Isaac, carefully. The man's reaction had been unexpected enough that Hector had done some research, trying to figure it out. Hector was humming to himself as he washed his car. Most of his lives didn't need one, but he'd always wanted one. San Diego was just spread out enough to justify the expense.

  He didn't like what he'd found. "You told us that morning, you were empowered as an adult." Isaac sat back, his face blank. "I didn't really get the implication at the time but now... Yeah. Now I do."

  "What do you mean?" Hector didn't like the look of Isaac's face. That wasn't just blank; that was cold.

  "I didn't... I didn't go looking for your story or anything." Not quite a lie. He hadn't looked for it specifically, but he'd still stumbled across it. "I just... did some research on how different ages affect the process, okay? Most of them are during puberty, high emotional turmoil and all, right? Younger than that, you tend to get the weird powers. The ones that change your body or mind or something..."

  Isaac was relaxing a bit. He started humming along as he washed up after his own breakfasts. Oatmeal was easy to make, but it could be a pain to clean if you let it set. Isaac seemed more comfortable with the path Hector was on. Good. "... but with adults, it takes a strong trigger. They're more in control of their emotions, so it has to be something really intense. The flipside being, their powers are more traditional, something about stronger preconceptions of how they're supposed to work. People that empower as an adult also tend to be stronger. A lot stronger."

  "Yeah. Don't spread this around, but my testers said I was about as strong as anyone on record."

  "Wow. Yeah, that's... I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to trigger you, but I get that it wasn't just being stuck on the side of the road with a fla
t tire and no jack." Okay, that was a lie. He knew exactly what Isaac's moment of extreme emotion had been. Why did the keypad never seem to work? He couldn't open if he couldn't get in. "Whatever it was, it had to be pretty bad and I'm guessing... I'm guessing something I said or something about the fight put you back in that moment."

  "Yes. It was... it wasn't anything you said, exactly... just... my state of mind at the time I guess." Isaac was leaning in. He looked frustrated and intense. Not a good combination.

  "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but are you getting help? I mean, the Citadel has to know what it was like and the psych interviews are really thorough, so..." he trailed off, not really knowing how to finish.

  "I've got an appointment with Citadel Support for it on Saturday." The frustration was gone, replaced by confusion. "Hector, at first I thought you were just a nice kid but now, well, you don't really come off as a typical high school grad." Ah, that question. Hector laughed, short and sharp. Maybe it was just a little bitter. Humming along, he finally managed to get the door open. Time to get to work.

  "Isaac, how old do you think I am?"

  "I'd guess eighteen to twenty just looking at you. Why?"

  "Well, you're not wrong. I was born in ninety six. But you're not right either. How long have I lived since then?"

  "What do you...? Oh."

  "Yep. There's a reason I went with Hector Hive." he said, emphasizing the last word. "I'm not a Multiple or Duplicate. Every one of me is distinct, individual, but we also share experience. I won't bother telling you how many of me there are right now. But trust me, I've lived a lot more than eighteen years."

  * * *

  Breakfast that morning was subdued. Hector could live with that; it was better than yesterday's awkwardness. He made sure to set out a larger helping for Kelly. The shapeshifter had really been packing it down during lunch.

  Hector didn't want anyone to get less than they needed. He set his mother's morning medications in a little plastic cup, set the cup next to her plate and carried her tray up the stairs. He was humming a little tune that'd been stuck in his head all morning. He barely gave any attention to the others’ quiet conversation about the day's training.

  "I hated it. Being helpless, it just bothers me. I know that's not profound or anything but-"

  "Hey, don't worry about it kid. No one your size is used to it. Nothing wrong with that."

  "Personally, I found the Ethics portion to be more distasteful. I came here expecting to fight and, sometimes, to lose. I did not expect to have my motivations questioned."

  "Hey guys." Hector called for their attention. "We should probably head out. If we wait much longer we'll have to run. Pretty sure we'll get enough of that already." Quiet groans were his immediate answer. Kelly left the table then paused on his way up the stairs.

  "Isaac? Are you and Hector okay?"

  "Yeah. We're good now."

  "I'm glad. I don't know what happened, but I didn't like it when you were mad at him." Kelly paused, tense and nervous. "Was there... was there something I did that made it worse?"

  "What? No! No kid, I never had anything against you."

  "Oh. I guess... I just thought, maybe you were mad at me too. I'll go get changed now. See you guys in class." Kelly disappeared, leaving behind the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  Isaac looked around, his brow crinkled with worry. "Did I really come off as that angry? I don't even remember seeing him yesterday."

  Those sunglasses made it hard to read Jason's face, but Hector would've bet the other boy looked just as surprised as Hector felt. How had Isaac not figured this out? Luckily, Jason answered before Hector had to try to come up with something appropriate. He smiled to himself. His car was clean, now it was time to start the waxing.

  "Isaac, I think, perhaps, you should have a talk with Kelly about his power. It might save you some... consternation later."

