by Drew Hayes
Sadly, when she pulled in on a late spring evening after hours of training, Angela didn’t get the opportunity to revel in the sight of her home. A car was already pulled into her driveway, one she recognized in an instant. It was a simple sedan, built for the pragmatic and budget-conscious. She’d rolled her eyes on the first day Shane drove it up, and she rolled them again as she stepped out of her red sports car. The damn thing was ancient, halfway to broken down, and practically drank gas, but it went fast and felt cool; which was more than enough of a trade-off for Angela.
“You’d better have dinner on the table,” Angela announced as she waltzed through the front door. She’d long ago given Shane a key to the place for emergencies, but she’d also made it clear that she liked her space and didn’t enjoy drop-in visits.
Shane was sitting on her couch, reading from a book so boring that she dearly hoped it was for one of his classes. He looked up at the sound of her voice. “No one could get a hold of you by phone.”
“And that means busting into my place is okay?” Angela’s hand groped through her purse, finally clutching onto the small electronic device. She pulled the silver flip-phone from the purse’s depths—Angela steadfastly refused to upgrade to one of the fancy touchscreens that devoured people’s lives—and checked the screen to find it unresponsive. A quick mental calculation reminded her that she hadn’t charged the thing in at least a day, which would account for it powering down.
“It is when I’m supposed to deliver official family news.” Shane shut his book and stood up from the couch. “Grandfather has announced his intention to come watch your showing at the Intramurals.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet. I haven’t seen Paw Paw actually make a trip since your freshman Parent’s Day weekend.” Fumbling about on a table near the couch, Angela produced a small charging cord and plugged her phone into it. She wondered how many calls she had missed. At least Chad was the type who would assume she was just busy training, and not that she was avoiding him. The boy was as low-maintenance as they came, which was one of the many qualities she enjoyed about him.
“You know Grandfather doesn’t like such undignified nicknames,” Shane told her, his face still pinched. It was obvious he cared more about something that was unsaid than what she called their grandpa, but Angela had no inclination to make it easy by calling him out on it. He had to learn to speak up for himself if he wanted to get things talked about.
“He doesn’t like it when most people do that. I can get away with it,” Angela said, tossing in a wink for good measure.
“Because you’re his favorite.” To his credit, Shane was able to keep his body language from turning truly aggressive, but he didn’t quite manage to stop all of the resentment from leaking into his voice.
“Because I’m his widdle granddaughter, silly. And, more importantly, since I’m an adult, I can call him whatever I want. So can you, for that matter. He just acts tough, anyway; don’t act like you don’t see the happy twinkle in that old curmudgeon’s eye when I use cute nicknames.” Angela finished getting her phone set up, and then dropped her purse on the counter as she headed toward the kitchen. Training had been especially harsh as Intramurals drew closer; she was famished.
“It’s happening at Intramurals, isn’t it?” Shane didn’t yell at her; he didn’t even seem as angry as she’d expected him to be. He just spat the words out while glaring at the floor. It was good, but she wasn’t going to let him slide by playing the pronoun game. Soon, Angela would be gone; she had to do all she could for her little brother while time remained.
“What’s going to happen?” Angela stopped her trek to the kitchen and glanced back at Shane over her shoulder. “Me kicking ass? Totally. Me putting Lander on top? Yup! Me being hoisted onto people’s shoulders and worshiped as a goddess of battle, showered in gold and champagne? Well, that one is dicey, but I like to think—”
“The name.” Shane took a deep breath and looked up from the floor to meet his older sister’s eyes. “He’s going to come watch you perform, and if you do well, he’s going to officially offer you the name. It has to be then; you need a Hero name when you graduate. Assuming you win, which you always do, Grandfather is going to make you the new Captain Starlight.”
Angela took her time responding. She was impressed he’d managed to get that much out, and she didn’t want to treat it flippantly. Shane didn’t like to talk about the gauntlet that had been thrown down between them so many years ago. He’d just buried himself in training, and study, and effort, all dedicated toward showing that he had more potential than his sister. That he should be the one to carry on the Captain Starlight legacy.
“Honestly, I think that’s a fair assumption,” Angela said, all trace of humor momentarily gone from her voice. “With him, it’s hard to say anything for sure, but the timeline issues you pointed out are valid, so there doesn’t seem to be any other way for it to go down.”
“Then . . . it’s over. I won’t have the chance to demonstrate any kind of skill that can prove my worth before your big battle. Unless you royally screw up, he’ll give you the name. He has to. You’ve stood at the top of your class since you got there, and I still haven’t beaten Chad even once. Captain Starlight doesn’t belong to someone in second place.”
“Captain Starlight also doesn’t give up until the battle is over,” Angela said, her voice suddenly fierce. “Don’t you dare fucking lay down and die on me. Not after all we’ve been through.” She strode across the room and grabbed her brother by the collar of his shirt, as if she could shake the very ennui out of him.
