Super Powereds: Year 1

by Drew Hayes

  "I don't have to take this personally if you don't," Vince said. "After all, this isn't a squabble; they're trying themselves against one another as warriors. Whoever loses, there's no shame here."

  "Agreed," Will said. "Though I'd keep that little theory away from whichever actually does lose."

  "Duh," Vince said with a nod of his head. Vince was young, foolhardy, and ambitious. That didn't make him utterly idiotic, though.

  The referee pressed a small button and the dean’s recorded voice began to play from within the cell. When it concluded, their match would begin. "Be ready," he said to the small girl at his side. "This one could easily end messy."

  * * *

  Sasha adjusted her footing without taking her eyes off Jill. The proverbial bell had been rung, yet both of them stood steady, neither rushing forward to make the first move. Sasha adjusted again, wishing dearly that Jill’s head wasn't hidden behind a helmet and visor. It wasn't that Sasha was so cutthroat that she would have gone for the face or the eyes (not to say that she wouldn't, though), it was that blocking the face took away a lot of unconscious tells. Eye movements, facial tics, even nostril flaring could often be that little extra advantage that meant the difference between a win and a loss.

  Sasha took a step forward, then one back, gauging Jill's reaction. Her opponent moved back a hair, but otherwise kept her same stance. So that meant Jill was playing defensive, waiting for Sasha to make the first move. It was the smart play, the one Sasha would have made if the roles were reversed. Charging someone with super speed was a good way to go down fast. You fully commit to an attack, and before you realize it they've moved out of the way and turned your own momentum against you.

  It seemed Sasha was stuck on the offensive. That was okay, though; it was the area Sasha was the most comfortable in anyway. Choosing an angle, Sasha accelerated into a blur and demolished the gap between her and Jill. She didn't make contact with her, though, instead opting to ring around her twice then come to a stop at her rear. Jill was half turned when Sasha halted. Sasha spat a curse under her breath. Jill's reaction time was good, and that meant once she attacked, there was a possibility Jill could counter with whatever gizmos were hidden up her sleeves. Super speed was a wonderful gift, but its weakness was that it was hard to aim precisely going several hundred miles an hour. Sure, Sasha's perceptions were sped up somewhat - otherwise she'd never be able to maneuver with her talent - but there were limits. They increased proportionally: in the same way that it would be hard for a regular person to do something precise while he or she was running full speed, Sasha was bound by the same obstacle. If she wanted to do more than swing wild, she'd need to slow down significantly when she made her attack.

  It wasn't ideal, but Sasha had picked this partner. She'd issued this challenge. It would move her up five ranks, into the range where she'd be eligible for combat. She narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly betraying her intention to attack. It didn't matter. If Jill could keep up, then she would; if she couldn't, then no amount of warning from Sasha would make the difference. It escaped her own thoughts that mere moments earlier she had been thinking about the advantages of reading facial tics, but before that realization could bob to the surface of her mind she was already running again.

  Sasha didn't bolt in directly: that would have been ludicrous. Instead, she circled Jill, drawing progressively closer then pulling back. She pulled a few feints, seeing how quickly Jill reacted to her advances. The closer she got, though, the more confident Sasha grew. Jill was close on her blocks, but not quite there. If Sasha had followed through on one of her punches she would have definitely made contact. Sasha looped around again, this time committing to her attack mentally. She would pull up short and let loose a flurry of super-fast punches. Even if Jill did manage to block one, the other fist would gain momentum and connect at least five times before Jill would be able to react. Sasha put in one last bolt forward, then pulled back on the metaphorical throttle and let fly at Jill with both hands.

  Those who were blessed with super speed had been given a significant measure of durability in the package with that gift. As such, their bodies could withstand moving and stopping at such high speeds. It meant that Sasha could punch flesh and bone with tremendous momentum and only suffer minimal damage herself. While it didn't work against harder materials, steel for example, she could easily handle regular combat. So when Sasha's fists connected with Jill's ribs, she felt a sense of elation that she'd gotten her blows through without Jill even coming close to blocking either hand. A millisecond after that, it dawned on her that Jill hadn't even tried to block. She might have speculated more about why as she continued to punch Jill if that had been an option, but unfortunately that's when Sasha's time ran out.