  * * *

  Instruction Area

  Hector looked over the room, trying to decide where to sit. He saw a spot near Kelly, in the back, and moved towards it. There was another, next to that Drew guy, and he decided to get that one too. Jason had picked a seat that was further off to the side than most of the trainees. He might want to sit by himself. Not a bad idea.

  Hector looked for another empty area, then got a chair he thought would leave him without neighbors. He was the first one at the armory. He hadn't expected much of a line at this time of day, but he'd thought there'd be at least a few others. Three was enough, for now. He'd want more when he got to Physical Conditioning, but he could just take care of that on the way over.

  Instructor Verres- no, Instructor Catherine came in. It still seemed a little weird but calling someone by their first name was the polite thing to do, here.

  "Good morning. I'd like to pick up where we left off, yesterday." Huh, no warm up, just right to business today. "Pretend you're a villain. Ignore whatever moral compunctions you would normally feel about a given criminal act. What would you do?" Wow, the restaurant had been trashed. What the hell? She reached for the stack of papers at her side. If anything, Hector thought it might be a little larger than yesterday. Maybe some of the rewrites were a bit more thorough?

  "First response: 'I'd head up to the Capitol Building and murder the Western President.'" There were a few scattered chuckles. "Ambitious. Given the powerset of the individual in question, I'd say about a ten percent chance of success. Class One threat."

  The chuckles stopped.

  "Of course, that only takes into account what I personally know about the WP's security detail. I'd be surprised if there wasn't more. Odds of the subject surviving for more than a week, assuming success, effectively zero.

  “Second response: 'After spending a month or so doing the research, rob every bank in LA, simultaneously.'" Hector suppressed a grin. The laughter was louder, but different, too. Nervous? "There are a number of safety precautions listed that I won't go into. I'd actually give this one a high chance of success, at least for most of the banks." She smiled. There wasn't much humor in it.

  "Class Two threat. Taking into account those precautions I mentioned, I'd say about a month before death or capture. Less, if there's significant civilian casualties." He chatted with Mom, cheerful as he cleared away the remains of her breakfast. Mornings were both her best and her worst times.

  "Third response: 'Pick a city on the Battlegrounds border, then show off in public. Wreck a building and take out any cops that show up or something. Then, I declare myself the newest Lord of the Battlegrounds and rename the city after myself.'" Any pretense at humor was gone from her face and her voice.

  "Hm. Given powersets and the nature of Stationary operatives in border locations, Class Two or Three. Depends on the city and the building." "Assuming the operative in question is ignorant of the responder's powers, their response is likely to be unnecessarily vigorous. Chances of success or survival are effectively zero."

  Hector tuned out, just for a bit. He was done with the permission forms. The armory guy walked him over to the certification range with some pistols and a couple boxes of ammo. The hims by Drew and Kelly were both paying attention.

  * * *

  Certification Range

  The first step was always safety. Hector checked his earplugs. They had a good fit. His glasses were in place. There wasn't anyone else on the range. The second step was familiarity. He picked up the pistol he'd been given, careful to keep it pointed downrange. Safety was on, he pulled the slide to make sure the chamber was empty. Good.

  Hector didn't recognize the gun, not even a brand, but the mechanism was smooth and the pistol itself was surprisingly light. Maybe a little too light? Recoil might be a problem. He set the weapon aside for the moment and began loading the magazines he'd be using for the certification shoot.

  Hector was ready. He inserted the first mag, chambered a round, took a two handed grip and set himself in his firing stance. After a short wait, he heard the same tone used
to signal the start of a sparring match. A target silhouette, just a simple outline on a stick, popped up at the five yard mark.

  Hector took his time with his first shots. This was just the practice phase. He got five shots each at five, ten and fifteen yards to familiarize himself with the weapon. Good thing, too. His second shot went wide. He'd overcompensated for the gun's weight.

  Turns out, it doesn't matter if your weapon is a little light when it doesn't have any recoil. None. He hadn't thought that was possible. Not without some kind of stabilizer, and he didn't see anything like that. Guess that meant this thing was built by a Stark or a Richards type, or at least designed by one.

  The practice shots were done. He changed magazines and set himself for the real thing. It started out the same. Targets popped up at each range and he fired at them. The only difference was, this time he only had three, five and seven seconds to hit each one, five times.

  After that, a target appeared, farther back. Maybe thirty yards? Outside his range. At least, if he wanted to control where his shots went. It rushed towards him and, when he thought it was close enough, he started firing as rapidly as he could. The slide locked, meaning he was out of ammo, just before it passed the five yard mark and disappeared.

  He reloaded as quickly as he could. Three magazines left. Targets began popping up and then withdrawing rapidly at random intervals and locations. He had to 'disable' as many as possible. Hector stuck to center of mass, headshots were for video games, and tried to get each one twice. Eventually, dummy targets began appearing.

  Red silhouettes popped up at the same time as the black. Sometimes, one would swing up to block the other and sometimes one would appear by itself. Hector was careful to hit only the black, even passing on shots when he wasn't sure he could hit the right one. He was down to three rounds in his last magazine when he heard the tone announcing the test was over.