by Drew Hayes
* * *
The soft crackle of the fire was barely audible over Vince’s loud snores. They could have been muffled, or muted entirely, but Globe found he had no real desire to silence them. It was a comforting reminder of happier days, days when he didn’t have to knock his son out before he could be around him.
“Tonight the night you finally cave and wake him up?” George asked. He’d nearly finished gorging himself on the food Globe brought, replenishing the steadily growing number of calories it took to spar with Vince each day. Staying in his robotic form would stave off hunger, not eliminate the need for it entirely. All energy had to come from somewhere, and his was no different.
Globe sighed softly and looked up at the sky. The stars were staggering out here, so far from any man-made light source. Yet another reminder of the second life he’d cast away. What was he on now? His third? He wondered how many more there would be before the saga of Globe finally came to a close.
“Of course not,” he eventually replied. “When they grill Vince on his summer whereabouts, I can’t be anywhere in his memory. Spending a few months trying to bring a fugitive to justice is defensible, if not admirable. If they catch any wind of me, everything changes. I can’t risk that.”
“They’ll know he wanted to see you,” George pointed out.
“I’m his father; of course he wants to see me. What matters is whether I came to him or not.”
“It would have been a lot simpler to just leave him alone.”
“After all these weeks, you’re still arguing with me? You know he needed help getting his abilities under control. Nick Campbell’s stunt bought him a year, but unless he learns to replicate that power on his own, it won’t matter. Not to mention, he needed practice with an opponent who was not easily damaged.”
“I just think we have bigger fish to fry,” George said.
“Let me worry about that. Right now, our focus is on moving without being detected. Which reminds me, we’re due for a refresh.” Globe closed his eyes for a moment. The air around them all shimmered slightly, an almost imperceptible alteration to the area's natural magnetic field. It would shift back eventually, but until it did, no Super would be able to discern their location. It was one of Globe’s many tactics in his extensive bag of tricks, a bag that even George had yet to see the bottom of.
“Thanks, don’t want any unexpected guests showing up,” George said. “I got my fill of prison food already.”
Globe’s eyes reopened. “I dearly wish I could promise you that you’d never have to go back there. Unfortunately—”
“I know what I signed up for,” George interrupted. “All of us do. You worry about getting the job done. That’s all that matters to us anymore. Until then, I’ll keep following orders. Even if the orders are beating the hell out of your kid daily. Did you heal him yet?”
“Got all his broken bones and bigger injuries,” Globe replied. “Left him plenty of fatigue.”
“Good. I’ll give your boy this: there is not a single drop of Quit in him. If he manages to survive the whole summer, he’ll be a tough little bastard.”
Globe smiled, the firelight rendering it more than a little disconcerting.
“He’ll survive. Don’t you doubt that. The only thing I’m worried about is him actually beating you. I was a touch concerned he’d replicate his tactic of draining you down to human form again.”
“He’s tried a few times, but it’s not quite so easy without a telekinetic holding me down. Since he has to touch me, I just knock him in the head and screw up his concentration whenever he gives it a go. Your boy has a useful ability, no question, but it still has some fundamental weaknesses. Only absorbing one energy at a time being the second most prevalent among them.”
“I think it’s a good thing that his ability is imperfect,” Globe replied. “Too much power is a burden in itself. A sense of invincibility is even worse. If Vince truly believed himself the most powerful Super in the world, he would never know a moment’s peace. His entire life would be consumed by mission after mission, terrified that his not going would mean a weaker Hero failed or died.”
“Or he could turn into a real asshole,” George pointed out.
“I suppose that is also a possibility,” Globe conceded. “But I think the first is more likely.”
“You’re the expert,” George replied. Conversation concluded, he began stuffing his face with food once more, preparing for the coming day’s battle.
1.
It was strange being back on campus after a summer away. Hershel trekked down the winding sidewalk that would, eventually, encircle all of Lander. Branches would split off periodically, leading to any destination one might desire, but the main path wrapped around the whole campus, serving as both a guide and a divider from the outside world. It was comforting to trace the familiar cement walkway; it reminded him that no matter how much had gone awry last year, the school was still at least somewhat constant.
A quick turn took him down one of the many splits, putting him on track to arrive at Melbrook in a few moments. He could have had his mother drop him off closer, but traffic was already reaching levels of utter insanity as wistful parents deposited eager students ready to resume, or begin, their independent lives. Besides, Hershel was making a point of taking the more physically taxing option whenever he could. Small as it might be, a leaky faucet can still flood a house if given enough time.
The roller bag behind him bounced unevenly over the dividers. There wasn’t much in it—a few garments and some souvenirs from his summer. He’d left the majority of his belongings in his Melbrook dorm. Why bother moving them? It had been heavily implied that he’d be returning. Even if he hadn’t put on the show Vince did at the end of the year, Roy had definitely kicked a respectable amount of ass. And since he hadn’t been told not to come back, he was pretty sure they were in the clear. A part of him wondered who hadn’t been so lucky; however, that thought was so wrapped up in the empty room waiting for them in Melbrook that it was too painful to dwell on. Losing Nick was hard. What if someone else they cared about didn’t return?