  That next millisecond, you see, was when the pain started.

  * * *

  "What happened?" Vince cried as Sasha violently flew back from Jill and into the concrete wall.

  "She electrified her suit at the moment of impact, giving your girl a devastating shock," Will said, his voice even but his tone not entirely hiding the distress he felt in his own stomach.

  "She can do that?" Vince asked, eyes on Sasha's crumpled, twitching form.

  "It was the only option she ever really had," Will confirmed. "Sasha was too fast for Jill to have a hope of hitting her with any other kind of weapon. The best bet she had was to use herself as bait and strike when Sasha made contact. It was a good idea, but it wasn't without its risks."

  For the first time Vince let his eyes move away from Sasha and back to her opponent. Jill was hunched over; he could tell from the movement of her back she was breathing with arduous labor.

  "My sister put all of the suit's power into that jolt," Will continued. "That means the electronic shields and dampeners were shut down. She took Sasha's blows full on and left herself completely vulnerable."

  "I think her ribs are broken," Vince noted, a fresh note of empathic concern in his voice.

  "At the least. She has no physical powers, so those blows affected her just like any other human. She should be okay for now, but I'd be distressed if the end of this match weren't in sight," Will admitted, gesturing to the referee.

  Vince looked over, and realized the referee was methodically counting down from ten, eyes locked on Sasha's fallen form. If she couldn't get up before zero, this bout would be over and the girls could get healed. Vince actually felt a rush of relief as the referee dropped past the count of three. It sucked that Sasha lost, but right now his mind was solely fixated on getting to her and making sure she was okay. When the referee's hand struck the number two, though, the counting stopped. If that hadn't told him enough, the gasp from Will made the picture clear before Vince could turn to the window and see it.

  Sure enough, Sasha was clawing her way up the concrete wall with one hand, slowly dragging herself vertical. The significance of this wasn't lost on anyone watching, least of all her opponent. Without hesitation Jill threw her hands up, signaling her surrender and the end of the match. With twin sighs of relief, Vince and Will bounded down the stairs to the door, eager to make sure everyone was all right.

  37.

  "I heard through the grapevine that Ms. Foster advanced her ranking this week," Mr. Numbers said as he moved his knight.

  "Are we calling the weekly logs you get of all combat trials 'the grapevine' now?" Mary asked as she began contemplating her next move.

  "Touché," Mr. Numbers replied. The two were sitting in the common room early Saturday morning. Thus far they were the only two up and around, save for Mr. Transport, who was off running errands. As soon as Mr. Numbers had stepped out of his room Mary had been waiting, chessboard in hand. So, after a cup of coffee, Mr. Numbers accepted her challenge and the duo began their second game of chess. Mr. Numbers took a sip of his coffee as Mary made her next move.

  "I notice you're using both rooks normally this time," he commented.

  "He's been fixed," Mary answered to the unasked question.
>
  "Has he now," Mr. Numbers mumbled, measuring the board to plan his retaliation. "I also heard through the grapevine that Mr. Daniels’ attitude has improved tremendously since his bout with Mr. Taylor. It seems he is punctual when attending gym and attentive to everything Coach George says to him. The only curious habit is that whenever he is running he makes strange hand motions."

  "Motions similar to the ones learned in the foundation of a martial art? Say, ones that a person might work on constantly if they were trying to ingrain the movements as reflex in their brain, for example?" Mary asked.

  "Precisely those," Mr. Numbers confirmed.

  "How odd," Mary said neutrally. "It's your move."

  "I'm aware," Mr. Numbers said, shifting one of his pawns. "So I take it you and your dorm mates will be meeting up with your partners to work on your projects today?"