“I’m going to win, Shane. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. You’re going to keep chasing me. And maybe, at the very end, you’re going to pull off some sort of insane bullshit that I will have never expected and you’ll steal victory out from under me. Because that’s who you are. You’ve spent your whole life trying to get out from other people’s shadows; you refused to quit no matter who your rival was. Don’t lose that now, little brother. It’s the thing that’s made you so good, that’s kept you in the running. Don’t lose your real power.”
Shane stared at her with wide, uncertain eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Angela be serious about something, let alone give him encouragement. As quickly as it came over her, the solemn expression vanished, and she released him, heading back to the kitchen.
“I’m going to make oven pizzas. Since you’re already here, you may as well hang out and have some. Clear off the table and get us some beers.” Angela paused to look back at him one last time. “And if I ever hear you talk about giving up again, I will personally beat your ass so hard that they’ll need five healers to put you back together.”
Shane nodded and watched her leave. She was a madwoman, there had never been any question of that, but she was also right. It wasn’t over yet. And he couldn’t stop now. Shane DeSoto would fight on until the very end. If she won, then so be it, but it wouldn’t be because he didn’t do everything he could to surpass her. He’d keep chasing her, just like he had since they were children.
184.
Roy dropped his bat as Will’s weird gizmo made his entire body explode with the sensation of needing to be scratched. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but at the same time, it made focusing nearly impossible. Then it was over, and Professor Cole blew her whistle.
“Roy Daniels has been taken down by the team of Murray, Murray, and Sullivan. Time: five minutes and thirty-six seconds. Good job, everyone.” She made a few notes on the clipboard, her bandaged fingers clearly having no issue holding the pen. When that was done, Professor Cole checked the stopwatch in her hands, seeing how much time was left in the class.
“We’ll go ahead and call it a day here, people,” she announced. “Not enough time to do another bout before the bell. But everyone gather close, because there’s an announcement I want to make.”
Violet offered Roy a hand up from the ground, which he accepted. While a younger Roy might have been bothered at b
eing bested by Will, Jill, and Violet, after so many matches, he found it impossible to take an occasional loss personally. Especially against Will, whose weird doo-dads were almost impossible to predict. The tricks from his staff were never as showy as what he built into Jill’s suit, but they were curiously effective. Will knew how to fight like a weakling, and that made him vastly more dangerous than someone who’d spent a lifetime being strong.
“As all of you who can read a calendar should be aware, we’re coming up on mid-semester exams,” Professor Cole said, speaking as her seven students fell into place. “For most of your classes, this will be much like what you did back in the fall: you’ll be teamed up to fight another student meeting you as a team. I’m sure your professors will throw in a few changes to keep it fresh, maybe having you fight more people or changing up the terrain. Originally that was what I’d planned for you as well, but after seeing your growth this year, we’re going to do something a little different.”
Ears perked up and weariness seemed to slide off her student’s faces as the prospect of a new challenge was dangled before them. They’d thought they knew what to expect, but now, there was a chance of dealing with the unknown, which obviously filled each of them with intrigue rather than dread. That was one of the many reasons why they still stood before her, when so many others had fallen by the wayside.
“In the Hero world, there are some people who are better suited to certain types of battles than others. I’m not just talking about our specialties, Subtlety and Weapons and Control and all that. I’m talking about how our skills and powers can be best utilized in the field. For example: someone who generates a lot of damage, but has limited ability to direct it, would be most often called in on situations where the enemies are all confirmed and civilians have been evacuated. There’s a technical code for that kind of thing, but we just called it ‘Scorched Earth,’ and I don’t think you need me to tell you why.”
The serious expressions that met her eyes told her that no, she didn’t need to explain. They were far enough along to understand the burdens that came with Hero work. At least, to understand them as best they could without actually being in the field.
“Now, I was not the sort they called in for Scorched Earth. I was, however, especially good at dealing with large groups of Supers that would band together and fight. In a sense, the focus of this year’s training was what I happened to be best at: taking on multiple enemies at once. In fact, I have so much experience at it that I can often evaluate how well my opponents coordinate and work together, just from taking them on as a group. So, that’s what we’ll be doing for our Weapons midterm.”
“Wait, we’re fighting you?” Britney said, comprehension quickly dawning.
“That’s right. We’ll do it in two matches, since there are seven of you, one team of four and one team of three. I’ll pick your teams, but you won’t know them until right before the match begins.”
“Why not?” Terrance asked. “We learned about teamwork last year, and it’s assumed we’re working on Hero teams when we get into the field. Why can’t we have the chance to plan and coordinate?”
“For one thing, because this is an exercise in thinking like the enemy,” Professor Cole told him. “Gangs of Supers are sometimes well-trained and cooperative, but most of them fight without planning or teamwork. I want you to feel what that’s like from their end, to understand what’s going through their heads in the chaos of a fight. But, the other reason I don’t want you prepping is that life as a Hero doesn’t always go to plan. Sometimes, you have to work with strangers, because they are there and the job needs to be done. Coordinating on the fly is a learned skill, so it’s our job to get you practice in it whenever we can.”
