Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity

by Clevenger, J.

  "Better." said Instructor Bruce, satisfied.

  "What the fuck, you bastard!" called Duncan, "you're the same fuck from Saturday! Stop fucking ignoring me goddammit!"

  Bruce Richards shot him again but, this time, Duncan didn't go down. He just staggered a little then gave a cry of wordless anger and charged towards the instructor. Before Duncan had covered half the distance between them, the instructor pulled a small silver cylinder from his belt. He gave it a snap with his wrist, causing it to extend out to a foot and half in length, and threw it towards Duncan's feet.

  Duncan gave a startled cry as the rod was caught between his ankles, in mid-step, and he fell forward to land flat on his face. Isaac watched Instructor Richards calmly side step the table and close the distance, arriving at Duncan's side just as the boy was rolling over. He had a stun baton, just like the one Hector had had at Saturday's breakfast.

  "Now Duncan," he touched him with the baton, "I know you're afraid." There was an audible crackling and Isaac could smell ozone as Duncan started screaming and twitching. "I know most of your classmates are afraid." His limbs were flailing around, striking out at random. "I know that all of that fear is making you stronger by the second." The instructor moved slightly, avoiding a blow that cracked the concrete floor of the dome. "What I don't know is why you would be foolish enough to attack one of your instructors, an operative." The twitching and flailing subsided as he stopped pressing the baton against Duncan's body.

  "Fucking. Shot. Me." Still twitching, slightly, Duncan could barely speak.

  "That? Just a demonstration for the class, on the benefits of a weapon over their bare hands." He lowered the baton, lightly touching Duncan, and the screaming resumed. "Class? Please remember this. When facing someone with physical abilities equal to or greater than your own, find a workaround. Electricity, gas, stun grenades, they all have their uses." He bore down again, with the baton, and Duncan's screams grew louder.

  "While Trainee Duncan's strength and resiliency are increasing by the moment, fueled by your own reactions, the conductivity of his skin is unchanged. The current is no longer sufficient to do any harm to his tissues, but it does have a negative effect on his nervous system." The screaming stopped and Duncan's movements reduced dramatically, though he was still twitching. Instructor Richards stood and put the baton away, retrieving the rod he'd thrown earlier as well.

  "Sufficient levels can even cause the heart to stop."

  "No!" Jenny cried out, breaking loose from the crowd of horrified students to rush to his side. She began making rhythmic motions, pushing down on his chest.

  "Calm down, Trainee Awesome, the boy's fine, just unconscious. He'll wake up in a few minutes with a headache but that's all." said Bruce Richards, not a trace of worry in his voice.

  "To return to my earlier point... Trainee Drew?"

  "Yes sir?" The boy's voice quavered, almost squeaking.

  "What is the benefit of a knife?"

  "Sir... it cuts things?"

  The instructor gave a tolerant smile. "Yes, but what lets it do that, anyone?"

  Isaac spoke up, the first reaction he'd given since the lecture began. "It's the edge. It concentrates force into a smaller area."

  "Exactly!" The smile was broader but not exactly cheerful. "A few of you, a very few, have a power that is variable enough, broad enough, that you don't need any sort of tool or weapon. For the rest of you... well, humans invented them for a reason." He reached into the case once more and began withdrawing a number of different devices.

  "Trainee Drew still has the knife. It concentrates force along its edge or the point. This is an extendable baton, it concentrates force to a lesser extent but also extends the leverage of your swing. The result is that it hits harder than your hand. I've already demonstrated the variable current stun baton. This is a tear gas canister. I assume you're all roughly familiar with the effects of the gas. Keep in mind, many Strong types, as well as telekinetics, energy manipulators and the like, breathe just like normal people." He looked around at the class, most of whom were beginning to settle down. Duncan still lay on the floor, twitching.

