by Drew Hayes
Chad was, in that moment, thinking about a lot of things. He was reflecting on how strange it would be to not have Angela around. He was wondering how to calm his mother when she expressed a now very reasonable concern about his safety at Lander. He was fearful of what would become of Lander and its HCP program. Chad didn’t know how to deal with most of these things—they required a depth of emotional awareness that he hadn’t yet achieved. All Chad knew was training, trudging forward and getting better bit by bit. He looked around the room, noting the faces of his friends and peers. These people had been the best training for life and emotions that he’d ever encountered. Now was not the time to balk at that education, especially not when the promise of getting stronger also lingered in the air.
“I’m thinking it would take no less than ten very skilled Supers to keep me away.”
Epilogue
Ralph Chapman shut his briefcase and headed out of the small conference room. The DVA was running meetings so frequently, he was actually contemplating requesting an office in Lander’s underground. As it was, he kept having to hole up in spare rooms to get work done between scheduled discussions. Today’s run had kept him later than expected, and as he exited the room, he found that the halls were largely deserted. Only one other figure was there, clearly waiting on Ralph to emerge.
“Dean Blaine,” Ralph greeted. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Just keeping watch,” Dean Blaine replied. “After everything that’s happened, I only feel secure in my school’s safety when I’m seeing it with my own two eyes.”
“I can scarcely imagine,” Ralph said. As he passed Dean Blaine, the taller man turned and fell into pace with him.
“You know, Ralph, I don’t think I ever got to thank you for what you did that night. Letting our kids go out there probably saved more lives than we’ll ever know.”
“Perhaps, but my decision also cost one that should have never been put in danger.” Ralph wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a heart to heart, a throwing of blame, or a surprise murder. Upfront was still probably the best way to play it, regardless.
“Those kids were going up unless we beat them into staying. What you did protected the ones who made it back. Sasha’s death isn’t your fault in the slightest.” Dean Blaine’s shoes made a methodical click with every step as they moved down the concrete halls. “There is one thing I’ve been wondering about, though. The forms you produced—requisitioned, signed, and ready to go; they must have been prepared in advance. Forgive the curiosity, but I keep finding myself faced with the same question the longer I think about it: why on earth would you have those forms already prepped and on your person?”
Ralph carefully weighed his options. Blaine owed him a little goodwill, but it probably wouldn’t be enough if he knew Ralph had been aware of Nathaniel Evers’s insane grudge. Still, how could he be blamed for that? Ralph considered himself the most paranoid DVA worker out there, and it had never occurred to him as a possibility that Nathaniel would help create the first successful attack on an HCP’s campus. He’d prepped those forms expecting the kids to be needed in saving some piece of the town . . . not their home.
“Believe it or not, Blaine, but in my time at this job, I’ve learned that not every situation can be planned for. Since I was coming to a school where students had been kidnapped and there was a known connection to Globe, it seemed prudent to prepare for an emergency scenario.” Ralph arrived at the lifts and turned around, waiting to see if Dean Blaine would take the answer or begin beating some truth out of him.
“I see. That seems a bit extreme, but given how things played out, I can hardly say it wasn’t smart. Good thinking, Ralph. And thank you, again. Despite the fact that we rarely see eye to eye, I’m glad to know we both put the welfare of the students above all else.” Dean Blaine offered his hand, and Ralph Chapman accepted it.
“And make no mistake, there is nothing I prize more than those kids,” Dean Blaine continued. “Not my job, not my legacy, not even my freedom.” His grip on the handshake tightened slightly, only a fraction of the powerful strength a life of training had imparted. “I am going to find the people responsible for what happened to my school, and I will punish each and every one of them. Thoroughly.”
Ralph said nothing. He merely let the threat hang in the air as his hand was finally released and he got on the lift. As it rose, he could still see Dean Blaine staring up at him. Ralph had heard a lot of tough talk in his time at the DVA, empty threats and curses bandied about like they were verbal confetti. There was nothing flippant in Dean Blaine’s words.
