by Drew Hayes
“Please tell me we get to do this in a bar,” Rich said.
“No such luck, young Mr. Weaver. No, this is a simple game of trust.” Professor Pendleton hopped off his desk and walked around to the blackboard. Picking up a piece of chalk, he quickly scrawled the number “210” across the board. “In your Subtlety final this year, you’re all going to fight one another. The winner will receive this many points. The losers get nothing.”
“Wait, all this talk about being smarter and craftier than everyone else, and our test is just another fight?” Selena said. Though she felt she could do well in open combat, it didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t why she’d stayed in the class.
“Yes, and also no. Fighting is a good testing ground, because it’s something you’re all familiar with, but that’s not what I’m really looking at.” Professor Pendleton turned back around to face the class. “You see, for this test, you’ll be allowed to work in teams. When I say the winner gets the points, I mean exactly that. The winning team will have their points split between them. So a team of one gets all of it, a significant bump for those of you who are falling behind. A team of two gets a little over a hundred points each—a perfect grade with a bonus—and a team of three gets seventy apiece. That’s just barely passing, for those keeping score. No point in going lower, since you’d just be splitting failure four ways.”
“A team fight instead of a knock-down brawl? How does this change things?” Sasha asked.
“Because you’re forming the teams, you’re all working together, but you’ll be telling me your teams individually,” Professor Pendleton explained. “Let’s say that Selena and Rich form a team. They train together, plan together, and have a great strategy. Just before the test, Selena turns in a paper that says she and Rich are a team. If Rich turns in the same, then great; win or lose, they’re in it together. However, if Rich turns in a paper saying he’s working alone, then they’re not on a team at all. Of course, only one of them will know that going into the fight.”
Comprehension shot through the class like an attack from Professor Fletcher. They didn’t just have to worry about working together; they had to wonder how much they could trust their teammates, and how much they should keep to themselves. It would mean working without a sense of unity, never knowing if talking strategy would help your team, or just get you stabbed in the back.
“Some of you are, undoubtedly, thinking that the best course of action is just to eschew the teams and go it alone,” Professor Pendleton said. “After all, there are those in this class whose martial capabilities far outstrip others. If that’s the way you decide to go, I won’t stop you. Just remember that the stronger you think yourself, the bigger a target you’re wearing the minute the action hits, and there’s no one in here that couldn’t be brought down by a well-coordinated team. Then again, maybe you can win through sheer force. It’s possible, but it’s the kind of victory that will ensure you’re not invited to make this major your Hero specialty. I want to see how you deal with this side of Subtlety, because it’s one you’re going to have to use frequently.”
Professor Pendleton walked back over to his desk and resumed his perch. “One more thing: no using other students to help you figure out what others are thinking. You might have teammates with telepathy or something close to it in the future, but if you can’t complete this sort of task on your own, then you have no right calling yourself a Subtlety Hero. This is you, and maybe your team, against everyone else. You have an entire semester to court your assets and plan your betrayals. Good luck.”
160.
Mary sat quietly as the rest of the Focus class filed out of the room, pretending to be digging in her backpack for some nonexistent item. Most ignored her, though Alex paused to throw her a curious glance on his way out. As the only other . . . well, perhaps not telepath but someone who was close enough, he’d been able to hear Professor Stone’s message as well as she had. But if he was curious about why Mary was being asked to stay after class, he kept his curiosity to himself. Alex stepped out of the room, making sure to shut the door behind him.
“Did you have a nice break?” Professor Stone asked. She was still seated at her desk, pen in hand, as if there were nothing clandestine at all about their meeting.
“It was all right. I tried to spend more time with my family than I usually do.” Mary stopped pretending to dig through her bag and zipped it up. “My parents were happy about that, but the rest of the family felt uncomfortable around me.”
“For those without advanced mind abilities, such is the default reaction. I’d offer you ways to cope with it; however, the sad truth is that the only methods are to find those who trust you enough to not care about the mental intrusion, or hide what you can do from everyone you meet.”