  "Most people think that the Citadel only takes the best. That's not entirely true. The candidates we accept are the ones with the potential to be the best. This, right here," he gestured to indicate the table before him, "is one of the ways we make sure you live up to that. Personal Conditioning is, obviously, a personal class. I'll be meeting with each of you, helping you design a course of training to make the best use of your own abilities as well as suggesting various skills and devices you should familiarize yourself with." His smile, this time, was wry.

  "On the plus side, you won't have any more marathons to run. You will, however, have a customized workout routine that you'll be responsible for maintaining on your own time. Any questions?"

  "Yeah." The speaker was a short girl with red hair in a pixie style cut.

  "Ah, the class's current number two." He paused to consider. "I believe you prefer to be called Kerry?"

  She nodded.

  "Please, ask your question."

  "Okay, Instructor Bruce," she began, warily, "what makes you so sure you can tell us a better way to use our own powers? I mean, we're all pretty unique and we've had them our whole lives..."

  "Young lady, do you know what a Richards type is?"

  "Isn't it the same thing as a Stark type, except your gadgets and stuff don't actually fit in with regular science?"

  "Not quite, my dear, though that is a common misunderstanding. It actually goes back to the two types' respective arch types." He paused, as if organizing his thoughts.

  "Andre Stark was a contemporary of Henry Ford. In nineteen seventeen he redesigned the ethanol based internal combustion engine and designed an assembly line plant to produce them. He didn't invent either concept, just refined them, built them better than anyone else ever had." He looked around the group.

  "Penicillin was discovered in nineteen twenty eight, more or less by accident. It was considered a neat chemical, but not something with much practical use. Two years later, Jerome Richards published a paper. It gave a detailed description of a process he'd developed, one that would modify a common rhinovirus. Those altered virus particles would, in turn, alter the human genome. The intended result was a human being whose body released measured amounts of penicillin in the presence of infection." The instructor's gaze returned to Kerry. "Care to guess what happened?"

  "It didn't work. Richards made stuff never does, not for anyone else."

  "Close. No one else could understand the man's process well enough to use it themselves. Although there were a dozen of his test subjects who were never sick again, for the rest of their lives. Obviously, the procedure worked. However, Dr. Richards didn't take the rejection well. He thought, like you and everyone else, that it was his own power that let the procedure work. It wasn't till the eighties that we had proof to the contrary." He paused, waiting for her to make the connection.

  "You're..." her face went white, "you're talking about the Bug Bomb, aren't you."

  "Yes. Its maker was a normal man, though brilliant. Dr. Seth Brindle managed to adapt Richards' process so that, instead of penicillin production, the infected individuals changed. They went from normal humans to... something else." The instructor, and the class, were quiet for a moment.

  "Anyway, to answer your question, both Richards and Stark types gain an intuitive understanding in their field of interest. Starks work at, or a little beyond, the cutting edge of modern science. Richards types, like myself, are capable of creating processes or technologies that are far in advance of anything comparable. My own field of interest is personal combat, specifically Empowered combat."

  More than one trainee was wide eyed at that. Jenny was the only one who responded.

  "So you're saying, what, that other Richards types make antigravity boots and laser rifles and stuff but you spend all your time figuring out better ways for people to fight each other? But th
ey're just as advanced?"

  "That's right Jenny."

  "Whoa."

  "Now, if the rest of you will please wait outside, I'll finish with Drew Stasis and call the rest of you in one by one."

  * * *

  "Okay Drew, I take it you've figured out my point with the knife thing? Or do you need a bit more time to consider it?" The boy didn't seem to think it was funny. "Well then, not to belabor it, but here's another knife."

  Drew took it without comment, a puzzled look on his face. He tested the edge against his thumb and disappeared when the blade sank half way to the bone. The boy reappeared instantly, three feet to the left, the puzzled look gone and a scar on his thumb.

  "That's the closest we can get to a monomolecular blade. Basically, the edge is only a little thicker than a politician's conscience. You'll find a bunch of anatomy charts and some exercise routines in your mailbox. Mostly isometrics and the like, to take advantage of all your free time."

  "Sir, I think I see what you're going for, but..."