That man was coming like the inevitable specter of death. Ralph could do little more than hope that his name wasn’t on the list when Blaine Jeffries began collecting souls.
* * *
Angela dropped her bag on the bed and surveyed her room. It was a mighty big step down from having a house to herself, but compared to the dorms, it wasn’t that bad. Angela had a sneaking suspicion that the reason dorms even existed was to create a low bar for the rest of one’s life. No matter how shitty a hovel they might find themselves in, they could still think back to a shared shoebox with two beds and say, “maybe this isn’t so bad.”
She had her own bathroom, at least. That would be nice, especially when it came to the sort of showers necessary for washing blood out of her hair. Bed was a twin-sized, and there was a shelving unit built into the corner. No television or computer, but she had her own laptop, so that took care of both needs simultaneously. And that was pretty much it, aside from a large rug that covered the center of the cold concrete floor.
At the end of the day, it was a modest, kind of shitty room. She didn’t care though; she hadn’t signed up with Unseelie for luxurious accommodations. Angela was interning under the leader of the Wayward Wraiths, a Hero team renowned for their battle acumen. They weren’t the first ones called in when people needed saving, but if blood had to be spilt quickly and efficiently, this team was at the top of the list. It was a great starting place for Charon’s career. One day, she planned to have a team of her own, one recognized worldwide as the most powerful in existence.
Still, this would do for now.
* * *
Nick stood outside the doors of the massive office, waiting patiently to be called in. Ms. Pips was busy, putting out fires and smoothing egos as best she could. So far, war had been averted, but nothing was set in stone. After what Nathaniel had done, no one could claim it had been out of line for Nick to kill him, especially since he’d brought the issue before the Evers family first. Of course, technically, no one knew for certain that Nick had killed Nathaniel, which added another layer of protection for Nick and his people. If the Evers tried to start a war at this point, they’d split the family to do so, and it was folly to go against Ms. Pips without everything they could bring to bear.
Vegas politics aside, everyone had other concerns on their mind as well. Nathaniel’s presence hadn’t been linked to his involvement in Lander’s attack, yet, but everyone was scrambling in preparation for if it did. Right now, the Heroes were on a warpath, and anyone connected to that attack, no matter how vaguely, was going to find themselves hip-deep in pissed off capes. That wrath might only fall upon the Evers family, or it could spill across Vegas like a tidal wave of furious lava. However things played out, everyone was determined to not be caught without at least a few contingencies in place.
“Hey, Campbell.” Nick turned to find Gerry walking toward him and broke into a grin.
“I thought you were busy downstairs,” Nick said, wrapping his mentor in a hug. Gerry felt lighter than he remembered; usually, the lean man still felt like a rock beneath his tailored suits. Time and age, it seemed, were unwilling to stay away from even the most connected of men.
“Never too busy for you. What’s this I hear about you not coming back for summer?”
“Wish I could, Gerry. Too much work to do. I’m not heading out for another couple of days, though; Ms. Pips is going to
want to grill me from every angle on what went down. How about we spend the time catching up?”
Gerry nodded, and for a moment, Nick thought he caught something else in the man’s face as well. Then it was gone, too fleeting for even Nick’s mind to work out what it might have been. Gerry knew how to play things close to the vest. He was the one who’d taught Nick in the first place, after all.
“That sounds great. I’ll even see if I can get a few days off. After what happened at your school, I think I’d like to get in as much time with you as I can.”
“Don’t worry about me, Gerry. I didn’t make it through eighteen years of unpredictable luck to let something as mundane as a bullet bring me down. The Grim Reaper is going to have a try a lot harder if he wants to collect this prize.”
“That’s the kind of attitude I like to hear,” Gerry said. “How much do you actually have to report, anyway? We know about the attack, and that Nathaniel died, but no one’s sure about your involvement. Hell, outside of Jerome and Eliza, no one even knows if you were on the campus.”