Hershel shook off that line of thought as best he could, focusing instead on maneuvering his way through Melbrook’s front door. It took a little more coordination than normal, since he had to deal with his cargo, but within moments, he had passed through the hallway and made it into the common room. There was just enough time to take a deep breath of familiar scent before a female voice grabbed his attention.
“Hershel?”
“Hey, Alice. Guess you and Mary beat me.”
“We absolutely did, but that is so not the most interesting story at the moment.” Alice turned and yelled past the open door to the girls’ lounge she’d been walking through. “Mary! Come see this!”
A slight blush crept into Hershel’s cheeks. He’d expected some reaction—the change was appreciable—however, this seemed a bit much. Mary popped her head out the door, her eyes widening slightly as they caught sight of her boyfriend for the first time in months.
“Hershel?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he assured her.
“You look great,” she said, stepping out and greeting him with a more affectionate hug. “I mean, you always looked good to me, but this is a heck of a change.”
Hershel’s formerly pudgy form looked as though it had collapsed in on itself. His belt-overlapping stomach now tapered neatly into his pants—pants which were clearly a size or two smaller than they had been. His face had thinned noticeably, accentuating cheekbones that, while still not prominent, were now certainly discernible. He even appeared to have put on a bit of muscle here and there, though it was not fully defined yet. Far from lean, and certainly still out of shape by HCP standards, it was still clear that Hershel had put in a summer of incredible effort to make such an improvement.
“Thanks,” he said, shuffling his feet a bit awkwardly. Hershel wasn’t used to having people look at him with such admiration; that was something only Ro
y had really experienced. “Is Vince here yet?”
“Vince will be along in a few hours,” Mr. Numbers said, stepping into the room from the kitchen. It was a rare occasion, for Mr. Transport—always at his partner’s side—was nowhere to be seen. “He is currently meeting with Dean Blaine and some of the professors for an important discussion.”
“Wow, you guys aren’t even letting him get settled before the grilling starts, are you?” Alice asked.
“In this case, it was Vince who requested the meeting,” Mr. Numbers corrected. “He had a very unusual summer, and has professed a desire to be upfront with the faculty on all such matters.”
“And let me guess, you’re not going to tell us any more than that,” Hershel ventured.
“Correct. It will be up to the committee to decide if Vince’s summer will be declassified, and then up to Vince to decide if he even wants to share it. I trust all of you had more normal vacations?”
“Normal is a relative term with this group,” Mary said. “But I didn’t do anything that would require a special meeting.”
“Ditto,” Hershel agreed.
“I was with Mary, so her answer counts for both of us,” Alice chimed in.
“Excellent. In that case, let us move on to new business. As you know, your first day of junior year begins tomorrow. They will let you know which of your classmates failed to make the cut and return, but I have been allowed to give you one tidbit of information beforehand. Aside from Nick, everyone from Team One has advanced.”
The students felt a strange, simultaneous combination of relief and stress surge through them. It was good to know Camille and Alex were still with them; however, they all had friends on other teams. Knowing two more slots were filled forced them to start running the numbers yet again for who else could remain.
“Also on the subject of teammates, I’m sure you are all aware that Melbrook’s five-person capacity has dropped to an occupancy of four,” Mr. Numbers continued. “While I can appreciate how significant the loss of Nick Campbell was for all of you, Mr. Transport felt that leaving his room empty would only serve as a constant reminder of what had been lost. To that end, we are pursuing the option of allowing another of your classmates to take up residency here.”
“I thought the whole point of this facility was to keep us separate from the rest of the students,” Hershel pointed out. “‘Contained’ was the word someone used.”
“That it was; however, this project is evolving, and some of the higher ups have begun to think that segregating you from the general populace impedes the relevancy of the data.”
“The data?” Alice asked.
“We’re prototypes,” Mary reminded her. “They’re testing us to see if the procedure is viable. Not just if it works, but if there are any side effects they might not have anticipated.”
“Well said,” Mr. Numbers agreed.
“I don’t know how I feel about someone else moving into Nick’s room,” Alice said.
“I’m actually on board with it,” Hershel countered. “No one will, or really ever could, take Nick’s place. Having someone live with us won’t change that. It will, at least hopefully, keep us from dwelling on his absence constantly. I miss him too, but setting aside his old room as a shrine isn’t going to bring him back.”
“I guess so,” Alice begrudgingly admitted. “Who gets it, anyway? Do we have a vote?”
“If we succeed in getting permission, then you will certainly be consulted before a decision is made,” Mr. Numbers told her. “Though the pool might be a small one. We will need someone willing to sign the proper waivers, and who has an actual desire to bunk with all of you, given your unfortunate reputation.”
“Classy way to phrase that,” Alice said. With Nick gone, she felt someone had to take over at least part of the sarcasm duty.
“Thank you,” Mr. Numbers said, either ignoring the barb or entirely ignorant of it.
2.
