Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “It’s not just you. I’ve never heard of it either,” Alice added. She’d been curled up in one of the chairs, working on her Subtlety assignment, but it was clear there wouldn’t be a lot of work getting done until Hershel and Alex calmed down.

  “Ditto, not that I think that surprised anyone.” Mary gave up on trying to read and stuck her finger in the pages to mark her spot.

  “No one should feel bad. It’s sort of a niche thing,” Hershel told them. “Originally, Star Puncher was a television series in the late sixties. It lasted all of five episodes before going off the air. Then, four years later, it got revived as a movie, and that’s when it really hit its stride.”

  “It was that good?” Chad asked.

  “No, that awful,” Alex said. “Cheap props, ham acting, and dialogue that was almost nothing but one-liners. Critics called it the worst sci-fi movie ever made.”

  “So, naturally, a few years later, it turned into a cult phenomenon,” Hershel continued. “It gained enough odd popularity that, in the early eighties, they released a sequel: Star Puncher and The Nightingale Furies. Same actors, same special effects team, same director, and they knocked it out of the park.”

  “But by that you mean it was bad, right? This is kind of confusing,” Vince said.

  “Yes, they mean it was bad; just in a way that was still highly entertaining,” Mary clarified. She deeply loved Hershel after their years together, but this was a passion she’d never found a way to share with him. Instead, she merely did her best not to seem dismissive when he went into these excited frenzies.

  “It was enjoyable, let’s just put it that way,” Hershel explained. “As was the next one that came out in the early nineties, Star Puncher and the Black Matter Kick-Fighter. That was the last one to be made, though, because the director passed away.”

  “But rumors have persisted about a fourth one in the making, helmed by the director’s own daughter and with full participation from the cast. It’s been just a myth on message boards for decades, the sort of urban legend that people joke about. That is, until today!” Alex actually jumped in the air and pumped his arm with joy at those last words, his admirable efforts to contain his excitement finally proving to be futile.

  “Here’s what I don’t get, why do you need months to prepare for a movie coming out?” Chad asked.

  Hershel and Alex stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded by the madness of such a question.

  “There’s a ton to do,” Alex said eventually. “Making costumes, finding out which theater has the best release party, searching for leaks online so we’re up to the minute on every detail, and of course, watching the first three over and over to get ourselves psyched up for the big release.”

  “Is this . . . normal?” Chad asked. “I mean, is it an activity that a lot of people engage in?” Vince shrugged; he was on the verge of asking something similar. Alice pointedly turned her head to avoid making eye-contact; she couldn’t think of an answer that would be both polite and honest. Ultimately, it was Mary who had to offer some perspective.

  “’Normal’ may not be the best word; it’s just a pastime that some people enjoy. Others may like baseball or making paintings. Our boys here get a kick out of old sci-fi movies. It’s what takes the stress of daily life away from them.”

  “Ah, I understand.” Chad looked over at the two enthusiastic nerds. “May I join in your activities?”

  Alice let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke, and even Mary blinked in surprise.

  “You sure you want to do that?” Hershel asked. “Mary was being nice; this is pretty nerdy.”

  “Perhaps, but I moved here to actively participate more in life. If this film series can excite you to such a degree, it certainly bears experiencing.”

  “Dude.” Alex jabbed Hershel in the ribs. “He would make a perfect Gelfrak. He’s even got the speech pattern down pat.”

  “Holy crap, how did I not see that?” Hershel nodded his agreement.

  “I think I’d like to tag along too,” Vince said. “I could use something a little more light-hearted to think about.”

  “Well then, you chose wrong, because Star Puncher is a tale of determination, woe, and triumph. There’s nothing light about it,” Alex said.

  “There was that scene on the planet of giggle-creatures,” Hershel reminded him.

  “Oh, that is a good point. Wait, why are we sitting around talking about this? There’s an online trailer to watch. To Hershel’s room!” Alex led the charge, heading to the boys’ side, only to wait until Hershel pressed the button on the door to let him past. With that, the males were gone from the room, leaving only Alice and Mary remaining.

  “Be straight with me here,” Alice said, once the door had shut. “What are the odds they try and rope us into this somehow?”

  “Technically, your odds are better, since, unlike me, you aren’t dating one of them.”

  “Why did you say ‘technically’?”

  “Because,” Mary replied with a somber expression. “I think we both know that if I go down, you’re coming with me.”

  “Cruel. Very cruel.”

  105.

  The cipher had actually been three different codes, each buried more deeply than the last within the pattern. Will had spent an extra day combing through for any others that he might have missed, but after that, he reasoned they were either not present or too complex for him to crack. Translating the codes had led him to three separate websites, each tucked away on a near-forgotten server. The sites had been filled with riddles, hints, and codes. From these, Will had been led to various spots around the town, having to solve geometric and logic problems corresponding to his surroundings along each step of the way.

  At the end of the first code’s path, Will had found himself in a seedy gym near the outskirts of town. For possibly the first time, he was thankful that the HCP had forced such constant conditioning on its students. In high school, he’d have felt impossibly out of place walking into the locker room of an establishment dedicated to personal fitness. Two-and-a-half years of training had gifted him with a body that, while lacking in comparison to some of his classmates, would easily pass unnoticed in such a location.