“Oh, I was there, and my involvement level was probably higher than I would have liked,” Nick replied. “Things have taken a few more interesting turns than I expected, and I’m actually curious to get Ms. Pips’ take on things.”
“Campbell, that almost sounded like you admitting there might be people in the world with thoughts you couldn’t come up with. I don’t know if I should be impressed, or terrified.”
“Personally, I’d recommend a healthy balance of both.” Nick chuckled, and Gerry saw a single pulse of golden light ripple through his irises, moving so quickly that it almost seemed to be an optical illusion. Gerry wasn’t sure Nick even knew it had happened; if so, it certainly didn’t show in his body language or tone.
He kept right on smiling at the young man brimming with confidence, so sure that the world would find a way to tilt itself in his favor. Gerry didn’t know a whole lot about Supers or how their powers worked. All he knew was Nick, and Gerry had faith that no matter what was going on in his boy’s life, Nick would twist it to his advantage.
In Gerry’s eyes, that had always been his real superpower.
* * *
“Sir, Mr. Lamont is here to see you.” Simon stood in the door, patiently waiting as Charles Adair looked up from his computer. There weren’t many people who could come calling on Charles Adair unannounced, not unless they broke in, but Isaac Lamont was one of the few with that privilege. Charles calmly saved the file he’d been working on, closed the program, and motioned for Simon to let his guest in.
Isaac Lamont was a man in his late forties, a few new streaks of gray dotting his temples since the last time Charles had seen him in person. He was wiry, both in frame and mind, yet carried himself with a confidence few humans could manage when meeting with a Super of Charles Adair’s caliber.
“Simon, see to it that we’re not disturbed. All protocols in effect, if you don’t mind,” Charles said.
Simon quietly shut the door; the sound of his footsteps hurrying down the hall echoed even through the thick frame for several seconds after he was gone. The two men waited a touch longer, giving the assistant ample time to switch on all the devices meant to deter remote listening, before they began to speak.
“I take it you’re here to tell me things were successful,” Charles said, motioning for his guest to take a seat.
“That’s a bold assumption. What if I’m here to deliver bad news?” Isaac took a chair slowly, only sitting after evaluating it to be sure nothing lay in wait.
“No one comes to tell me bad news in person. That’s what phones and email are for.”
“Well, I’d say it was a mixed bag.” Isaac produced a small thumb drive from his pocket and set it on the desk, a few inches away from Charles’s hand. “With the money you funneled into that Evers boy’s operation, we were able to track most of the payments and deposits made by the Sons of Progress. They’ve done a good job hiding the identities of their higher ups for a long time, but they finally got greedy enough to make some mistakes. Within the week, we’ll know the name of almost every leader in the organization.”
“Almost every leader?”
“We picked up a few of the lower-tiered ones already, disguised their capture as getting busted in Hero raids. The one at the top of their pyramid, the amplifier who calls himself Crispin, he seems to have kept his distance from all the cash. From what everyone says, he’s as careful as they come and insanely methodical. This operation is definitely going to cripple the group as a whole, but the big fish might have slipped the line,” Isaac admitted.
Charles picked up the flash drive and turned it over in his hands several times. “None of the money can trace back to me, correct?”
“My company has been setting up shell corporations and dummy accounts since my grandfather founded it; consider it something of a specialty. No, no one outside this room will ever know that you gave Nathaniel the money to spend on funding the Sons of Progress. So far as anyone will be able to tell, it was an anonymous collective of families who had loved ones put away by Heroes. There are a few rabbit holes they can go down, but none of them will turn up anything more than some costly goose chases.”
“Good. It certainly wouldn’t do for me, or your company, to fall under scrutiny right now. Not with things going so well. Our test group has held up far better than expected, and with the entire Hero world now gunning for the Sons of Progress and other radical Super empowerment groups, no one is sparing a single thought about the issue of Powereds being upgraded. In fact, we have a few lovely stories of heroism from the test group we can parade out if the topic does gain traction.”