  "Something wrong?"

  "Well, it's just, I'm not exactly comfortable with this."

  Bruce cocked his eyebrow, it'd taken him a week to learn how to do that right. "Go on, you won't get in trouble for speaking your mind here."

  "Sir, right now... Well, right now I either win or I don't. There isn't a fight, it just comes down to whether or not I can hurt the other guy. I mean, I knock them out instantly or I can't hurt them at all."

  "I think you'll find that there are very few people that you can't hurt with that knife."

  "Yes sir. That's the problem. This, this wouldn't be a fight at all. I can't knock someone out with it, just cut them. It'd be murder."

  Bruce didn't answer, at first, giving the boy time to add anything else on his mind.

  "Once you've got the anatomy stuff down, I'll start you on some training with a few restraint devices. There's more than a few that are small enough for you to carry with you into your 'Still Time' effect."

  "That's a little better, but... you still expect the knife to be my primary resource. Otherwise you would've started me with those."

  Bruce just nodded.

  "I'll... I'll have to think about this. I applied to the Citadel because I want to help people, not... not kill them."

  If the boy couldn’t see the link between the two, it was probably better to let him figure it out on his own. Otherwise, he’d never make it as an operative.

  * * *

  The Sparring Field

  "Trainee Kelly." Bruce greeted the young shape shifter.

  "Sir." he replied.

  "Figure out what you did wrong, during your last fight?"

  Kelly blushed. "Um, yeah. Jim told me, right after I woke up, that I needed a vapor lock or a one way filter. Something to keep the flame from, well... you know."

  "Blowing up your head?"

  "Yeah."

  Bruce smiled. "True, but not what I actually meant. You had a good idea. Incorporating inorganic materials and custom designing a body for combat, it's a good path for you. I can help you get better at it, but that's not the only route to go."

  "Sir?" Kelly asked, puzzled, "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "Combat is a big part of what the Citadel does, but it's not everything. Intelligence gathering, subterfuge, infiltration, we've got a need for all of it." He gave the young man a serious look, "You're potential there is, well, it's frankly incredible."

  "I... sir, I'd really rather not. I know it seems strange for a shapeshifter, but I don't really like the idea of lying about who I am. It's... it just..." Kelly trailed off.

  "Okay." Bruce thought about it for a moment, hoping his power would engage, but got nothing. He was better with power interactions and combat techniques, this personality stuff wasn't his forte. "Well, as I said, you've got more than enough potential in the combat area."

  "Thank you, sir." He smiled, "Even with the, you know, exploding thing?"

  "Yes." Bruce laughed. "Actually, that's a point in your favor. Most of our candidates, most of our operatives for that matter, wouldn't have survived that."

  "Thanks?"

  "On that note, the mishap with your... exploding thing... wasn't what I meant when I said you went wrong."

  Kelly's brow furrowed in confusion, "Then what?"

  "The dragon form itself. Before you got to that point, you could barely move. Even leaving aside the fire problem, Trainee James probably would've won."

  "I just needed more practice, sir. I know I was a little clumsy, but-"

  "Practice controlling a body that's so different from your normal one? How long did it take you to get the hang of your bird form?"

  "Almost a year." Kelly said, quietly.

  "And that monkey one?"

  "My climbing form? How did you...?" Bruce just looked at him. "It didn't. Take any time, I mean. I just made some adjustments to my normal body and..."

  Bruce smiled. "Exactly. Your shapes, even the ones where you change your brain, don't come with their own set of instincts. So, the further they are from human, the harder they're going to be to control."

  "Well, yes sir, but if I don't make it something a bit more extreme than a regular human, I can't really stand up to the Strong types and stuff."

  "Well, there's extreme and then there's improved." He reached into the case and retrieved the items he'd set aside for Kelly. "This is a mantis shrimp and this is a cone snail. Take a good look at the joints on the shrimp and pay particular attention to the saddle shaped structure. For the snail, study its venom production.