  His quick eyes skimmed the room, locating the locker number his last clue had directed him to. As he approached it, Will noticed a silver combination lock resting on the handle. He smiled a touch, feeling the tumblers in his brain click into place. He’d wondered what that last sequence of numbers had been for, and now, he had his answer. Like a desperate man assembling pre-made furniture, he’d discovered where the last piece fit.

  The numbers danced along the dial as Will put in the combination. With the final click, he pulled the lock free and opened the door. Inside was an empty locker, save only for a single word scratched into the cheap metal backing. Will examined it closely, making meticulous note of every nuance, then took a photo with his phone to be safe. This gave him no direction as to what the test entailed, but unless he’d made a mistake along the way, it definitely marked the end of the first code’s path.

  Perhaps clarity would come as he unraveled the others, or perhaps it would remain inscrutable. Subtlety was not a discipline in which one grew accustomed to having everything spelled out for them. Often, it was akin to assembling a scenic puzzle with half the pieces missing, as well as a few scattered about from entirely different pictures. It was frustrating, time consuming, and endlessly challenging. Will could easily see why so few Heroes undertook it when they had the option of punching their problems away instead.

  He did not have that option. What he did have, however, were two more clues to run down. There was only so much time before the exam, and Will intended to come out on top, no matter what it entailed.

  * * *

  “Well?” Eliza stared at him from across the room, her soft shoes wearing down his carpet as she flitted about. Jerome, at least, was more composed, sitting at the kitchen table. They’d just completed the most recent sweep
, which meant now was the opportune time to discuss Eliza’s findings.

  “I don’t think much of this will surprise you,” Nicholas said. In his hands, he held Eliza’s copies of Smitt’s files. They would dissipate soon, so Nicholas had reviewed them thoroughly while also transcribing more traditional copies. The digital files, thankfully, were easy to duplicate. “From what I can tell, Smitt has been keeping tabs on Vince for some time now, watching him as much as he can above ground. Thankfully, he’s been limited in how close he can get.”

  “Limited how?” Jerome asked.

  “Melbrook may look like any normal dorm, but keep in mind it was built to house five people with unpredictable and potentially dangerous superhuman abilities. The security there is nearly as good as getting into the HCP, and our—sorry, their, suited overseers are quite capable. Add in the extra attention that surfaced after Globe reappeared, and it makes the place pretty much impenetrable by anyone short of a trained Super.”

  “That’s something, but why is this guy looking into Vince in the first place? He can’t have done anything wrong; he’s as decent as they come.”

  Nicholas stared at Eliza and considered her words. She was flushed, concerned, and emotionally involved beyond what was prudent. From Nick’s files, it had been apparent that Vince often had similar effects on those around him, eventually, even beguiling Nick himself. Such a curious ability made part of Nicholas interested in meeting this young man. Of course, it also made another part of him adamant to stay as far away as possible.

  “We can safely surmise that the investigation is related to his outing as Globe’s son last year. This is exactly the sort of thing my previous incarnation was hoping to avoid entangling us in. Unfortunately, it seems we are in it now, so we may as well press on. That said, the most interesting part is not the why of Smitt’s involvement, but the who.”

  Nicholas closed the envelope and set it on the table. “While Smitt was careful enough to never directly mention the name of his employer, I was able to find some financial information from his computer. After having our techs do some tracing, they found encoded emails dating back several months. We couldn’t crack them—they are vastly too sophisticated—but it does tell us who Smitt is working for. That sort of encryption is only used by one government agency: The Department of Variant Human Affairs.”

  “The guys who oversee all the Heroes? Why would they employ a nobody like Smitt?” Eliza asked.

  “They wouldn’t, not officially. Like all government agencies, they have their own people and protocols for such things,” Nicholas said. “Even if they had, we’d have found financial transactions in his accounts, or a paper-trail of some kind. The DVA has stricter transparency regulations than many other agencies, given the nature of their work. Which means whoever is paying Smitt is doing it under the table. They’re using non-approved resources, in secret, to investigate Vince.”

  “That means they don’t trust their current channels,” Eliza surmised. “They think they’re getting the run-around and wanted to go outside the system.”

  “Precisely. Which means they have, to some extent, left the safety of the organization that watches over them,” Nicholas agreed. “And that, my dear friends, means they have wandered into the wild, where we hold domain.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Jerome asked. He’d known Nicholas for many years, and the wicked glint in his eye made it clear that the time for action was looming.

  “I want to find out who this backer is, and I want to see what they find so fascinating about Vince. It’s possible they’re trying to prove what a decent guy our friend is. Possible, but highly unlikely. Still, it’s the sort of thing I’d like to ask in person.”

  “Too bad we don’t have their number,” Eliza said, her own face impassive even as a miasma of worry and rage whipped about inside her. “I guess our friend Smitt will have to tell us what it is.”

  “Yes, I think he will,” Nicholas agreed.

  106.