“We got a lot out of it, no question there. I just wish the price hadn’t been so high,” Isaac said. “That reminds me, I authorized a hefty expenditure to lease some land on behalf of the two I assigned as their caretakers. It will keep them training and easy to watch all summer, but we’ll need some funds to cover the cost.”
“I’ll be glad to pay whatever is needed,” Charles said. “For this and all future projects.”
“Are you talking about what happened to that school, or the money I’m requesting?”
“Both.” Charles slipped the flash drive into the top drawer of his desk, then turned back to his guest.
“The cost of progress is always high. Society can only march forward when there are men like us: those willing to pay the prices that would make others balk. We must be heartless, in hopes of creating a better future. One with no need for men like us.”
* * *
It wasn’t as bad as the desert. Vince had expected the worst after his training last summer, but he supposed this wasn’t the same situation at all. The air was still warm as he stood in the dusty clearing; however, a gentle wind eased the scorch of the sun. A long plain stretched out before him, hard and barren. In the distance, he could see the dip of what looked like a ravine, though he’d have to get closer to be certain. Behind him was the beginning of a small forest, two old cabins resting in the verdant grass. He’d brought nothing more than his backpack, filled with the simple minimum of clothes and toiletries he’d need to survive and be decent around other people. Others had been . . . less sparing when they packed for the training excursion.
“Good God girl, did you pack nothing but weights?” Violet asked, dragging Alice’s second trunk across the ground. The first was in Alice’s hand, balanced between her fingers like a soap bubble as she walked toward the cabin on the left.
“Just some essentials. You don’t have to carry that though, I was going to take them one at a time until I saw how much room there was,” Alice replied.
Violet complied by dropping the trunk heavily to the ground and adjusting her own duffel bag. She, Alice, Mary, Jill, and Camille had claimed a cabin for the girls, and were in the process of defining space. Vince imagined it would be a tight fit, though it had nothing on the boys’ cabin, since they’d have three more than the girls. At least Nick wou
ld be a few days late. That would provide a bit of extra space as they settled in.
Perhaps they weren’t supposed to be too comfortable though, or maybe they were supposed to just be around each other as much as possible. Vince wasn’t sure he understood why the living arrangements had been set up as they were, but he trusted Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport. All of this had been done with the students in mind. He was sure the cabins were a part of that.
Vince had his heart in the right place, but he didn’t know enough about rental properties to understand that some were simply only available “as is,” and even mysterious organizations with suit-wearing agents have to answer to a budget committee eventually.
“This is going to be weird,” Shane said. He’d packed a pair of small bags that were resting at his feet as he surveyed the landscape. “I mean, probably not bad, but definitely weird. This is a nonstandard training area if ever I’ve seen one.”
With a smile and quick adjustment of his pack, Vince jerked his head toward the cabin. “Let’s go get set up. Mr. Rhodes said we’d be starting off with evening training, and from the stories Hershel tells, we don’t want to risk being late.”
Shane grabbed his bags and followed Vince’s lead into the cabin. He wasn’t wrong about it being weird, but Vince had known that from the moment the idea was pitched. Weird didn’t bother him anymore, if it had ever been an issue at all. Weird just meant different, and Vince liked the idea of being different. The strongest of Heroes were different, after all; by definition, they were unlike the masses. This was a strange place, no question about it, but it was also one where he could grow stronger. Next time, he wouldn’t be too late. Next time, Vince would be stronger.
The door slammed behind them as they began trying to find a way to cram so many people into such a small space. Outside, Hank Rhodes and Owen Daniels discussed the first night’s plan, while Mr. Transport popped in at random intervals with new necessities. The picnic table he materialized with, laden with food, would prove to be a particularly useful asset in the weeks ahead. Supers in training tended to work up an appetite, and this group was going to be working themselves to the bone.