Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “A new technique?” Chad asked.

  “Sort of. You know how I’ve been in Weapons and Close Combat? Well, I’ve decided to stick with whichever one makes me the strongest. Thing is, I have no idea how to test that, except to fight someone really strong: once with my bat, and once without.”

  “A controlled experiment,” Chad said. Roy’s forehead scrunched up, so Chad continued. “A controlled experiment is where you test varying factors against one that is standardized. You want to measure your relative fighting strength against something constant, me in this case, so I would be the constant in the experiment.”

  “Stuff like that is more Hershel’s department, but it sounds right to me,” Roy agreed. “I want to see which version of me is really the strongest: bare fists or bat-wielding. Whichever it is, that’s the major I’m going to apply for.”

  “I commend you on the dedication to power, but there are some flaws in your plan.” Chad shifted in his seat, mentally calculating all the errors, and then deciding to boil it down to the big ones. Hershel could follow the minutia better, and there was always time to talk with him later. “The biggest one is that I’ve fought you unarmed dozens of times. I know your style and techniques perfectly, whereas the bat would be a total mystery to me. It would give your armed trial a slight advantage in terms of ability over me, which you would need to factor in to your decision.”

  “If they’re so close that something like that can make the difference, I’ll just stick with Close Combat,” Roy said. “Saves on having to buy heavier bats in the long run. I’m looking for a visible difference, or at least one I can feel as we fight.”

  “Practical, if a bit ill-defined,” Chad replied. “Our second issue is that, while we can both heal quickly, the first bout will inherently be a more powerful one, as we’ll be uninjured and full of vigor.”

  “That one, I was actually ahead of you on.” Roy grinned, clearly happy to finally have anticipated something in the conversation. “I already talked to Camille, and she’s willing to heal us between rounds. We’ve both got enough stamina that I doubt one fight is really going to wear us out beyond some bruises.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Chad conceded. “My last key concern is that we will need one of the professors to oversee our match. If this is indeed a fight where you want us to come at one another seriously, it’s a necessary safety precaution. We’ve gotten much more powerful since freshman year, and, for transparency as much as protection, it would be irresponsible to spar without an experienced eye monitoring us.”

  “Damn. You’re right, and I should have thought of that.” Roy leaned back in his chair slightly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he mulled Chad’s last demand over. “I feel like there’s a pretty good chance Professor Cole will do it, if she knows the stakes. She’s been trying to talk me into going with Weapons since the year started, so if I tell her I’m on the edge, I bet she’d be willing to take the gig.”

  “Should she refuse, we can both approach Professor Fletcher and ask him to undertake the role,” Chad said. “And if even that proves fruitless, I feel certain that Dean Blaine would be willing to do it, although he would be more difficult to schedule.”

  Roy snorted and shook his head. “I doubt the dean has nothing better to do than come watch two juniors kick the shit out of each other.”

  Chad smiled, and for once pointedly didn’t say what he was actually thinking. He and Blaine’s relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but neither was it a thing he saw any point in broadcasting to the world. “Dean Blaine is committed to helping his students choose the best paths for their abilities. If this will truly help you with your decision, then I have no doubt he would consent to oversee the match.”

  “Guess we’ll find out, if Cole and Fletcher both say no.” Roy stood from his chair, and stuck a hand out to Chad. “Thanks for agreeing to do this. I know a lot of things have been cutting into your training time lately, and you damn sure don’t owe it to me.”

  Chad stood as well, and accepted the handshake. “You’re mistaken, Roy. I’m not doing this just for you. Fighting a high-level combatant, especially with two different arsenals of techniques, is the best training I can ask for. I expect I’ll gain as much insight from our bout as you will, even if it is in different areas.”

  The two men shook, and with that, the battle was on.

  210.

  Nick heard the door open, but made no motion to reach for one of the several guns stashed nearby. Two minutes earlier or later, and he certainly would have. This time, however, was perfectly in the window expected for Eliza to check in as she did her rounds, and therefore, no cause for concern. He did still bristle a bit, but then forced himself to calm down. The situation with Nathaniel was making him tense, and that was a mistake. Tension was the enemy in long, protracted battles like these. If he started seeing threats everywhere, he’d become blind to the real ones as they crept up on him. Part of him wanted to believe that trying to stay relaxed was the reason he’d finally let things progress to this point with Alice, but not even Nick was skilled enough to sell that lie, especially to himself.

  “Everything is clear on the—oh ho ho! What’s this now?” Eliza stepped into Nick’s bedroom as she spoke and found him looking at three button-down shirts paired with different slacks that had been laid on the bed. “I thought your date wasn’t until Saturday?”

  “It’s not, but time and temperature have wilted the crispness from these, so I’m going to get my outfit pressed before the big night.”

  “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life, most of it since starting to work for your Family, but I never would have believed that I would live to see Nicholas Campbell actually care about one of his dates.”

  “Then that shows a lack of perceptiveness on your part,” Nick replied. “I’ve cared about every date I’ve ever gone on, and every lady who has given me the pleasure of her company.”

  “Fair enough. But what about after things are done?” Eliza said.

