by Drew Hayes
As was their custom, they were reviewing the particulars of their next assignment before departing. Mr. Transport had been somewhat surprised to see that their next job was classified as “long-term.” Those assignments were quite rare, given his and Mr. Numbers’ capabilities to handle things in a prompt and efficient manner. The deeper he read into the dossier, though, the more concerned Mr. Transport grew.
“Mr. Numbers,” Mr. Transport ventured tentatively.
“Yes, Mr. Transport?” Mr. Numbers replied without looking up from his own copy of the assignment file.
“Do you feel there perhaps there was a misfile and we were given someone else’s assignment?” Mr. Transport asked, trying desperately to keep any hope out of his voice. It was very bad for one’s job and health to be heard questioning the wisdom of the company they worked for.
“The possibility crossed my mind,” Mr. Numbers admitted. “However, if you read on, you will see certain accommodations at the place of employment have been made specifically for us. It even references us by name several times.”
Mr. Transport flipped a few pages ahead, and sure enough, Mr. Numbers had been correct. “Very well,” Mr. Transport said carefully. “Just wanted to be certain we were deployed to the right area.”
“Quite understandable,” Mr. Numbers agreed. “It would be irresponsible of us as agents to allow time and resources to be wasted on a clerical error. Since that is not the case, though, it seems we have a few more hours until we begin our new assignment.”
“That it does. Perhaps we should use that time to pack and prepare so we are properly equipped for the full term of the assignment,” Mr. Transport suggested.
“Excellent idea,” said Mr. Numbers. “Would you mind depositing me first, then swinging back by in an hour or so to pick me up?”
“Not at all,” assured Mr. Transport. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a few bills. Mr. Transport kept a variety of currency for almost every country in the world available at his apartment. It was much faster than trying to haggle or work out an exchange rate every time, plus it allowed him and his partner to stay in the background, the area in which they were most comfortable. Mr. Transport set the money on the table, careful to tip generously. A moment later he and Mr. Numbers were gone.
Across the café, an elderly gentleman glanced at their table and noticed their absence. He nonchalantly folded his paper, set some money on his own table, and headed off to make a phone call. The elderly gentleman did not tip nearly as well as Mr. Transport.
* * *
Several thousand miles away, in the middle of the Arctic tundra, Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers reappeared. Both began shivering almost immediately.
“How long?” Mr. Transport asked, willing his teeth to keep from chattering.
“Three minutes fourteen seconds until health problems begin to set in,” Mr. Numbers replied automatically as he felt the temperature around him, tested the speed of the wind, and added in the meager protection his black suit offered him.
“Watch is set for three minutes,” Mr. Transport said, quickly fiddling with the high-priced device on his wrist. Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport were very careful when they wanted to talk openly. They always selected areas with no possible people to surround them, in abstract locales and with ample background noise so that listening devices and GPS would be rendered ineffective. They never used the same place twice and always kept their conversations under five minutes. Say what you will about Mr. Numbers, he was a very calculating man. No pun intended.
“Now then, what do you actually make of our new assignment? Are we being punished?”
“For what?” Mr. Numbers shot back. “Our success percentage is 98 percent, we finish our missions in the fastest time of any team, and we have had no recorded insubordination in the history of our career.”
“Then what would make them do this to us?” Mr. Transport asked, allowing the uncertainty and fear he had kept hidden away since he saw the document flood into his voice.
“We mustn’t assume the worse,” said Mr. Numbers. “Many of the reasons they had for putting us on this job are actually quite sound. They expect me to see any problems coming before they reach a critical point, and you’ll be necessary in the event we need to evacuate ourselves and any others involved.”
“I don’t imagine that’s really all there is to it,” Mr. Transport said flatly.
“Nor do I,” said Mr. Numbers. “Unfortunately, with the data I have, I don’t yet know what the ulterior motive of placing us in this position is. The only option we have is the same we’ve always had: do our jobs, stick to the books, and give me enough time to see what’s happening behind the scenes.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to figure it out before we’re stuck in whatever trap someone is planning?” Mr. Transport asked.
“I always have. Of course, that doesn’t mean I always will, but I don’t really see any other options available to us, let alone any better ones,” said Mr. Numbers.
“Agreed,” said Mr. Transport. A loud beeping began emanating from his wrist. Mr. Transport raised his watch and promptly turned it off. Without another word said, he and Mr. Numbers were gone from the sprawling white mounds of snow.
They reappeared in the apartment Mr. Numbers was currently renting under the name Mr. Digit. Mr. Transport tipped his head to Mr. Numbers then vanished to go pack his own bags. Mr. Numbers moved about his home, carefully controlling his movements so as not to show his body’s relief at entering in the heat, nor to shiver out of the residual cold still clinging to him. Instead he packed up his clothes, which consisted predominantly of suits, gathered his very few personal effects, then bagged up the remainder of his possessions, which were his toiletries. The room would need to be cleaned of all traces of him, but the company had a department for that. They would also take care of settling up the rent and making sure no one asked questions about Mr. Digit’s sudden departure.
