He walked behind Arial, whose eyebrows were scrunched together with curiosity, and held his arm vertical.
“Now, Miss, tilt at the same slope as my arm. I’m going to move it slowly backwards. Ready?”
“Sure,” answered Arial, rising a foot off the floor and watching his hand. He started to pivot at the elbow and she followed, careful to keep the motion slow and moving from perpendicular to more parallel to the floor.
At fifteen degrees, her teeth clenched.
At thirty, I could see her neck muscles straining.
Forty-five degrees and she started shaking, her breath held as she kept pace with Mr. Linns.
And at sixty, she collapsed to the floor, Mr. Linn’s arm shooting out to catch her before she met tile, bringing her back up to vertical where she started floating without effort again.
“Another medium high, quite impressive,” he said, and made a note on his paper. “Personally, I’ve never seen a Flier make it past seventy degrees, and seventy-five is absolutely unheard of. Well done, well done. Now, next!”
The heavyset boy whose yawn had spread like wildfire in the auditorium made his way to the front, his chubby face disinterested as Mr. Linns looked him over.
“Groupthink,” he said before Mr. Linns had the chance to ask.
“Look, boy, you will speak when you are spoken to in my class!” reprimanded Mr. Linns, slamming a ruler against his desk with a snap, “Who do you think you are?”
“Connie,” he answered, still disinterested and voice slow. “But my friends call me Connor.”
“If I wanted to know who your friends were, I would have asked!” Mr. Linns practically shouted, and Connor flinched as the rest of the class pulled back in their seats.
“Hey, I don’t know what I did here—” he started but was cut off by another shout.
“Maybe you should think about it, then! Walking up here like the class belongs to you, disrupting it, not paying attention in the back. I’ve half a mind to send you away right now!”
At his side, Connie’s hand formed a fist, and he retorted to Mr. Linns, “I don’t know what burr lodged its way up your ass, but go ahead, then! See if I care!”
“Yeah!” shouted Blake at the back of the classroom. “What the Hell is your problem, teacher?”
“Leave him alone!” two more voices called out as a few students stood, shaking their heads in disgust as their chairs screeched backwards.
“Seriously, he did nothing wrong!” I joined in, my right arm tightening as I considered putting a force point behind Mr. Linns’ desk to scatter his belongings to the floor.
But Mr. Linns raised his hands and flashed a smile, speaking quickly to the aroused class.
“Well done, Connor! Class, Groupthink is the ability to transmit your own emotions to others, often marked by a suppression of emotions in the individual that holds the power, unless provoked. And Connie here has shown he is particularly adept – ten seconds ago, the back row was practically asleep in their seats. Now they’re about to challenge me to a fight. I apologize, Connor, for yelling at you – but evoking emotions is the best way to test Groupthink.”
“So I did well?” Asked Connor, his face confused as the rest of the class tilted their heads to the side, their own expressions perplexed.
“Marvelously!” commended Mr. Linns as Connor’s face broke into a proud smile, beaming.
And the class rose to their feet, erupting into applause as he walked back to his seat.
Chapter 21
Mr. Linns folded his notepaper as he cast a glance over us.
“That’s everyone, then? We’ll be heading back to the auditorium then; let’s go.”
He led us from the room, the mood slowly fading as Connor’s expression returned to disinterest, passing groups of other students that were performing their own tests in side classrooms. One was focused on a steel marble in his palm, his expression locked in concentration as veins of gold spread outwards like spider webs of the metal. The door to another room was open, and as we passed, I felt a frigid breeze accompanied by the chattering of teeth, with several blue faces staring out from the inside.
“No, don’t go up in the seats!” he said as we arrived in the auditorium and started to climb the bleachers. “Down here, in the center, stand and wait! The rest should be here in a moment.”
One by one, the other classes arrived, gathering around us in a growing crowd, the teachers collecting at the front of the auditorium and passing around slips of folded paper to Principal Siri, who transcribed them into a small bound book.
“Welcome back!” she said, holding the book in the air. “Each of you have been measured, your initial dignity determined. Next, you shall be separated accordingly into three groups – Upper, Average, and Bottom. Uppers will congregate in the seats to my left, while Average and Bottoms will share the bleachers on my right. Bottoms, you shall not sit.
“Uppers – you are free to go after you are sorted, you only have to return tomorrow for classes. Consider today a half day for you in reward for a job well done! Averages and Bottoms, you will remain here for further instruction.”
She cleared her throat, scanning the open notebook in front of her.
“The following ten students shall be Uppers,” she said, reading from the list, though there we only two names I recognized, the last two to be spoken.
“Blake and Connor!”
The called upon students sifted through the crowd, nudging past us to the left seats where small packs of snacks and bottled drinks waited for them. Academy and street criminal alike, all of them stood a little straighter than they had only a few minutes before. And the rest of us remained waiting as Principal Siri licked a finger to turn the page and started speaking again.
“Averages are next, starting with Kimmy,” she said, as a girl to my left sighed with relief and started to walk away, soon joined by three more students in my nearby vicinity. A slew of other names followed, each of the students grateful to depart. Arial was in the middle of them, and she left without looking back.