  The world was numbers and letters, swirling and dancing in a dysfunctional ballet where the conductor was madness and the symphony chaos. Amidst this vortex, she floated, eyes half open as she stared into the moving insanity. This was all there was. This was all there had ever been. This was all there would ever be.

  Except . . . that last part wasn’t entirely true. She could feel something different, something new. It pushed on the edges of her consciousness, like a dull knife skimming across taut plastic. This bothered her. It was wrong. There was supposed to be nothing, only herself and the vortex.

  Then, without warning, the force pushed through her guards and Alice found herself staring at Mary, who was now beside her. Reality came rushing back in a wave of awareness that surged over her, purging the fog of the dream and leaving her reawakened, despite still being technically asleep.

  “You did it!” Alice cried, clapping her hands together.

  “I know! I didn’t think I was going to for a while, but I finally started to . . . feel . . . .” Mary’s words trailed off as she finally took in her surroundings. The letters and numbers whizzed about, filling every visible space, save only for the spot in the center where she and Alice floated. “This is an . . . interesting dream.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’ve been having this one for the past week. Probably from all the stress about my Subtlety assignment.”

  “Didn’t you crack the first part?”

  “Sure, but tell that to my subconscious.” Alice paused for a moment, pressing a manicured nail gently against her cheek. “On second thought, why I don’t I tell it that myself?” She closed her eyes, and in the span of a blink, the vortex was gone. In its place was a veranda overlooking a sparkling ocean, with a table already set for two guests.

  “That’s impressive,” Mary said. “Jill didn’t have nearly as much initial control, even after realizing we were in a dream.”

  “Jill hasn’t spent the last three months doing visualization and meditation exercises,” Alice countered. “Besides, since you gave me the rundown of what to expect, I went in knowing what I was capable of.” She settled down on the ground, nondescript clothing now replaced by a flowing white dress, and took one of the open seats.

  Mary glanced down at herself and realized she was not, to her surprise, adorned in the clothes her real body was wearing. Instead, she was wearing her HCP uniform. After a moment’s reflection, she realized it did make a certain amount of sense. The uniform was what she was most familiar with, how she most frequently saw herself. When grabbing a mental avatar, this was the logical outfit to dress her in. Logical or not, though, she didn’t like the idea of lounging in her uniform, so with a slight exertion of willpower, she garbed herself in a t-shirt and jeans.

  “We’re having lunch overlooking a literal dream-view, and you still won’t dress up a bit?”

  “Not happening.” Mary walked over and took the other free chair. “If I give you encouragement here, you’ll try to dress me like a doll in the real world.”

  “What on earth would make you suggest such a thing?” Alice pressed her hand to her chest in mock-surprise.

  “Our years of friendship, the last few weeks with Camille, the number of times you’ve tried, just take your pick.”

  Alice stuck out her tongue in a very impolite manner. “Spoilsport. Well, since we’re here, do you want some wine or food?” Her own hand now held a crystal glass with a dark red liquid inside. “I don’t have the taste down pat, but it’s not bad.”

  “I’m good with tea,” Mary replied, holding up the cup that had suddenly appeared in her hand. “This is actually really convenient. With a little practice, dream-diving could be a lot of fun.”

  “Fun? You could open a business selling whole vacations like this. Think about it: the person is completely aware, has full control over their environment, can go anywhere they can imagine, and can eat or drink anything without counting calories? I’m tempted to book you up for the whole summer.” Alice helped herself to one of the cho
colates that were now in the center of the table. “So, you’ve successfully dream-dived while you were conscious, and into a person with high defenses no less. What’s next?”

  “I’m not really sure. I need to talk to Professor Stone, but it’s possible that this is the end of my experimentation. I mean, I did it. It’s pretty much over now.”

  “Really? I see ample new grounds for you to explore,” Alice replied. “For example, what if you tried bringing other people with you? Like having four sleeping people touching part of you, and bringing them all together in a single mind.”

  “There’s no precedent to believe I could do that,” Mary pointed out.

  “There was no precedent to believe you could do this either, until you did it,” Alice rebutted. “And if you can manage it, think of the usefulness. Group vacations aside, you could hold team meetings so secret that not even telepaths would be able to overhear them.”

  Mary nodded. That was true. A sleeping mind usually sounded like a soft murmur of static to most telepaths. She could pick up some things, though only in cases of extreme emotion, but, then again, she was also unique in that aspect of her abilities. Professor Stone had enlightened her to the fact that, despite what she’d grown up thinking, very few telepaths could get information from a passed-out mind. Sleep was, in fact, one of the few great defenses against a telepath.

  “Okay, that might be useful. I guess I could at least pitch the idea to the professor. And maybe I could work on staying in a mind when someone actively tries to force me out, or slipping in without letting them become aware.” Now that she’d looked at the potential for new avenues of her power, Mary felt the ideas bubbling forth. She was nowhere near done experimenting, and that thought filled her with excitement.

  “Sounds like your schedule is going to get pretty busy soon. As will mine, once I wake up and have to deal with my stupid assignment. But for now, you just completed a big milestone, and we’re celebrating.” Alice put her hand in the air, bringing it back down with an enormous chocolate layer-cake balanced impossibly on her fingers.