Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity

by Clevenger, J.

  Even before, it was anger that motivated him. A refusal to quit, an inability to accept things as they were, that had been what had driven him to success. He'd told people that he'd been an accountant. He thought he'd mentioned doing some boxing in college. That was true, but not the whole story. He'd won a diamond belt and used the prize as seed money. Isaac had been an accountant, but he'd been the owner of his own firm. Admittedly, a small one, but that was still a highly unusual thing for a twenty five year old. By the time he was thirty, he had a dozen employees and he'd been trying to convince- He'd wanted them to work together.

  This wasn't a problem of motivation. When he'd lost it against Hector... he'd wanted to... He didn't have the words. Hurt? Kill? Protect? Everything, all at once. Every last feeling he'd ever had during a fight had been in his head at the same time. It pushed his power, hard. But strength wasn't his issue. Against Jenny, he hadn't felt anything but a bit of worry and then surprise. As far as Isaac was concerned, he'd lost both fights. For the same reason too, he'd lost control. That was it, then.

  When he was hot, he pushed himself forward. When he was cold, he pulled others in. He didn't need that extra bit, that desire to hurt that came with the cold, but he could still use the basic approach. He was already strong enough, he didn't need to work for that. Now he knew what he would work for.

  * * *

  The Sparring Fields

  Isaac kept his face still, impassive, while the healer asked them about their powers. He let the Dust boy answer first.

  "I, uh..." The boy interrupted himself to look at him, swallowed, then continued. "I'm normal. Any... anything that gets through will hurt. But... but I'm good at stopping that."

  "Very well." answered the healer. "And you, Trainee Isaac?"

  "I can't be harmed." he said, coldly, then turned to look down at his opponent. "I don't know why you chose me." He had to force it, but he put a bit of contempt in his voice. "I promise, it will not go well for you."

  "Enough!" The Healer interrupted him. "Trainee, if you say another word before the match, I'll call it here and now!" That was the first show of emotion he'd seen from one of the Citadel's healers. "Is that understood?"

  Isaac just nodded, not taking his eyes off Donnie. The kid was visibly wilting before him. He felt a little bad about this. But, if it worked, it could make the difference between being an operative and a washout.

  "Trainee Dust, your use of force against Isaac is unrestricted. You win if you render him helpless or he says 'I yield.' You forfeit the match if you speak the same phrase, or you break through the dome's walls. You may also tap the ground or your opponent, if you wish to yield but are unable to speak."

  Isaac wished he could read the healer's expression. Those masks they wore, traditional for healers in and out of the Citadel, covered their mouths and noses. They might have been meant to stop the spread of infection, but they did a good job of hiding a healer's face as well.

  "Isaac, you win if you render helpless Trainee Dust or if he speaks the phrase 'I yield.' You forfeit the match if you breach the dome, speak the same phrase, or exceed acceptable force levels. For the purpose of this match, lethal force constitutes severe damage to Trainee Dust's torso or head, as well as full amputation of one of his arms or legs.

  Do you both understand the terms of this match?"

  Isaac just nodded, while Donald was answering.

  "Then please enter the combat dome. You may begin when the tone sounds. Stop, immediately, when it sounds again."

  The two trainees separated and entered the dome from opposite sides. As soon as they left the healer, Isaac began concentrating on his field. He needed it as strong as he could get it, but he wanted to keep the visual aspect to a minimum. After a few moments of that, there was a slight rippling in the air around him. It looked like heat distortion. He could feel the burning, just behind his forehead. He kept pushing at it, making it stronger, until it felt like a spike driven into his skull. He tried not to let the struggle show on his face, kept it cold and distant. He stood straight, crossed his arms, and waited for the match to begin.

  * * *

  Don hadn't done any research before the match, didn't even try to put a face to the name he'd picked. All he'd known was that Isaac Strong was five ranks above him. He wanted to get as high as he could before graduation. They said rank didn't affect that, but it was obvious how they'd pick the trainees who went on to intervention teams. He met Isaac for the first time when they both approached Geoffrey Healer, just before the match. He'd tried to introduce himself, keep it friendly, but the big man just acted like he was offended, like Don was beneath him. He shouldn't have let it bother him but...