  "Okay..." Kelly had that puzzled look again. Apparently he'd never heard of either creature.

  "I'll send you some documents for some changes I'd like you to practice."

  "Yes sir, I'll make sure to try them out."

  "Kelly," Bruce said, his voice serious, "this is important. Don't try any of them out unless I'm present. Just visualize them, try to figure out any issues they might cause. We can set up a time, later this week, to try them out but I want a Healer present and a safe sparring partner for you."

  Kelly's eyes were wide with surprise. "That seems a bit excessive, sir, but okay."

  "Kelly. The last time you made a mistake with a new form, you lost your head. Trust me on this, some of this could go a lot worse."

  Kelly swallowed. "I understand sir."

  * * *

  Private Residence

  Isaac closed his bedroom door and wandered towards the kitchen, lured by the unexpected aroma of coffee.

  "Hector, is that you?" he called.

  "Yeah man, in here. Keep it down though, I think Kelly's still asleep." Hector replied, just a little louder than a whisper.

  "Woops." Isaac said, sheepishly, as he accepted a mug of coffee from the young man. "Good to have you back."

  Hector turned back to the stove top, where he'd been preparing a large breakfast, but not so fast that Isaac didn't catch the grin.

  "Relieved that you won't have to rely on Adama's for your morning coffee anymore?"

  A month ago Isaac would have shattered the mug in his hand. Now, he just set it down and said, as calmly as he could manage, "No. I haven't been to an Adama's in... in a while."

  Hector looked over his shoulder, concerned. "Are you-?" Maybe not as calmly as he'd intended. "Sorry, what'd I say?"

  Isaac took a deep breath. It wasn't the kid's fault. "My wife and I," Hector set the spatula he'd been using on the kitchen counter and turned to face him, "a mutual friend set us up. We met, for the first time, at an Adama's." He smiled at the memory, a little surprised that it didn't hurt so much.

  "After I graduated, I was working heavy hours and she was working on her doctorate and holding down a job." Isaac took a sip of the coffee. "It didn't leave us with much in the way of time for each other, even though we were living together." The drink was sweet but dark, no cream. When had Hector started making it just the way he liked it? "So we got in the habit of meeting at the same Adama's. Good thi
ng it was across the street from my office or we wouldn't have been able to manage it."

  Oh God. Had he really just said that?

  "Hey. Hey Isaac, calm down man. It's okay."

  "I was late. I was always Goddamn late!" The room was blurry but, his forehead, his power wasn't on. "She was waiting for me... when they- when that careless fucking bastard-"

  * * *

  Kelly was coming down the steps, making sure to stomp hard enough that anyone in the living room or kitchen would hear him. He'd walked in on enough people talking about him for one lifetime, now he was always careful to make sure they'd know he was coming. When he got to the foot of the stairs he froze.

  Hector was back, the first time Kelly had seen him outside of training since Saturday. More importantly, Isaac was bent over the kitchen table, sobbing, a broken mug and spilled coffee on the floor around him while Hector tried to console him.

  Nervous, unsure what to do, Kelly took the easy path. Shifting back to her quieter form between steps, she crept back up the stairs without making a sound.

  * * *

  The Sparring Field

  Bruce took a moment to review his notes and the next trainee's Empowerment evaluation. While he was fiddling with his wrist communicator, his new assistant set up the silhouette targets and brought in the next cases he'd need.

  "Should that be assistant or assistants?" Bruce muttered to himself.

  The English language wasn't really suited to accurately describing powers or some of their ramifications. Absently, he suppressed the urge to spend the rest of the day designing a new one.

  "Ready sir." the nearest Hector said.

  Bruce just nodded, rather than answering.

  A short time later, "Instructor Bruce?"

  "Mm?" He glanced up at the girl, tall, scrawny, eyes too large and too wide set for her face.

  "Is, uh, is this the part where you tell me my flight is actually based on gravity manipulation? That I'm really one of the strongest Empowered in the class?" she asked, masking her desperate hope with a feeble attempt at humor.