  "Hershel might; he and Alex have been eating together ever since they were paired up," Mary said. "If I recall correctly, Vince and Nick are spending the day watching a movie marathon in the boys’ lounge, then Vince is celebrating Sasha's victory with her tonight."

  "You seem very well-informed of your dorm mates’ plans. And Alice?"

  "Alice is going to contemplate many options, then ultimately spend her day sulking at the fact that she has no one to spend time with, despite that fact that her own fear of intimacy with others is the driving force behind that fact," Mary told him, moving her queen.

  "You could always try to break through that fear and befriend her," Mr. Numbers pointed out.

  "Others could. I'm too much too soon for her - like dropping an aqua-phobic in the middle of the ocean. Befriending a telepath won't challenge her personal limitations and obsession for privacy, it will shatter them. Maybe one day, though. I think I would like that," Mary said.

  "I see," Mr. Numbers said, moving his knight once more in order to set a trap. "So, which chess piece will you be fixing next?"

  "Well, the others are a bit more complicated," Mary responded. "The bishop is easily as strong as the rook, albeit in a different way, but unlike the rook the bishop is afraid of his own strength. The knight doesn't understand that just because she isn't as outwardly dangerous as the other pieces doesn't mean she is useless. And of course the king doesn't see that his role is as a strategist, maybe even a leader; instead he is stuck on the perception of himself as vulnerable and weaker than anyone else on the board." Mary moved her king to illustrate the point, going only back and forth along the rear row as she had throughout the entire game.

  "And the queen?" Mr. Numbers asked as he repressed at smile at Mary moving directly into his trap. She was an utter amateur, but a part of him still took a beat of pride away from every victory, regardless of its challenge or relevance.

  "The queen is a very powerful piece," Mary said. "But she's not so strong that she can stand against the other army by herself."

  "Indeed," Mr. Numbers agreed. "Checkmate."

  "So it is," Mary noted. "Next week?"

  "Not in the mood for another?"

  "One total loss a week is all I can handle, I'm afraid," Mary said with a soft smile. "Besides, I think the rest of my day just became a lot fuller."

  * * *

  Alice didn't hear Mary’s declaration; she had already stormed off to her room. Having woken earlier than usual, Alice was on her way into the common room so she could get water from the kitchen when she realized she could vaguely overhear Mr. Numbers and Mary having a conversation. Never one to pass up the opportunity to gather information, Alice planted herself on the other side of the wall and strained to catch every word. When talk turned to her, though, and Mary had called out so perfectly exactly what her plans were and why they involved no other people, Alice all but stomped back into her bedroom, slamming the door and sitting down on her bed. She had been fuming ever since, her pride battling her against her rationale as she tried to make peace with the things Mary had said, a mental tornado that could only settle down on the trailer of one logical conclusion.

  By the time Alice reached it, Mary had been waiting nearly half an hour.

  38.

  Two crisp knocks signaled Alice's arrival at Mary's door. Mary got up from her bed slowly and walked over to answer it. Of course, she could have just waited outside in the girls’ lobby, or been waiting by the door when Alice knocked, but that would have made her foreknowledge of the arrival just a bit too apparent. While Alice was by no means simple enough to think Mary didn't have some inclination she was coming, she didn't want to talk about or acknowledge it. Mary was respecting those wishes; after all, Alice was here to offer something of an olive branch, so it was the least Mary could do.

  "Yes?" Mary said as she pulled open her door.

  "I'm heading into town today for some light shopping and lunch. Would you like to come along?" Alice asked, not without some stiffness in her voice.

  "I'd love to," Mary replied with a warm grin. She stepped out and closed the door firmly behind her. "When do we leave?"

  "Immediately," Alice said, glossing over the fact that Mary had physically responded to the answer before even asking the question. It was to be expected with a telepath. She'd known this when she decided to invite Mary along. It was part of the package, part of spending a day with a girl who could read her thoughts. Mary had been right about Alice avoiding her and about her having trouble connecting with people at college, but Mary had taken it too far when she said that Alice would be unable to make friends with a mind reader. The fact that Mary had been basing her deduction on Alice's actions or that it was a completely logical conclusion became utterly irrelevant in the face of one all-consuming truth that had burned its way through Alice's wounded pride and hidden shame.