  Isaac scared him.

  He heard the tone and let his power out. Dust began to pour out of his skin, gathering around him. Isaac just stood there, his arms crossed, that look on his face. He drew out more of the dust, gathered it into a mass around him. He couldn't see anything, but that was okay. Don reached out with arms made of the black stuff his power created, felt the sides of the dome. He used that to orient himself, then pressed in against himself with the dust he'd kept close to his body. Don rose about twenty feet, almost to the ceiling, and cleared the air around his face. Isaac was still standing there. He almost looked bored. Don knew what he could do, what his power was capable of. That Strong asshole thought he couldn't be hurt? Fine, he wouldn't hold back.

  Don raised an arm of black dust, squeezed it together until it was as hard as stone, and sent it flying across the room. He felt the impact as it slammed into the big man, hard enough to crush a car. Isaac didn't move. He let the dust collapse into its natural powder form. He sent more and more, burying Isaac in it. When he had enough to cover the man's entire body, he started to squeeze.

  He could feel the space between the grains, moved them closer to get rid of it. When it was as tight as he could get it, he stopped. He'd made a greyish black mound around his opponent, airtight. He knew he'd have to let the man out soon, otherwise he'd suffocate. The rules might have allowed it, but he didn't want to kill the guy.

  Isaac started moving, slowly. At first, Don thought he was struggling, trying to break through the surrounding mass. Then he realized, Isaac was just walking. He'd stuck the man in a tomb of dust, stronger than stone and feet thick, but the man was just walking out of it. Isaac broke free, still walking towards Don, and he didn't even look bothered.

  Don raised his hands, lifting the dust he'd used to bury Isaac and collapsing it back into a powder. He set it moving, swirling around the man, faster and faster. Don forced it against him, and the floor. At this speed, the dust could strip steel. He could already feel it ripping up tiny chunks of the stone floor, gouging it deeper by the moment, and added that material to his cloud.

  Cold sweat was building up on Don's face. He pushed harder, trying to get his power to make more dust. He was at his limit, so he used some of the swirling cloud to strip material off the walls as well as the floor. This was as hard as he'd ever pushed himself. The dust storm he was maintaining was strong enough to flip a truck, the grains of stone and dust were moving fast enough to eat through the side of a battleship.

  He'd have to be careful not to breach a wall at this rate, but Isaac was totally unaffected. It was unreal. He began compressing chunks of dust, making larger pieces. He kept the cloud moving, used the larger pieces to strike at Isaac while he tried to rip off his skin with the smaller ones.

  Isaac stopped walking when he was almost directly beneath Don. His clothes weren't even damaged. He said something. Don could feel the movement in his face. His dust was even more sensitive than his fingers were, but he couldn't tell what the man had said. He thought he was finally having an effect on Isaac when the man bent over.

  He realized what was happening a moment later, when the rock, a piece of the floor that Isaac had scooped out as easily as a child made a snowball, came flying at him. Don tried to put dust between him and it, but he couldn't harden it fast enough. It
hit him in his left hand. He felt something give, screamed in pain, and half the dust in the room collapsed to the ground.

  That included the dust that was supporting him.

  Isaac caught him, cradling him in his arms like an infant. Don tried to pull in more dust, sent it streaming at Isaac's face. The bastard just adjusted his grip, ignoring Don's attempts to get free, until he was holding him up by both arms, squeezing them near the shoulders. He could feel a red heat, spikes of agony coming from his hand every time he moved. Isaac said something again, but Don still couldn't hear him. He felt the man's grip tighten, then felt both his arms break. He couldn't concentrate, let go of the dust, clenched his eyes shut against the pain. Isaac set him down, gently. It still hurt. This time, he heard the looming figure speak.

  "Say it."