“That’s a great pick-me-up. Why don’t we go ahead and skip the rest of the small talk. I’ve got a class topside in half an hour.” Mary stood from her seat, slinging the backpack over her shoulder.
“Certainly. I wanted to schedule some time with you to work on your dream-walking abilities. Now that you’ve progressed to the point of entering minds that are merely unconscious, to say nothing of bringing others with you, I feel it’s time I took a more hands-on role in your training.” Professor Stone glanced down at the small calendar on her desk and tapped it with her pen. “Also, could you have Alice swing by this week? From what I saw of her mind, I think she’s grown stable enough for us to attempt another memory viewing. If she’s still interested, I mean.”
“Trust me, Alice is still interested,” Mary assured her teacher. “Even if you didn’t remind her, I’m sure she’d have been by your office soon.”
“I rather suspected as much. For your training, how about we try and meet every other Saturday morning, to start?”
“No can do. I’ve a recurring chess game that I can’t miss. If I’m not working at the restaurant, I could do afternoons, though.”
“Do you really consider a board game more important than furthering your abilities?” Professor Stone asked.
“Not usually, but you’d be amazed how much I’ve learned from playing this particular opponent.” Mary allowed herself a small, cocky grin. There was no way Professor Stone didn’t know about Mr. Numbers, his skill, or how long they’d had their standing game. She wasn’t sure what her teacher was trying to test, but on this account, she would find Mary unyielding.
“Very well. We’ll plan for Saturday afternoon, assuming you don’t have to work. Meet me in my office by one, starting this Saturday.”
“Are you going to have someone passed out on hand for me to dive into?” Mary asked. Lander had some excellent training resources, but that seemed to be pushing it, even for them.
“Let me worry about that. I promise, you’ll have everything you need.”
Though that was really more of an ominous announcement than answer, Mary let it slide. After over a year of working with Professor Stone, she trusted the older woman would deliver on what was needed. They didn’t always agree on everything, but Professor Stone knew how to train an advanced mind; that much could never be called into question.
“I guess we’ll see on Saturday.” Mary let herself out the door and headed toward the lifts, the conversation already relegated to the back of her mind. Clandestine meetings and dream-walking training were all well and good, but if she didn’t make it to her Biology class, she’d be starting the semester behind in one of her worst subjects. Now that was something to really worry about.
* * *
“Hey, Alice! Hold your ass up for a minute.”
Alice turned to find Angela jogging toward her, clad in the white uniform of a Lander senior. She was sweaty, with her hair pulled back tight. There was no chance someone this far in the program had worn themselves out with a light jog, which meant she’d come directly from training. Whatever this was about, she’d clearly wanted to catch Alice as soon as possible.
“What’s up?” Alice halted her trek to the lifts, turnin
g to speak with her coworker.
“Oh, you know, another day, another ass-kicking to deliver.” Angela paused to take a few deep breaths, and then continued. “I wanted to give you a heads up about the Cowgirl Rodeo.”
“The who-what-where?”
“The Cowgirl Rodeo. Shit, I know you’ve only worked at Six-Shooter for one semester, but I figured you’d at least heard of the events they hosted.”
“I was pretty busy with, you know, the whole Hero Certification Program thing.” Alice managed to hide the exasperation that was trying to seep into her voice, but only barely.
“That’s no excuse. Win or lose, you only go to college once. You have to make the most of it. Have some fun. After this, it’s pretty much all seriousness and reality.” Angela wiped her still sweating forehead on her sleeve. Alice couldn’t remember ever seeing the girl this worn out. Whatever training she was doing must have been intense.
“I thought you wanted to tell me about a rodeo,” Alice said.
“Right, damn near forgot the reason I ran you down. Anyway, just before spring break, Six-Shooter puts on the Cowgirl Rodeo. It’s a way to kick off the festivities and get everyone in a party mood before they leave town. Horribly sexist series of events: gelatin wrestling, bikini bull riding, you get the idea. It’s mostly students who enter, but they’ll ask employees if they want to sign up as well.”
