Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “May the Force be with you, you crazy bastard.”

  126.

  For a telepath, it would have been impossible. Even the most skillful among them were limited by the simple truth that machines didn’t have brains to overhear. For a tech-manipulator, like Jill, it would have been easy. So easy, in fact, that it was likely why she’d been banned from doing it. Telepaths and tech-manipulators were two sides of the same coin in this scenario, each with an ability that only worked on the flesh or the mech. Only Alex’s gift functioned on both levels.

  But even for him, it was difficult. The Sims were robots, though Alex kept wanting to call them droids, and they really didn’t have minds for him to peek into. Maybe if they had been more advanced, that would have been the case, but these were basic combat units. That didn’t matter, luckily, because he wasn’t searching for their minds. He was searching for their existence.

  Alex was not a “second trilogy” Jedi, with that ridiculous bunk about bugs in the blood. His abilities were of the core and the original; when The Force was not some sympathetic reaction between bacteria, but rather a nigh-magical connection between all things in the universe. That was what he used as he stepped into the arena, mentally probing for each Sim inside the building. It took considerable effort, but before he even stepped foot inside that building, Alex was keenly aware of the location of each individual Sim, and he even had a bit of an inkling as to what some of their abilities were.

  Despite what many people thought, Alex was neither stupid nor crazy. He understood that having his powers come from a work of fiction made no sense under scrutiny. More likely, he was simply a normal person with the advanced-mind set of abilities that had found a novel way to access them. But likeliness didn’t account for results, and the fact of the matter was that Alex could do things other advanced minds couldn’t. Maybe his perception of his power had warped its capabilities. Maybe his power had been one he could determine for himself, and he’d unconsciously selected Jedi. It didn’t matter in the end.

  All that mattered was what Alex Griffen could do. And today, he was going to kick some droid ass.

  * * *

  Most of the class was stunned as they watched Alex all but saunter through the halls, sneaking up on each Sim and quickly deactivating it with a well-timed series of telekinetic strikes. They had not anticipated him to be nearly so efficient, either at the combat portion or the stealth aspect. He moved methodically, as if he was keenly aware of every threat and working to avoid it. Some of the Sims gave him trouble—one in particular, with heavy armor and lots of power, nearly managed to land a blow that would have broken his legs—but ultimately, each one fell.

  “How does he know where they all are?” Vince said. “I sort of understand Chad’s power, but even with Alex’s odd gifts, it doesn’t explain how he can pinpoint robots.”

  Roy waited for someone else to speak up, only to realize he would have to be the one to shed light on the situation. He shot Mary a dirty look; the girl knew damned well what the explanation was, she just didn’t want to be the one to say it.

  “The Force connects everything. People, trees, rocks, etc. Trees and rocks and robots don’t have as much presence as people, but they have a little. Alex probably found them all before going inside and has been keeping tabs on them as he makes his rounds,” Roy explained. “And before anyone asks, every bit of this is Hershel’s knowledge. He’s seen those three movies more times than I can count.”

  “I thought there were six,” Alice said.

  “Not to the purists, there aren’t,” Roy replied, a little exasperated with himself for even having to talk about this subject. “Don’t worry, I’m sure after seeing how little you all know about it, Hershel will demand a movie marathon after winter break.”

  “After seeing what Alex can do, I don’t think I’d mind that.” Vince gazed up at the screen, impressed as his friend took down yet another guard with minimal delay. “A whole film series about people with his powers would be awesome.”

  On camera, Alex headed off toward the final room, where four Sims were clustered together, waiting for him. It was obvious to those who could read the situation that he wouldn’t be able to take them all, at least not cleanly, but the showing he’d already put on was more than incredible enough to have earned his peers’ respect. More importantly, he’d shown the professors just how capable he was in a real world situation.

  All they could do was hope it would be enough.

  * * *

  “He’s stable.” The bearded man was still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he finished his exam. Normally, working for these sorts of people meant keeping late hours, not waking up before ten. Still, the money was always green, and it didn’t hurt to be in their good graces, so he’d headed over as soon as he got their call.

  “That doesn’t tell us much,” Eliza snapped, pacing around the room.

  “It tells us that he probably isn’t poisoned. I’ve been monitoring him for an hour, and there’s been no change at all. If something was working through his bloodstream, I’d have expected to see a change for the better or worse. It could always be some ultra-drug that I’m not familiar with, but for right now, I’m eliminating the things I can.”

  “Thank you,” Jerome replied. “Please keep an eye on him.” He grabbed Eliza gently by the shoulder and escorted her out of the room.

  “Should we just leave that guy with Nicholas?”

  “He was referred to us by people very friendly to our Family. Harming Nicholas would start the sort of war that would leave the streets soaked in blood. I highly doubt they would have cause to want him dead enough to risk such an outcome.”

  “Well, someone obviously does,” Eliza said, breaking free of Jerome’s grip. “He’s been out like this since I found him. If it’s not poison, then that limits our options.”