  Cold. His voice was so cold. Don couldn't think, didn't know what the man wanted. Isaac's hands moved lower, squeezed again. Don's eyes shot open as the pain got worse. He looked away, terrified. Isaac let go of his arms and Don was relieved, until he felt the hand on his throat.

  "Please!" he begged, "Anything! Just stop!"

  "Apologize for wasting my time, boy."

  "YES!" he screamed, desperate. "I'm sorry! I yield! I yield!" He heard a noise and the hand let go. He was crying but he didn't care, not as long as that man stopped hurting him.

  * * *

  Isaac let go of the kid's throat and stood up as soon as he heard the tone. The match was over. He turned and left through the same door he'd entered, without looking back at the other trainee. He had to make an effort to keep his face cold and his stride even as he heard the healer working on the poor boy. Isaac exited the dome, then paused to look around. When he'd found his target, standing next to an unfamiliar man in an operative's uniform, he started walking again.

  "Instructor Achala."

  "Yes Trainee Isaac?" The coach's voice didn't hold any of the hostility he'd feared. Isaac didn't let his relief show.

  "I'd like to change my name." he said, instead.

  "If you are no longer Strong, then who are you?" Achala asked, with a touch of ceremony.

  "Isaac Dauntless."

  The man nodded in acceptance or maybe approval. "A good name, wear it well."

  Isaac thought there might have been compassion in Achala's eyes, but he didn't take the time to be sure. Again, without looking back, he turned and left.

  * * *

  Private Residence

  He'd seen Hector and Jason in the crowd of trainees, gathered to watch or participate in the day's fights, but he hadn't acknowledged them. Breaking character then would've wasted the work he'd done. Work: to create something of value. He sighed, hoping that fit, that what he'd started would actually have value. She... she wouldn't have liked it. But what she wanted didn't matter anymore, not after what that arrogant bastard, that stupid, idiotic vigilante had done. So, this was what he'd do, who he'd be.

  Isaac heard a knocking at his door. It didn't surprise him. He knew Jason and Kelly were at the matches, they each had a fight scheduled, but saying that Hector was somewhere else was kind of silly. The young man always seemed to have a few duplicates around.

  "Yeah?"

  "Isaac? It's Hector, mind if I come in?"

  Isaac didn't answer, just grunted, but apparently that was enough. Moving slowly, Hector opened the door and slipped in. Isaac was sprawled out on the bed, one arm near his head and the other stretched out. Hector took his usual seat, the room's only chair.

  "Did it work?" Isaac asked him.

  "Depends," Hector met Isaac’s gaze, his face grim, "were you trying to scare the shit out of pretty much everyone else in the class?"

  "That bad?" Isaac winced. "Not how I would've put it, but yeah, that's pretty much what I was going for."

  "Why?"

  "This way, I keep my current spot without having to fight as much."

  "I didn't think you were the type to care about the rankings." Hector said.

  "I don't, not really." Isaac tried to explain. "They've been pretty up front that the rankings don't mean anything, not in and of themselves. Coach Achala called them a training opportunity, or something like that." Hector nodded. "I think... I think what they really are, are a chance to study us. The fight training we've had so far, it isn't about teaching technique or anything like that. Even the exercise, I mean, it makes people stronger... but there's something off. It seems to me, they're both more about teaching an attitude. Or maybe looking for it? I wanted to show them, the instructors, what I'm capable of."

  "You're right. Or at least, I've been thinking pretty much the same way." Hector agreed.

  "Heroes-" Isaac felt the burning in his head and his vision took on a silver tint, just from saying the word. "Sorry." He took a moment to calm down. "Vigilantes, the ones that call themselves heroes, they talk about inspiring people. They dress up in bright colors, costumes and masks and all that. The Citadel, operatives, they wear black and white. They don't exactly wear uniforms, there's too many differences in the gear they carry to call them that, but it’s close. They aren't about good and evil, just..."

  "Necessity." Hector interrupted.