“—and then I woke up, sitting on a bench near the Psychology department’s building,” Vince concluded. “My bag was next to me; I don’t know how long I was there before I came around. As soon I realized where I was, though, I came to see you. That’s pretty much all of it.”
Dean Blaine nodded, his eyes flicking to the other people in the room. All of the professors were in attendance, as was Mr. Transport, sitting by his charge’s side. There was also a man with shoulder-length dark hair, one Dean Blaine would have much rather left out of this interview. Ralph Chapman was a member of the board that oversaw all the Hero Certification Programs at colleges across the nation, and he had been handpicked to spearhead the investigation into Vince’s past, looking for information on Globe. He was also an unbearable ass. Still, the investigation was happening whether Dean Blaine liked it or not, and he wouldn’t do Vince any favors by impeding the man facilitating it. All that would come from such an action was himself being cut from the loop, leaving Vince truly on his own.
“Are you certain that’s all?” Ralph asked, his tone probing but not accusatory. “No other details about Globe, what he’s planning, or where he is?”
Vince shook his head. “I never got to see him or talk to him. I never beat George. I went to sleep expecting another day of fighting. Honestly, I didn’t even know how much time had passed; I completely lost track of the days out there.”
“What about this place where he trained you? Could you find it if you saw it again?”
“Maybe. I don’t know much about geography; are there a lot of flat, featureless areas in deserts?”
“I think that’s a no,” Mr. Transport supplied helpfully. His years with Mr. Numbers had taught him a thing or two about reading people, and he already knew he didn’t like the outsider among them, pleasant smile be damned. He also knew better than to be openly defiant. This was a slow game, one that would be played over many months. Rash action aided no one.
“I see,” Ralph said. “One last question. You say that George promised to turn himself in if you defeated him, and that you were free to quit and come home at any time. Why not just give up and alert the authorities?”
“Because George should be in jail. I had the opportunity to make that happen, so I took it. Plus, I wanted to see my father.”
“Your father,” Ralph repeated. “Globe, currently the most hunted criminal in the world, that’s the man you wanted to see?”
“Yes,” Vince said immediately.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you had aspirations of bringing him to justice as well.”
“Not really. I just wanted to see my father. I miss him.”
“Vince, do you realize what you’re saying? This is a wanted villain we’re talking about, an accused murderer.”
“If, tomorrow, your father robbed a bank, would that stop you from loving him?” Vince replied.
“It might if he killed a man in the process.”
“Then I feel sorry for you. You must have a pretty crappy father if he’s that easy to stop caring about.”
“I think we’ve taken this line of questioning far enough,” Dean Blaine interrupted, working hard to hide the smirk that was manifesting at the sight of Ralph’s reddening features. “Was there anything else you needed to ask Vince directly?”
“No,” Ralph said, after a momentary pause. “That’s fine. Thank you.”
“Vince, Mr. Transport will see you to your dorm. He’ll also bring you up to speed on a few things you need to know. We’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Vince replied, rising from his seat. Mr. Transport followed suit, and the two exited the room. They were scarcely out the door before Ralph whipped his attention over to Professor Stone.
“So, what was he lying about?”
“Nothing.” Professor Stone barely kept herself from snapping. The older woman had had plenty of practice minding her tongue; however, she’d also long passed the point where she felt needlessly compelled to tolerate other people’s rude bullshit. “His thoughts matc
hed his words in every regard. The recount was as honest and accurate as he could give.”
“Impressive. I’d expect no less from the son of Globe,” Ralph muttered. “Or perhaps you merely aren’t adept enough to pick up on his deception.”
Professor Stone opened her mouth to tell him to shove it up his ass, but Professor Pendleton proved quicker on the verbal draw.
“Are you a fucking idiot?”
Ralph glared at the lean man, Professor Pendleton’s own expression one of presumably mock confusion. Professor Pendleton leaned on the conference table, head pressing against his lengthy fingers as he stared right back at the man making this situation so very uncomfortable.
“I beg your pardon? I must have misheard you.”
“I asked if you’re a fucking idiot,” Professor Pendleton repeated. “Do you know how many Heroes live long enough to retire? Or how many of that percentage are active combat types? Let alone how many are considered skilled and smart enough to take a position teaching in the HCP. Here’s a hint: not very many. Yet, the woman sitting in front of you did all of that, and has been educating other Supers to do the same for decades. And you think to question her abilities? That makes me wonder if you’re a goddamned moron.”
“You certainly have a curiously high opinion of HCP professors, given that they allowed a convict to become one,” Ralph shot back.
“A convict who was active and constantly pursued for well over a year before being caught,” Professor Pendleton countered. “Immoral, unethical, illegal, all of those words can be used to describe my activities, but the fact remains that I was really good at what I did. And I’ve got nothing on Professor Stone.”
“Very well,” Ralph said. He turned back to Professor Stone, but there was no question that his malice was still lingering on Professor Pendleton. “My apologies for doubting. So, everything Vince told was true as he knew it?”
“Correct,” Professor Stone confirmed.
“Then what remains next is to determine what Globe hoped to accomplish by having the boy battle endlessly for months on end.”