  “There, you may have something of a point.” Nick picked up the blue shirt, along with the gray slacks beneath it, and set them aside. It was a classic color combination, but it was better suited to someone with Vince’s striking eyes and hair. On him, it would seem a touch garish, and while Nick had no objections to garishness on occasion, he was cultivating a different aura for his first date with Alice.

  “Seriously though, you can’t tell me you put this much effort into choosing your clothes every time you take a girl out. We’d never see you on the casino floor if that were the case.”

  “No, I’ll admit that I don’t usually try quite so hard. But Alice Adair is not a simple woman, and I would put myself at a disadvantage if I treated her as one.”

  “It’s okay to be nervous.” Eliza leaned over and touched Nick lightly on the shoulder, drawing his gaze from the clothes to her. “I mean it.”

  “I’ve committed more crimes in my life than most police officers will ever see. I’ve squared off against Supers, criminals, and thugs on a near daily basis since I was a child. I am Nicholas Campbell; I do not get nervous about dates.”

  “Except when you actually care about the girl, of which, I’m guessing this is the first time.” Eliza met his eyes head on and for once, Nick found himself wondering if he’d stepped out of his depth. These were emotional complications he was accustomed to using on others, not getting tangled in himself.

  “You said we were clear,” Nick said at last.

  “All quiet on the western, eastern, northern, and southern fronts.” Eliza let him change the subject without objection, mostly because she wasn’t sure what to say if he tried to turn it into a genuine discussion. After all, she’d left the only man she’d loved abandoned in a shack, what did she know about healthy love?

  “Good. At least Nathaniel seems to have retreated for the moment. I don’t need to tell you that we’ll be on high alert when I take Alice out though, do I?”

  “He caught us of
f guard once. It’s not happening again,” Eliza assured him. “Also, I’d wear the green shirt with the dark pants. Just my two-cents, but I think you look good in green.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Nick turned back to choosing his outfit in an effort to calm his nerves, as Eliza headed out the door to continue making sure their homes were secure.

  Of the two, she had the far easier job that night.

  * * *

  “Sure, I can ref for you.” Professor Cole pulled a thick binder out from her desk drawer and set it down with an audible thud. Her gloved hands rifled through the pages until she came across the one she was looking for, at which point, she turned back up to the two young men standing in her office. “How’s Saturday work?”

  “I have no prior commitments,” Chad told her.

  “Yeah, I’m good too.” Unlike Chad, Roy seemed a bit frazzled by the unexpectedly easy answer his teacher had given. “Don’t you even want to know why we’re going to have a match though?”

  “Because you’re deciding between Weapons and Close Combat, and you think fighting the class’s top-ranked student will give you some perspective on which you’re better suited for.” Professor Cole snatched a pen up off her desk and began scribbling in the binder. “How about we do it around one? Eat an early lunch, and you’ll have time to digest before the action.”

  “Works for me,” Chad said.

  “Wait, hang on, how did you know that’s what I was doing?” Roy asked.

  “For shit’s sake, do you really think you’re the first student to decide to make the choice by testing themselves? We usually get one every two or three years in a situation like yours. Honestly, if you didn’t figure this out for yourself, I was going to drop a lot of hints until I had to outright tell you to do it.”

  “So, this works? It’s a good way to make the choice?”

  “What you get out of it depends entirely on you,” Professor Cole replied. “The more straightforward with yourself you are, the more clarity you’ll have after trying both styles. It’s all about honesty: are you going in hoping to prove one style is better? If so, then you’re going to come out with either confusion or justification. However, if you’re trying this to genuinely see what the best way you fight is, then you may just learn a few things about yourself in the process. Now, does one in the afternoon on Saturday work for you, or not?”

  Roy noticed Professor Cole was tapping her pen on the binder’s pages and quickly nodded. He’d been in her class long enough to know that when her patience ran out, things could get ugly. “That’ll be fine for me. And thank you for doing this, ma’am.”

  “You can thank me by making sure it’s not a waste of my time,” Professor Cole said. “I want you two to push yourselves until you get some real answers. Otherwise, I might have to do some of the pushing myself.”

  “No worries about that,” Roy told her. “No matter how things turn out, I’m bringing everything I’ve got to that fight.”

  211.

  “Have you decided what you want to start with?” Chad asked. He seemed genuinely curious rather than prying, which made sense, given that he didn’t particularly need inside information to help him in the coming bout.

  “Thought about it all week, and to be honest, I never found a compelling reason to go in any order,” Roy admitted. The two young men were walking down the hallway, making certain to be at the appointed cell before Professor Cole’s specified time. She was not a fan of tardiness, and both knew her reputation well enough to honor such a preference. “In the end, I just decided I’d start with fists, ‘cause that’s the class I took first.”

  “Interesting,” Chad said, using a tone that told an entirely opposite tale from his word choice. Roy didn’t take it personally; he’d long since realized that dead-pan was just his blond friend’s default.

  “What do you mean ‘interesting’? Think I should do it the other way?”

  “No, I think you made the right call. If you did the bat first, then I might see techniques you’ve never brought to Close Combat, and that would cause me to expand the planned counters I have to your attacks. Starting with what I know you do gives it an honest baseline, and closing with Weapons allows you to still ‘come from left field,’ as the saying goes.”