  "Exactly. That's what the training, the lectures and the ranking stuff is all about. That mind set."

  "How do you mean? I get the lectures, they're not exactly subtle. But the rankings?"

  "Take that poor Dust kid, Donny." Isaac started to explain.

  "Don." Hector interrupted. "He, uh, he hates being called Donny."

  "Sorry. Guess he reminded me of someone else." Isaac closed his eyes, just for a moment, before continuing. "They both got in over their heads because they didn't bother to think about what they were doing. I'm probably the worst possible match for that kid, and it should've been obvious to him."

  "Yeah, the force field, right?" Hector got it, probably had as soon as he saw what Don's power was.

  "I don't know the details, but that kid made and controlled some kind of powder, right?"

  "He calls it dust, obviously. They're basically bucky balls, if you've ever heard the term. He's also got a kind of telekinesis that only works on small particles and his dust." explained Hector.

  "Thought so. You've been watching him, all of us. You're smart. He isn't." Isaac shook his head. "I saw what he did to the walls and the floor. That kid's power is destructive as anything you can name. But my field, there's no friction there. It only registers impact, and it pushes back against each one, individually. The only shot he used against me, the only one that might've worked, was the first one. But it wasn't strong enough, not enough force behind it. Against a basic Strong type, maybe even one on the same scale as me, he'd have peeled them down to the bone."

  "So what does that say about this attitude you were talking about?" Hector asked.

  "The exercise. With that Aid guy there, you literally couldn't fail. All you had to do was keep trying. With the lectures, they've been emphasizing making a hard call in a no win situation. Fight training was the same thing, on a more personal scale. Get us, those of us that need it, used to hurting someone. Used to being hurt, too.

  “The first time's the hardest, same as most things. It gets easier to deal with. Every single time, it's easier. The rankings... that's a little different. My take on it is that it's about planning, fitting strength against weakness. It's like Instructor Verres said, no one's so strong they can beat all comers."

  Hector hesitated, before answering. "I'm... not so sure about that last part. But I think you're right about the rest. Everything they've done so far, it isn't about training the body. They're trying to shape our mindsets. And I'm wondering... just how honest they've been about it."

  "What do you mean?" Isaac sat up, suddenly concerned.

  "You remember that guest speaker, the one from Monday?"

  "Sights or something. What about him?" Isaac asked.

  "He was wrong." Hector said.

  * * *

  The Sparring Fields

  Kelly e
xamined her opponent from across the room. Jim Feral was a little under average height, with light brown hair and a build that wasn't quite heavy enough to be called stocky. She'd picked him for a couple of reasons. Kerry had fought him during the initial rankings and had been willing to share what she knew about his abilities.

  He had the basic physical enhancements: strength, durability and reflex speed, but they weren't enough to stand out here. Coupled with fairly high end regeneration and natural blades, he was the perfect opponent for her to test out her new form. He could do enough damage to get through anything but the really outstanding defenses and she didn't have to worry about hurting him too bad, if her form worked better than she expected. Of course, the most important reason was that she hadn’t seen him in a while, wanted to reconnect.

  "I hate fighting people like you." he called, strolling forward. Her first reaction was a mixture of betrayed hurt and anger. She almost attacked right then, but that sort of thing didn't really fit him. He’d never had a problem with her… ‘oddity’ before.

  "What do you mean?" she asked instead. He stopped around thirty feet away, close enough that they didn't need to yell but far enough to let him react if she tried to sucker punch him. It was smart, smarter than she'd have expected from him.

  "The tiny little girls with ridiculous powers." he explained. "If I win, I get crap for beating up a little girl. Losing is even worse. No one gives you sympathy for getting torn apart by a fucking dragon if they think of it as a cute little red head." His tone was bitter but he was smirking as he said it, amused. "It's a lose-lose situation." Kelly shifted to her basic male form.

  "Better?"

  "Thanks, I appreciate it." Jim lunged forward, faster than Kelly expected. A bone spike slid out of the palm of his hand as he came.