  “Poison is effectively ruled out,” Jerome agreed. “Even if it was some new type, to have given it to Nicholas without leaving any signs or record seems unlikely. Anyone who has that sort of skill could have just killed him outright. No, since nothing seems to be medically wrong with him, we’re left with only one likely explanation: a Super did this.”

  “Yeah, but why? What do they want to accomplish?”

  “I have no idea,” Jerome admitted. “But it occurs to me that there are some people near us who both care deeply for Nicholas’s well-being and have the sort of experience to help with such a problem.”

  “Jerome . . . we can’t.”

  “We can wait until the doctor has finished his exam,” Jerome said. “If he discovers no other leads for us to go on, I fear we may have to contact them. They might be the only chance we have at helping him.”

  127.

  When Alex returned, to stunned peers and wild cheers, Allen was chosen as the next to be tried. His long-range, explosive energy blasts allowed him to pick off Sims as he went; however, they also quickly alerted the others to his presence. By the time he found the room with the cluster, they were spread out and lying in wait; astounding reflexes and excellent aim were the only things that allowed him to bring them all down. He’d come the closest to being unable to finish of anyone so far.

  Britney went next, her rapier strapped to her waist before she even went through the door. For the first time since Will’s trial, Sims began deactivating on screen, seemingly without reason. Unlike Will, she was only able to get two of the codes, though, so as the students watched the outer door open by invisible hands, it was with four Sims still wandering the facility. She did well from there, mimicking Chad’s technique of going for the spine. Unfortunately, without his level of control and anatomical knowledge, she accidentally killed two yellow-light Sims.

  When Britney returned, visible once more, Professor Baker’s voice rang out through the room.

  “Vince Reynolds.” She held the slip of paper in her hand, smiling all the while as she scanned the room for the silver-haired young man. If she was aware of the sudden tension that filled the
air, radiating from faculty and students alike, she kept that knowledge off her face as she finally locked eyes with her target. “Vince, you’re up.”

  Vince started moving forward, keenly aware of the gentle pats on the back and shoulder from his friends. The actions were well-meant, but unnecessary. Even without physical displays, he knew unquestioningly that they supported him and wished him well. Sadly, their sentiment was the only thing of them he could bring into this trial. As soon as he stepped through that door, he was on his own.

  “Do you need to get any weaponry?” Dean Blaine asked.

  Vince shook his head. Though today’s trials had opened his eyes to the potential of such tools, he felt like trying to utilize one without proper training would do more harm than good. He wasn’t Chad, possessing an index of secret skills and abilities. All he had was his power, and his training. If that wasn’t good enough to get him through, then he supposed he didn’t really belong here.

  Dean Blaine motioned for him to follow, and the two descended the staircase. Vince listened carefully as the dean explained the details of the trial, making careful note of the rules and procedures. Failing on merit was one thing, but coming up short due to a technicality would be a mistake he’d never forgive himself for.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” Dean Blaine asked as they reached the bottom.

  Vince hesitated for a moment, fearful his words were being transmitted to unfriendly ears, but then pressed on. It wouldn’t change anything if others were listening; all it would mean was that Dean Blaine might not answer him honestly.

  “How important is this? Not for each of us, as students, with our grades on the line. For me, how important is this?”

  It was a fair question; one Blaine himself would have asked had their situations been reversed. There was a difference between “this is a large part of your grade,” and “this is your last chance.” It influenced how one approached the challenge, and how far they were willing to go to complete it. Still, Vince’s abilities were not quite stable, and it wouldn’t do for him to lose control. Even in a place like this, wide-scale destruction could have serious consequences.

  “It’s very important,” Dean Blaine replied. “This is your first real opportunity to cut loose on your own. Nick’s stunt last year showed everyone what your potential was, what you could do without anything holding you back. Today, you need to demonstrate that you can tap into that potential on your own, and without losing control of yourself. If you can show them your power in a way that’s focused and deliberate, I doubt anyone will be able to challenge your right to be here on merit. But, all of that said, it’s still just one test. There are more to come before the school year is out. Don’t give anyone more ammunition to use against you than they already have.”

  “I think I understand,” Vince said, tucking his hands behind his back to conceal the nervous twitch in his fingers. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I know you will, Vince. Good luck in there.”

  Vince stepped through the door on the right and entered the room with the screen telling him to sit tight. While some had been frustrated by the delay, Vince was quite thankful for it. A few moments to calm himself and gather his thoughts would be a big help.

  He sat down on the floor in a cross-legged style, rested his hands on his knees, and began to take deep breaths. He needed to be calm. He needed to be clear. He needed to be focused.

  He needed to be cold.

  * * *

  It was so hot. So damned, ridiculously, unbearably hot. When Vince had first woken up in this desert wasteland, he’d thought it was the hottest place on earth, but assumed that, over time, he’d get used to it. Instead, it was the opposite. Every day was worse than the one before. Every day was hotter.

  “I think my ribs are broken.” Vince lay on the sandy ground as he spoke, waiting for a breath that came without searing pain. So far, none had delivered.