“And finally,” Principal Siri said, with only a fraction of students left, “SC.”
I departed, making my way into the seats as Principal Siri smiled to the remainder of the students.
“Bottoms,” she continued, staring down at them, the one boy who had made heat pour away from him and had shouted earlier glaring back up from their center, “you are the remainders. Go on, claim your area. Own it.”
Then she turned to address us all. “Everyone, these are your current classifications. Know that while these were judged off of power rankings, you have the opportunity to make them change. You may move upwards, or you may fall downwards – at the end of each week, evaluations will occur to determine where you belong. But remember, your position relies entirely upon your demonstration of worth. And high worth shall be justly rewarded.
“Uppers, you are now free to go. The rest of you will assist in cleaning this facility. Averages, move down to collect your chores now from the instructors, and Bottoms, the remainder of chores belong to you. Until all are finished, no one eats except for the Uppers. And Bottoms, I suggest you employ a sense of urgency, for when they are done, you will be scrubbing the dishes.”
My chore list was simple – to sweep the main hallways, then mop afterward before returning for a new assignment. And since I was mobile, I saw what tasks preoccupied the others.
The Averages were dotted around the classrooms and corridors, given chores like sorting books, dusting, or cleaning the windows. And the Bottoms congregated with cleaning chemicals in the bathrooms, their noses wrinkled as they worked, an instructor overseeing each group. Only once did I see one of the Bottoms start to pitch a fit, but in moments, Principal Siri was beside her and whispering in her ear, until the girl picked the sponge back up from where she had thrown it and returned to the bathroom.
The Averages arrived to dinner on time, a meal that most complained about, but I found better than the school food
I had endured in the past. The Uppers were there early, laughing at a table by themselves, the Bottoms arriving just in time to start clearing plates away. Then they ate what remained of dinner, the portions smaller since most of it was already consumed, sitting at a table at the far end of the room with uneven legs. The Bottom table, it was known on the first day.
By the second day, it had already been christened the Ass Table.
Chapter 22
“Listen up!” commanded Instructor Cane, a mountain of a man with the foothills of a stomach to match, his gut warbling alongside his voice. “And quit your yawning! This is important!”
From the back, a few heads snapped upwards, and I flexed the muscles in my back, trying to roll out a knot that had formed the night before. We were standing in the center of the recess field, the fence containing us, and in a circle around Instructor Cane.
Of those who now lived in the rehabilitation facility, the Uppers were the most rested, with private rooms outfitted with brand new mattresses that the Averages had helped carry inside. And as an Average, I had received a narrow and lumpy padded bunk bed for the night, the room’s temperature just slightly too warm, and two out of my eight roommates carefully ensuring that not a moment passed without the sound of snoring. Still, I had it better than the Bottoms, whose room was a single one of the basement holding cells for all of them. Each sported bloodshot eyes and wavering attention as they tried to focus.
“As I was saying, it is in your best interest to listen carefully,” he continued, tapping an ear, “because this pertains directly to your current status! Your performance from here forward determines who shall eat dessert, and who shall clean the plates upon which it is served! Your first chance for change comes this Saturday, and in all my years of teaching, I have yet to see a more ill prepared lot. Soft, but I can change that!” He laughed, rubbing his own stomach as he watched our blank expressions, then continued.
“Much of your success depends on your own power. But first, we focus on your physical stamina! What use is it to have the strength of ten men if you tire out after only fighting two? This is why each morning before breakfast, you will report here, to me, so I can scrub the fat off of your bones!”
A few students groaned, which only broadened Instructor Cane’s smile.
“I see you are eager to begin! Well, who am I to delay you any longer? Remember, no powers today, only muscles and willpower. We’ll start with a three-mile run around the perimeter. That’s thirty laps. The first ten to finish mile one do not have to run the next two, and the first ten to finish mile two do not have to run the third! The rest of you will continue until mile three. Ready? No? Good. Let’s go!”
He blew a whistle and the class started off at a sprint, maintaining that pace for the first half mile until the wheezing of out of shape students far outweighed the easy breathing of the top athletes. I fell to the back of the middle pack as the days of malnourishment and nights of little sleep slowed my steps, my chest heaving as the first group finished, Blake among them.
“Let’s go!” he shouted as a group of us jogged by. “You’re holding back the class!” A few muttered swears were returned his way, and Connor rounded the corner behind us, coming alongside Blake as sweat poured from every inch of exposed skin on his body.
“Come on, Fatass!” Blake jeered, kicking a mound of dirt towards him. “Hurry up before I come catch you!” Head down, Connor increased his speed to escape, the next lap only bringing him back to Blake and the other finished students.
“Taking your damn sweet time!” Blake shouted as Connor stopped, one hand against the fence and the other on his stomach, his chest heaving. Then he retched, the night before’s dinner coming up to splatter on the dirt.
“Like I said!” Blake gloated. “What a—”
But then he stopped, his face suddenly green along with anyone else in Connor’s vicinity. And he doubled over, instantly nauseous, the sound of dry heaving populating their end of the field. Each lap afterwards, I sprinted by them to avoid Connor’s effects, until I finished with the majority of the class on the third mile.