“Are we expected to win this bout?” Will asked. His eyes were already sparking with thought as he tried to imagine what sort of abilities Professor Cole had. All she’d ever shown was tremendous skill with weapons, and a refusal to appear before her students without the many layers of clothing and bandages. There were oceans of possibilities there, but nothing concrete.
“You’re damn sure expected to try,” Professor Cole said. “But I’m going to be grading you based on tactics more than results; what strategies you employ, how you work together, when I see real thought going into your attacks, that sort of thing. Oh, and here is something important: you are all expected to come at me full-force. Treat me like a Sim, no holding back. If you don’t come into this fight with all you’ve got, you won’t last long enough for me to make a good assessment.”
“I guess we’re supposed to assume that nothing we can do will hurt you, then,” Roy said. As the only one in the class who had earnestly fought a professor before, he knew all too well just how powerful they could be.
“As third-years, it’s entirely possible one of you could injure me, which is why I’ll have some safety precautions taken,” Professor Cole replied. “But in the twelve years I’ve been teaching this course, those precautions have never been needed. Don’t be afraid, and don’t hold back. I want to see what you all can really do.”
185.
The bartenders were washing out the last of their glasses, while the shot girls finished changing out of their uniforms in the back. At Six-Shooter, those who worked the bar had a more strenuous set of closing tasks than the other workers, since they were also the ones who frequently got the most business and therefore made the most tips. Chad and Roy had already finished their glasses and had moved on to emptying the beer bins when Roger Brown, the owner and their boss, stepped out into the empty club and coughed loudly.
“Excuse me, can I get everyone to huddle up for a moment?” His voice didn’t come across as urgent; nothing about Roger ever struck anyone as particularly emphatic. Even when dealing with irate or drunk customers, he had the same level of half-interested calm that defined dealing with him. Strangely, it had a calming effect on others, and made everyone want to deal with him more rationally. “Shot girls in the back, that’s you too,” he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
Several girls, including Alice and Angela, came out to hear what their boss had to say. Many of the employees looked confused, but a keen eye could spot a flicker of excitement dancing in Angela’s eyes. Alice noticed that gleam only a second before Roger started talking again, which robbed her of the chance to put the pieces together.
“As I’m sure you all know, in two weeks, spring break will be upon us. For the bar, that means we’ll be almost completely dead. Feel free to take off if you want; honestly, if no one feels like working, I’ll just close the place. It’s not worth the cost to run it for so few customers anyway. But, before that happens, Six-Shooter has an annual tradition to send our college students off in style. On the last day when classes are held, a Friday this year, there’s an event at the bar. We call it the Cowgirl Rodeo, and it’s about as bad as the name implies.”
Roger had to pause for a moment, as Angela had started clapping wildly from her spot in the back. He waited, watching her until she finally stopped the applause, though the wide grin on her face remained unabated.
“Thank you for the enthusiasm. Some of you may have heard of or even been to this event before, but I’m going to cover the basics so everyone knows what they’re in for. The Cowgirl Rodeo is a tournament held each year on the night before spring break starts, only the games we play are lewd or alcoholic, and the competitors are all young women. There will be things like a bull ride, a no hands shot race, and the ever popular three-beer roping contest. Whoever wins the most points will receive a thousand dollars for their team, as well as some bar merchandise.”
Already, he could feel some of the glares coming from his employees. Despite his usually unflappable nature, this was the part of the speech every year where he had to force himself not to rush through and explain. It was important he treated this calmly, so their reactions would mirror it.
“I know some of you are going to be uncomfortable with this kind of event,” Roger said,
meeting the eyes that were glaring at him the fiercest. “And if you don’t want to work that night, I’m not going to make you. Or you can work in the back if you need the pay. No one has to be associated with this in any way if it makes them uncomfortable. I want to be clear on that from the outset. Yes, it’s a busy night, but the potential revenue is not more important to me than my employees and their comfort in their place of work.”
Some of the glares softened, others remained hard. That was about what Roger had expected, so he pressed on.
“That said, for those of you who want to participate in the games, that’s perfectly acceptable. We open it up to everyone of legal drinking age, employees included. Since all the events are scored based on observable metrics, there’s no way for favoritism to come into play, which means we have no conflict in letting you all enter if you want.”
“Who would enter something like that in the first place?”
Roger couldn’t quite make out the voice; it came from the back of the crowd of waitresses. Before he had a chance to try and guess the person so he could address them, another voice piped up, this one far easier to place.
“Me!” Angela declared, lifting her hand high into the air. “And this girl, too!” Angela grabbed Alice’s arm and thrust it skyward with her own, causing Alice to quickly try and pull it back while fighting off a sudden onset of shyness.
“People who want cash do it,” Roger said, giving up on answering the person directly. “Or people who just like to cut loose in these sorts of events. In the case of our own Angela, I suspect it comes from a love of being in the spotlight.”