Mr. Numbers took a moment to go to his window and pull back the thick black curtain. Looking out, he sighed as his eyes took in the splendor of Rome. From his vantage point he had an excellent view of the Coliseum. That was why he had chosen this apartment in the first place. Mr. Numbers was not the type to get caught up in sentimentality or nostalgia, but as he sat on his window sill looking out, he had to admit that he was going to miss this view. He wished he could rent this place again once his assignment was over; however, that was against protocol. Once an agent had left a place he could never return.
Mr. Transport reappeared some time later, carrying a large, brown tweed suitcase and a black duffel bag. As Mr. Transport walked toward the window, Mr. Numbers noticed a slight clinking sound coming from Mr. Transport’s bag. Mr. Numbers bit back his desire to chastise Mr. Transport for bringing along alcohol. Given what the duo would soon be doing, there was a very strong possibility that Mr. Numbers would be seeking a nip of the hard stuff himself.
“Ready?” Mr. Transport asked as he reached the window and joined Mr. Numbers.
“Of course,” Mr. Numbers replied on cue, holding his own baggage firmly so it wouldn’t be left behind.
Then the room was empty, only the slight echo of a voice filled with duty and the warm Roman sunlight left to fill it.
7.
The silver-haired boy was fidgeting nervously. Alice noted that in the back of her mind, not particularly intrigued but not ambivalent either. Every little detail added up to the sum of who a person was, and that was information worth having if she was going to be dealing with these people on a regular basis.
The five students were assembled in the central common room scattered among various seats. Mary was off to the side on her own, save for the stuffed bear she kept perched carefully in her lap. Alice had been tempted to ask why Mary had a stuffed animal, but the moment she had looked into those amber eyes all desire had melted away in the face of the overwhelming certainty that talking to Mary was a bad idea.
The boys were clustered together for t
he most part. Silver hair and sunglasses were lounging on the white couch, with the third boy in the chair to their side. He was a husky one, wearing a shirt that had strangely shaped dice on the front. Alice deduced within a few moments of hearing him speak that the boy was certainly lacking the basic set of social skills. Then again, given who she was surrounded by, she could hardly say that he didn’t fit in.
Alice herself had taken a center position in the room, eager to appear eager for whatever authority figure Daddy had managed to wrangle into this baby-sitting job. Alice didn’t expect for whoever showed up to pose any real problem for her; after all, they would obviously know who her father was, but she still preferred to get her way through charm and cunning rather than threats and force. It was the way a proper lady got things done.
As the clock struck seven, a bit too loudly, Alice noted with a grimace, a pair of men appeared in front of the group of students. They dressed almost the same, save that the shorter of the two wore a tie while the taller one did not. They wore black suits and white shirts, both kept their dark hair trimmed and while the short one had bright blue eyes, the larger one had only muddy brown ones.
“Hello, students,” said the shorter of the pair. “You may call me Mr. Numbers. My friend, Mr. Transport, and I are here to oversee and assist you in your academic endeavors. Our apartment is what lies behind the steel door in the kitchen. You will not be permitted access; however, an intercom is on the counter next to the pantry for emergency contact. Do we have any questions so far?”
Alice glanced around to test the temperature of the room. It seemed everyone but she and Mary were struck dumb by the appearance and promptness of the two men who had materialized in front of them. Alice suppressed the urge to scoff. Of course these poor dregs were surprised; their only experience with people who had abilities was undoubtedly with others like themselves. The sight of someone using precision teleportation would be truly alien to them. Alice wasn’t quite sure why Mary wasn’t more taken back, but she readily chalked that up to just another aspect of the girl’s strangeness.
“I take your silence to mean we are on the same page,” Mr. Numbers continued. “Now, I want to be clear here. We’ve met most of you already when we were selecting people appropriate for the program you all participated in. We were nice and friendly then. We will continue to maintain that same level of friendliness during our tenure as your house administrators. However, please do not misinterpret my good nature as weakness. Mr. Transport and I are here to enforce the rules, and you will find we are both excellent at our jobs.”
“Um, what rules are you talking about?” The question came timidly from the silver-haired boy.
“A full copy will be issued before the week is over,” Mr. Numbers replied. “I will touch briefly on the main three, though. First, you are to keep your identities secret at all times. This is a requirement of all those who participate in the Hero Certification Program, or HCP as we call it around here, and it is the duty of the administrators to observe who has broken it, intentionally or otherwise. That will be covered in more depth tomorrow during your first class. Secondly, there is to be no fighting with other Supers or with regular humans outside the confines of the classroom.”
“Wait,” the silver-haired boy said again. “We’re going to fight in class?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Numbers. “You are training to be a Hero. This means you must learn to fight against time, villains, and environmental conditions to save as many people as possible in any given scenario. Combat training will be a very important part of that.”
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Transport broke in, speaking for the first time. “All fights are strictly monitored, and there is always someone with a healing power on hand to tend to both parties afterward.”