  That truth was simply this: No one told Alice Adair what she was or wasn't able to do.

  "Let's hurry," Alice said. "The restaurant I'd like to visit fills up very early for lunch, so it's best if we're there as soon as possible."

  "Of course," Mary nodded in agreement.

  * * *

  "So what's on the docket?" Vince asked as he stepped into the boys’ lounge, fresh bowl of popcorn in one hand and a pair of sodas in the other.

  "Zombie Prince 4, War Zombies 2, Hellsong: The Rise of the Zombie King, and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days," Nick said from his perch in a recliner, remote in hand and eyes fixed on the slowly loading screen.

  "Should I even ask about the last one?"

  "Hey man, that's a good film, and it provides excellent insight into the female perception of romance," Nick defended.

  Vince sat down in a recliner next to Nick and put the popcorn on a table between the two, sliding over one soda as well. "I'm not buying it."

  "Okay, fine; the girl at the video store was hot, and I didn't want her to think my cinematic taste was one-dimensional," Nick sighed.

  "Despite the fact that it clearly is," Vince pointed out.

  "Hey man, you don't know me entirely. Maybe I like romantic comedies. I could be very multi-layered," Nick said.

  Vince crunched a kernel of popcorn and kicked his seat into the reclined position. "I'll believe it when I see it. So where's Hershel, anyway?"

  Nick shrugged. "I think he and his project partner were grabbing lunch after doing some work this morning; they said they might stop in."

  "Those guys are really determined to do well on that assignment, aren't they?" Vince asked.

  "That or they have nothing better to do," Nick said. "Though I don't see the rush; we've still got weeks left. We should be spending more time thinking about what Halloween costumes we should be saving for or working on."

  Vince snorted. "We're in college; you really think anyone actually cares about Halloween, let alone puts in effort on a costume?"

  * * *

  "I'm leaning toward Cleopatra," Alice said as she sipped her espresso delicately. "Of course, there are a few famous Victorian characters I would enjoy portraying as well, but the drawing point is also the problem. Those gowns are so complex a
nd elegant, and while they would be fun to wear, it would hardly be in the spirit of the holiday at our age."

  "How so?" Mary asked politely. It had been a bit of a straining day for her so far. The lunch had been delicious and Alice was enjoyable enough company, but Mary wasn't used to asking clarifying questions or pretending she didn't already know the answers to things she might idly wonder. This habit of feigning ignorance was helping Alice feel more at ease with their time together, but it was at the cost of Mary's nerves.

  "For girls our age attending a university, the accepted societal convention is that our costumes should be somewhat more... sensual than they were in our younger years," Alice replied.

  "So we're supposed to dress slutty?"

  "I prefer to think of it as we can get away with doing so judgment free," Alice said, a blatant smirk creeping across the side of her mouth.

  "That is a good point," Mary agreed. "Although I don't know if it would fit my style. I was thinking I'd just be a mummy or something."

  Alice looked at the girl sitting across the table from her, slowly working her way through a piece of cheesecake, and realized something that had never entered her mind before. Mary was insecure about the way she looked. She'd always been so cheerily bizarre, so oddly confident, and seemed to be three steps ahead of everyone else that it had never occurred to Alice that a girl like Mary might suffer from something as mundane as a poor body image. It wasn't that she was unattractive, either: her amber eyes were striking, and her wild hair actually seemed to compliment her face. She was petite, too. It was easy to forget with the powerful energy Mary seemed to exude, but she was only about five foot two, with a lithe body that matched. In that moment, discovering her terrifying, invincible telepathic neighbor had a weakness, Alice felt something she had never genuinely expected. She felt a spark of a connection to Mary.

  "A mummy might be fun," Alice said kindly. "I bet we can find something that flatters you more than that, though."