“Wow. Thanks for the warning,” Alice said. She really was grateful; if not for the low-down on what it entailed, she might have inadvertently joined up. After all, just calling it a rodeo sounded fairly harmless. “I’ll make sure not to put my name down.”
Angela’s face flickered with confusion, and she shook her head as realization dawned. “Fuck all that noise. I came to talk to you because I need a partner for the team events. Two hot blondes with HCP training? We can win that son of a bitch with a hand each tied behind our backs.”
“Ah. Right.” This one was really all Alice’s fault. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought Angela would be steering her away from pageantry and ridiculousness. “I’ll . . . have to think about it, I guess.”
“Don’t think too hard, or someone might snatch me away.” Angela leaned back, conjuring a series of pops from her spine as she did. “In all seriousness, though, you should do it. Once we’re out of this place, we’re adults at worst, Heroes at best. We don’t get to be as dumb, irresponsible, and carefree. I mean, I’ll still be all those things, but most of you will tone it down. You have to squeeze in the stupid shit while you can.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alice said.
“You better. I’m not losing because I’ve got a crappy partner. Not this year, not again!” Angela thrust her finger in the air with her last words, then headed back down the hall toward whatever course lay next on her schedule.
Alice watched her go, torn between being impressed by and embarrassed for the half-mad senior at the top of the class.
161.
Vince wasn’t expecting a lot from History of Modern Cinema, especially not after reading the online reviews about what an easy course it was. That, in fact, was precisely why he’d signed up for it—to fill a Fine Arts elective. He felt a bit guilty throwing away a piece of his education with such tactics, but the fact of the matter was that he struggled enough with school as it was. He couldn’t risk letting an elective be the thing that kept him out of the HCP.
As he walked down the stadium-style rows—this lecture hall was no doubt chosen so the students could all watch the various films with ease—he scanned about, looking for an empty section he could rest in. Vince didn’t particularly try to be anti-social in his aboveground classes, in fact, he’d often made efforts to get to know his fellow students in his earlier years, but the trouble was that, sooner or later, they would invite him to something, or ask about his other classes, or do some other thing that required him to hide his affiliation with the Hero Certification Program. Vince wasn’t good at lying, and he loathed doing it. Eventually, he found it was just easier to keep to himself, and to forge his friendships among fellow HCP students. Sometimes, he wondered if that was part of the reason they had to keep their identities a secret; with no one else to talk to, they were forced to become close with only other potential Heroes.
A loud, piercing whistle broke Vince out his thoughts. He, along with a dozen or so other students, jerked their heads around, searching for the source of the noise. They all eventually spotted it, but only Vince found the figure to be familiar. Intimately so.
Sasha Foster waved at him, and then started making big, sweeping gestures for him to come over, and Vince began heading in her direction. They weren’t especially close, that ship had sailed along with their relationship, but ever since the beach trip, they’d managed to be on civil, if not friendly, terms. True, they didn’t make plans or hang out together; however, they did enjoy each other’s company when occasions lined up. Having her in a class with him would be pleasant, and it never hurt to have someone to share notes with.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Sasha said as Vince slid into the unoccupied seat next to her. “Figured you’d take the high road and do some Shakespearean study class.”
“As I see it, if Lander offers the course, then it must carry some merit. And I can’t understand a single word of Shakespeare. It all reads like a foreign language to me.” Vince set his book bag down, pausing only to pull out a notebook and pencil. This class, unsurprisingly, didn’t require any textbooks for the curriculum. “What about you? Suddenly discover a love for old movies?”
“Nope, I just wanted a blow-off class, same as you,” Sasha said. “I don’t really give two shits about the older stuff.”
“I never really got to watch movies growing up,” Vince said. “It will be interesting to see some of the classics. If nothing else, I won’t feel so dumb when people reference them.”
“Not having seen a bunch of old flicks doesn’t make you dumb. Though, yeah, you are basically an idiot in terms of pop culture.”