“Mr. Transport is correct, though both he and you could stand to take a course in not interrupting,” Mr. Numbers said, staring at the silver-haired boy. “Now then, the third rule is the most important for all of you. Your powers must stay within your control at all times. This is a rule specific to your situation and certainly doesn’t need explanation. Be aware that this is the primary reason Mr. Transport and myself were selected for this assignment. Should any of you lose control, we will act quickly and decisively to ensure the safety of those around while simultaneously shutting down the problematic party.”
“Wait; I thought we all had control of our abilities. That’s why they let us enroll here.” This time the speaker was the dark-haired boy wearing sunglasses. Alice noticed he spoke with a strange accent. Not quite northern, but not quite southern, either. It seemed to be a hint of dialect from a region all its own.
“You all do have control of your abilities. Currently,” said Mr. Numbers. “The procedure you underwent was experimental, though. Those who created and performed it are certain you will remain as Supers and not drift back to your previous uncontrollable states. However, there are those who remain skeptical such a thing is possible, and the positioning of Mr. Transport and me as overseers is a compromise to assure the safety of the regular student body.”
“So what happens if someone loses control?” Alice was shocked to realize this question had come from her own mouth. It wasn’t as if she was a danger to anyone if she began floating around again, but she was concerned that the slip-ups of some of these cretins could affect her college career. At least, that’s how she rationalized the sudden nagging fear that had formed in her stomach.
“Testing,” Mr. Numbers replied simply.
“What Mr. Numbers means to say,” Mr. Transport said, jumping in as he saw the looks of distress cross his charges’ faces, “is that we will test and investigate the reason why control was lost. Maybe there was a psychological component and it doesn’t mean things failed. Maybe it’s an individual case, or maybe it just means that person will need another round of treatment. We don’t anticipate anything going wrong with any of you, but if it does then we’ll be there to find out exactly why it happened.”
“I feel testing was an adequate answer,” Mr. Numbers said. “Now, do any of you have any questions about the rules I have set down so far?”
There was silence, though this time it was less motivated by being dumbstruck at the dramatic entrance and more motivated by the sudden fear they had all presumably acquired of someone losing control and screwing the deal for everyone.
“Excellent,” Mr. Numbers said. “Then I will turn the floor over to Mr. Transport for some ‘getting to know our dorm mates’ activities.” With that, Mr. Numbers sat down in the chair directly opposite of Alice. Alice, for her part, worked very hard to avoid his observant blue eyes and focus on the tall Mr. Transport. It seemed that everyone was following her lead on that account; everyone, that is, except for Mary.
Mary was staring directly into Mr. Numbers’ big blue eyes, meeting his gaze with her own amber orbs. Since everyone was gazing intently at Mr. Transport, no one noticed the two looking at each other. If they did, though, certainly no one noticed as Mary brought both of her hands up and began clapping them together softly, engaging in a very gentle, very silent, session of applause.
8.
“Well then,” Mr. Transport said as the eyes of his charges fell curiously upon him. He was glad Mr. Numbers had allowed him to be the “good cop” in their interaction with the students, but he still felt a bit awkward dealing with a group of eighteen-year-olds. After all, Mr. Transport could scarcely remember a time when he shared the worries and concerns of an everyday teen. Of course, the reason Mr. Transport had trouble finding those memories is because they didn’t exist. Being able to pop out of nearly every situation had a profound impact on diminishing the amount of things he had to worry about in his formative years. “Why don’t we do an exercise to get to know one another better?”
Mr. Transport waited for some sign of agreement or excitement from the students. Instead he got back blank stares, so after a moment he elected to take that as the sign of their agreement. “Okay,” Mr. Transport con
tinued. “Here is how it works. I want everyone to stand up, say their full name, what their ability is, where they are from, what their cover major is, and one interesting fact about themselves.”
Again Mr. Transport was met with silence; having settled on choosing to perceive that in the positive, though, Mr. Transport was able to keep right on trucking. “I’ll begin. My name is Mr. Transport. My power is teleportation of myself and others. My birth location is considered classified. I am not currently enrolled in Lander University, so I lack a major, and my interesting fact is that I collect bottle caps from sodas all over the world.”
“They still make soda in bottles?” Nick asked skeptically.
“Yes, they do, in other countries as well as in America,” Mr. Transport answered, gratefully to have anyone say anything. “Why don’t you pick up the ball and tell us about yourself now?” Mr. Transport had something that almost seemed like conversation momentum and he would be damned if he was going to lose it.
“No prob,” said Nick, standing from the couch. “Nick Campbell, and I’ve got the power of creating and controlling luck. I’m from Sin City itself, good old Vegas. I’m majoring in business while at Lander. My interesting fact is that I’ve been punched in the mouth by a senator.” With that, Nick plopped back down in the sofa and threw on a big, broad smile.
“Punched by a senator? Would you care to elaborate on that story, Mr. Campbell?” Mr. Transport asked.
“You’re not the only one with shit that’s classified,” Nick answered.
“Okay then,” Mr. Transport said quickly. “Who would like to go next?”
Before the word “next” was fully out of his mouth the blonde girl sitting directly opposite him and Mr. Numbers had popped up from her chair like there was a spring loaded in it. He hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting this young lady, but by process of elimination he knew who she was before she began to speak.