“Push ups and sit ups, let’s go!” snapped Cane, allowing only a minute’s rest. “On my mark. Now!”
Together, the class dropped as he counted, each student struggling to keep up with his cadence as arms and legs quivered.
“Jump squats!” he commanded next, pulling aside a still shaky Blake to demonstrate. Then came a slew of other exercises engineered to use our body weight against us, from lunges to pull ups and abdominals.
Sprints came last, several of the students collapsing at the end, their breaths coming in gasps.
“You’re welcome for going easy on your first day,” said Instructor Cane, “Now, ten minutes until breakfast, be changed beforehand. Then fifteen until your next class. I look forward to seeing each of you tomorrow! Don’t worry if you miss me throughout your day; it will be here soon enough.”
Chapter 23
Class one was with Instructor Linns. Not for everyone, of course – that was simply for the Averages. The uppers had their own teacher next door with a far smaller class size, while the Bottoms had been escorted somewhere else in the building by Instructor Cane.
“I see you enjoyed your morning session; some of you certainly smell like it,” he remarked as we filed in. “From now on, showers prior to class are mandatory. I would have thought that would be common sense, but it appears many of you are not well versed on the subject. Take your seats. Let's begin.”
He brought out copies of textbooks from the back of the class, letting them drop with a thud in groups of ten on the first student's desk, and instructing them to distribute them down the row.
Even lifting the books was a strain for students that now could barely move, their muscles protesting against the hard seats after the morning workout. Several groaned as they picked them up, while others attempted to move them with as little effort as possible.
“Now, you are aware that the first session of the day is physical. Second session shall be mental. And third will focus on individual power development. Here, we will study how to outsmart your opponent, rather than how to outlast or overpower them. Now, before we begin, who here knows the strongest power ever to exist?”
His eyes sparkled as he asked the question, and he walked to the board, waiting with the marker poised against blank white space. He waved his hands, encouraging answers from the silent class.
“Hurricaners!” shouted a student in the back. “When I was five, one leveled an entire block when he got too drunk and had the spins!”
“Hurricaners,” repeated Linns as he wrote the word on the board. “Interesting, but not quite. Like the actual storms, their powers wane, so they are easy to defeat on a downswing. Next!”
“Electro sparks!” said Arial from several seats to my right. We still had not spoken, and she had been in the group that had finished the second mile early, though I noticed her feet didn't always touch the ground. “Hard to fight back against a bolt of lightning!”
“Another good suggestion, but again not quite. With proper grounding, it's actually quite easy to defeat one of them. More, anyone?”
A few students scratched their heads, and then gave up answers summoned from watching incidents on the news. And Instructor Linns added Dashers, Quakers, Magmas, and a dozen more to the list on the board. Then he took his marker and drew an “X” through them all, and turned back to face the class.
“All of these are wrong, but they are also right. There is no one power that is most dangerous – rather, for each of you, there are ones that will cause far more damage than others. Weaknesses that can only be exploited of certain types, regardless of power level. In fact, some of you may be far more at risk with a low powered Special than a high powered one, simply due to the nature of their power and their susceptibility.”
“But surely one type is most dangerous!” said Lucio from the middle of the class. “Or at least, more a threat to most types of Speci
als! There is a reason why some Specials are classified as high powered and need more documentation!”
“Indeed, yes, there is. Which was the point of our last lesson. The most dangerous power is the unknown power, the one that you cannot defend because you cannot identify it.”
“Come on,” responded Lucio, rolling his eyes. “There's no way an unknown of low power is more dangerous than someone with high power.”
“Oh, really?” asked Instructor Linns, stroking his chin. “I don't suppose you've heard of the Faceless Battle, have you? Many consider it legend, but I assure you it is real – I've read many firsthand accounts myself. Let me tell you a story, and see if it will sway your opinion then, of the unknown power.”
Chapter 24
Long ago, before airplanes and cars, before transportation was available to the masses, the power diversity was far less than it is today. Many of you have likely visited towns known for their power, perhaps a mining town where nearly all the inhabitants can shape rock with their hands, or a oceanside town where breathing underwater is second nature. But before massive cities, that was how the majority of the world used to be. It would be extremely rare, for instance, to find opposing powers in close proximity, as that would mean that their owners likely traveled countless miles from their birth location.
Knowledge of powers, therefore, was limited. A nation knew all the powers within its own borders, and likely those next to it, but that was typically the extent of their expertise. Perhaps an anomaly would be born among them every few years to help expand their knowledge marginally, but these were few enough they may as well have been myth to the common people. We know from ancient texts that there are even societies that denounced the very existence of powers that are ubiquitous today, simply because in their region they had never interacted with them.
Now, two peoples were at war during this time, the Aeta and the Remis, both native to the Asian plains. The Remis were an expanding empire, their number far outstripping the Aetas, who had been a thorn in the side of their borders for years. The Remis decided to end the Aetas, to corner them and force them into single final battle. Realize that the Remis not only had the Aeta outmatched in number, but also in technology and in power types – this should have been a battle that would end in minutes.
Star Child: Places of Power Page 8