  “Yeah, I counted about two that snapped from my last punch,” George agreed.

  “Feels more like three.”

  “I did say ‘about,’ you know.” He was standing there, gleaming in the wicked sunlight, all metal and power as he stared down at his wounded opponent. “That mean you’re calling it quits? I can have you to a hospital, hooked up to some nice, painkilling drugs in no time.”

  “No. I won’t quit.”

  “You say that, but you’ve been on that ground an awful long time.” It was strange that now, when George was most able to gloat, he wasn’t. His usual mocking tone was gone, replaced by something that sounded an awful lot like sincerity.

  “Why are you being nice?”

  “Because I know what you’re going through,” George said. “Reynolds, since you got to Lander, you spent your career losing because of your own restrictions. You held yourself back constantly; not keeping enough energy in you, not going after your opponents at full-force, all that shit. But right now, you’re dealing with a new kind of losing. You’re coming at me with everything you’ve got, pulling no punches, and I’m still beating you senseless day after day. There’s nothing you’re doing wrong, you just aren’t strong enough to win. For the first time since you went from Powered to Super, you’ve finally started to hit your limits. And for any of us, the first time we find that wall, it fucking sucks.”

  Vince said nothing at first; instead, he put his energy into slowly pulling himself off the ground. The hot sand clung to his skin, leaving him feeling gritty and raw. He swayed for a moment as he stood, the relentless heat pouring across him. If only he could get a few moments of peaceful cold, a single gust of wind. It was too much, though. Even he couldn’t absorb an entire desert.

  “My father once told me that everyone should find their limits, because that’s how we learn to push them.”

  “Did he now? What a surprise.” The mocking tone was back, and George watched Vince carefully. He’d been in the field for too long to do anything as dumb as underestimating an enemy.

  Vince took a careful step forward and narrowed his focus. George was right, he’d hit the limits of what he was capable of. Nothing he threw at George was working, which meant his only options were to throw the same things harder, or find something new to use. Either way, he couldn’t stay the way he was now.

  For the first time in a very long while, Vince was all but drowning in the desire to be stronger.

  128.

  His footsteps echoed lightly as he walked down the fake alley, approaching the building’s rear door. Unlike Chad and Roy, Vince had elected to keep his shoes on, since he didn’t possess their immunity to things like broken glass. It meant he wasn’t going to be quite as silent in his approach, but that was okay. Just as Roy had faced the truth about the limits of his power, so had Vince made peace with his. This would be a somewhat stealthy mission only at first. In a situation like this one, chaos was inevitable.

  As he drew near the door, Vince paused. He could already feel them, already sense the electricity coursing through their electronic bodies, but he needed to be certain of their positions. This skill was still raw and unpolished; it was a technique he’d come across while fighting George. After a week or so of always trying to be ready to absorb George’s blows, Vince realized that he could sort of feel the energy in the robotic man. He couldn’t connect to it—with closed-off electricity, that required physical contact—but he could still make it out as it powered his metallic opponent. When he had time to mull that fact over, Vince realized it made sense. He’d always been connecting to the energy, which meant he could sense it on some subconscious level. The only difference was that now, he was aware of it.

  Vince carefully eased the back door open and slipped inside. There was a Sim somewhere down a nearby hallway, but he didn’t know which way it was facing. He could only get a sense of the energy present, not pick out fine details. With very delicate steps, he emerged from his hiding spot and began moving toward the nearest Sim. In his mind, Vince began gathering some of the electricity stored within h
im. When he turned to offense, it was almost impossible to keep his energy-sense going, but just doing the preparations didn’t cause him to lose it. Ideally, he would be able to sneak up on his adversary; however, he didn’t want to be caught defenseless if that wasn’t how this played out.

  When he reached a corner, he knew there was a Sim just around the other side of it. All he could do was hope for the best. Vince gently eased his head around to the new hallway, only to find a set of robotic eyes staring back at him. They seemed to glow, but only until he realized they were reflecting the yellow light shining off its chest.

  For the span of a single breath, neither of them moved. They merely soaked in the presence of each other, synapses firing as the inescapable conclusion of conflict was reached. If it had been a human opponent, Vince would have hesitated. Even as far as he’d come, it was difficult for him to immediately react with violence to a fellow person. Robots, on the other hand, were a different story. Three months in the miserable desert heat, being beaten relentlessly by a mechanical man, had ingrained Vince with very forceful reactions, as well as a bit of pent-up frustration.

  The bolt of electricity struck the Sim right in its center of mass, only a few inches below its yellow light. Whatever kind of power it possessed, no aspect of it involved electricity immunity. But despite the speed of the blow, the jolt was short and sweet. It was meant to incapacitate, not to kill. Of course, such things were hardly a precise practice in the field, so when the robotic opponent slumped to the ground, Vince had to resist the urge to make sure it was okay. With a person, he could try to shock their heart if something went wrong. On the Sims, he would just have to be as precise as possible with his voltage.

  One Sim down, Vince rose back to his feet and headed down the hall, on course to encounter the next.