“Don’t remind me. Hershel and Alex flipped out about a new movie coming out this year, and I’d never even heard of it. Sometimes, I feel like I’m completely out of the loop on everything not related to . . . well, you know.”
“Smooth,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “And you should never feel bad about those two geeking out over something you haven’t heard of. They’re sweet guys, but gigantic dorks. Half the time, I didn’t know what Hershel was talking about, and I don’t suffer from culture-dumbness.”
“You’re probably right,” Vince agreed. “This Star Puncher movie is probably just another niche thing of theirs.”
There was a clatter of wood on cheap tile as Sasha’s pencil slipped from her hand and bounced on the ground. She started at Vince with wide eyes, a few strands of pink-streaked hair masking her face. When she spoke again, it was in hushed, almost reverent tones.
“Did you say Star Puncher? As in: someone is making a new Star Puncher movie?”
“If they aren’t, then Hershel and Alex are doing a lot of costume planning for nothing.” Vince looked at his former flame with unexpected confusion. “Do you follow the series or something?”
“Ever since I was a kid,” Sasha admitted. She finally regained control of herself and bent down to scoop up the pencil. “My mom liked that sort of stuff, and she would show me the old VHS tapes. When the new ones came out, she dragged me along, even though I was really too young for them. The movies are terrible, don’t get me wrong, but at this point, it’s a sort of terrible I find familiar and enjoyable.”
“I don’t completely understand what you mean, but if you want to come with us, you’re more than welcome,” Vince said. “Alex and Hershel were hoping to get more girls to come with us anyway. But, fair warning, they’ll want you to wear a costume.”
“That a fact?” Sasha pulled out a notebook from her own backpack and flipped it open. “One of those guys can sew, right? Because I might be able to design, but I can’t work
a needle for shit.”
“Hershel has a lot of skill at it, and Chad is pitching in as well,” Vince told her.
Sasha stopped moving her pencil and turned to Vince, raising one of her eyebrows in a fishhook shaped arc. “I’m sorry; did you say Chad Taylor was going to help you sew costumes for the Star Puncher premiere?”
“That’s what he told Hershel.”
Sasha stared at him for a moment longer, then let out a long sigh and turned her attention back to the notebook where she’d begun sketching. “Sometimes, I forget just how weird things seem to turn out around you guys. And, to be honest, I sort of miss it.”
162.
The weight rack rattled as Roy let the bar drop a few inches into its setting. The equipment should be able to handle as much weight as there was present, but when dealing with things measured in tons, he realized it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Of course, this thought came only after he’d felt the entire weight bench shake and had had time to wonder if he could survive a loaded bar to the face. Thankfully, the bench held, and Roy got up to move on to his next exercise.
Winter break had caused an interesting gap to occur, since Hershel could train freely, but Roy didn’t have the equipment to get any serious work done. Sure, he’d sparred with Vince in the backyard, but without a healer on hand, he couldn’t risk going too hard against his silver-haired friend. Powerful as Vince was, his bones could break just like anyone else’s. Roy didn’t fancy showing up and having to explain to Camille how her favorite Super ended up in a cast and needed fixing. Especially not after he’d see the way she went after those Sims. Small though she was, Camille had carved out a spot on Roy’s “do not needlessly piss off” list.
Another resident of that list was also in the gym. Chad was working on dumbbell curls, using significantly less weight than Roy was currently capable of, but with impeccable form. Roy watched the man who was his friend, his dormmate, and his rival as Chad rhythmically lifted the weights up and down, never breaking pattern. It was easy to underestimate Chad, so very easy, because he didn’t have as much brute strength as other Supers. What most didn’t know, and couldn’t be aware of, was how steady his growth was. Roy had been watching Chad ever since freshman year, and while he didn’t make the explosive leaps forward in power that Roy did, he also never stopped advancing. Every week, the weight of those dumbbells increased. Not by a lot, but they still went up. Every single week. It was like that with everything Chad did. His movements got smoother; his speed grew quicker. He refused to stay where he was.