  “Damn. Sort of wish I’d said all that instead of the real reason I picked the order,” Roy admitted.

  “The order is ultimately of minimal importance, given our abilities. What you take from this battle will come from how much you put in to each round. No other element matters more than that.”

  “Nothing to worry about there,” Roy said. “Against you, I know I sure as shit can’t hold back.”

  “After having seen you go through those Sims before winter break, I can say this with complete honesty: ditto.”

  * * *

  “I told you all this the first time you were informed about today’s training, but the point is of such importance that is bears repeating: this is a very rare opportunity, and you should make the most out of it.” Dean Blaine had given this short speech several times already, and as the five students stared at him on that Saturday afternoon, he kept the same tempo and rhythm that had been used in each of its previous incarnations. This show was for Rich and Selena, who were still clueless as to the real motives behind their sudden training regimen. Of those in the room, only Professor Stone and Professor Pendleton knew that this week was special. Today’s effort was about far more than just training.

  “Mr. Weaver and Ms. Wilkins have made progress, even in the small amount of time we’ve had to practice on their fellow students, which is good for you, the later groups, because it means you’ll be presented with an even greater challenge. Do all that you can to surpass the cages they can create, for one day, the stakes may be far higher than simple bragging rights.”

  Dean Blaine nodded to Rich and Selena, who stared at this week’s subjects. Rich maintained a cold, stoic demeanor, but Selena gave a small wave and smile to Alice and Mary. Even if she had split from Alex over a year ago, they’d still spent too much time around each other not to at least show some cordialness. Allen, the third subject in today’s trials, wore an impassive face much like Rich’s.

  “We’ve been varying it up to keep everyone on their toes, sometimes giving Ms. Wilkins the group at their freshest, and other times, it goes to Mr. Weaver. Today, Mr. Weaver will be going first. He is going to put you all under for an hour. Anyone who manages to break free of his illusion will be interviewed afterward so we can gain a better understanding of how, and Mr. Weaver has the chance to deal with any holes you may uncover in his ability. Afterward, we will spend an hour with you fighting off Ms. Wilkins’s various melodies, following similar procedures should you find a way to buck her enchantments. Are there any questions?”

  He half-expected Mary to ask a few; she stared between the three educators with an uncertain gaze. No doubt, she could tell something was off—the young woman was too skilled to miss the subtle signs—but she wouldn’t find any details lurking in their surface thoughts. Dean Blaine couldn’t very well suppress abilities within the room while testing was occurring, which was why he’d chosen his most mentally skilled associates to be in it with him. They were all too experienced to let the wrong thoughts slip by, leaving the telepath in the dark, at least for the moment.

  “What sort of scenario is Rich putting us in?” Alice asked. “I’d rather not spend an hour being chased by monsters or something.”

  “Don’t worry; to start off, Mr. Weaver is merely going to dump you into your own subconscious. It is the weakest version of his power, meaning, if you’re going to break out, that gives you the best chance. Should any of you free yourselves, Mr. Weaver will create more complex and powerful scenarios, but he is not permitted to subject any of you to unnecessary pain,” Dean Blaine informed her.

  “I . . . I guess I’m okay with that.” Alice bit her lip, ever so gently, and glanced at the ground. She was, no doubt, recalling the last time she
’d been put in that space. Perhaps she was even hoping for the same results as Dean Blaine. The woman was tenacious; he had little doubt she’d be willing to endure much, if it meant getting a lead on her mother.

  “Have no fear, Professor Stone will be checking on each of you periodically, making certain that everything is within the expected parameters,” Dean Blaine said. “But we are on a clock, so unless you have any other questions, I’d suggest we move things along.”

  Alice, Mary, and Allen each gave some version of a nod, which was all the permission Rich needed to start making his rounds. It only took an instant for each student; the moment they glanced into his eyes, their consciousness slipped away as it tumbled into the labyrinth Rich had constructed. In less than a minute, each of the subjects had been incapacitated and lain down onto the cots where they were resting. Dean Blaine pushed them together, but took great care not to let Mary or Alice so much as brush fingers. Not yet, anyway.

  He stared at them, wearing a mask of the same professional concern he’d had almost every other time they did this trial. Only once before had Dean Blaine needed to conceal anxiety—when Vince was one of the subjects. That had been a bust, though, as he went under and came up without so much as a single subconscious visitor. If nothing happened with Alice, then Dean Blaine would have to face the fact that they were running dangerously short on leads.

  Dean Blaine watched over his students, hoping that something would come from this day’s test, but most of all praying that he’d be able to keep them, even those not in this room, safe from whatever darkness was gathering on the horizon.

  212.

  The space looked much the same as it had when Alice last saw it: re-visiting the memories that Professor Stone had shown her. Attendants still wandered about, and there were tables for massages, pedicures, and just about any other luxury treatment that could be imagined. The place had expanded, though, and now, a new section was adjacent to the old. It was filled with weights, treadmills, and general training equipment. Throughout the gym/spa, there were also familiar bits of furniture scattered around, ones whose real life counterparts lived in the Melbrook common room or girls’ lounge.