by Drew Hayes
“That might not be a bad idea,” Vince admitted.
“Glad to hear an eighteen-year-old believes I can actually do my job,” Coach George said. “Go refuel.”
“Yes, sir,” Vince repeated, jogging back to the battery. If nothing else, this training was giving a lot of experience in controlling how much energy he took from a source rather than draining it dry. That was one skill he was exceptionally happy to master. It was a constant, daily reminder that no matter how much trouble he might be having, at least he wasn’t Powered anymore.
That was usually enough to lift his spirits quite effectively.
131.
“As our year begins drawing closer to its end, I would like to move our conversations to more summary topics,” Dean Blaine said. He’d been taking it a little easier on them in the past few weeks, well aware that George and Persephone would be turning up the heat and stressing them out. Add that to the demands from their regular classes and it could be argued that the real point of this semester was training in how to handle eye-gouging levels of stress. An argument, by the way, that would not be entirely off point.
“So today, I wanted to talk about the HCP as a whole. We take people with extraordinary abilities and a desire to help, and we refine them into nigh-unstoppable warriors of justice. Yet at the same time, we take others with equally amazing talents and cast them out, telling them they are forbidden from getting involved when they see innocents in distress. The question I pose to you is why? Why do we insist so emphatically that the only person worthy of wearing the title of Hero is someone who has been given this course’s full education?”
“Everyone knows that,” Stella said. “Insurance.”
“If you’re going to speak out of turn you could at least present a fully-formed argument,” Dean Blaine chastised her.
“Okay,” Stella said. “I mean, it’s really obvious. People with abilities can cause a whole lot of collateral damage, even more so when they are fighting someone else with powers. That means people filing insurance claims for their homes and businesses. The companies really hate paying out all that money, though. They’d make us quit getting in fights, but regular law enforcement agencies aren’t able to able people with strong powers. At least, not as effectively as we can. So since they can’t tell us not to stop Supers who are killing and stealing, and they can’t refuse to pay out every time one of us causes damage, the only other option is to demand that the people stopping them, the people we call Heroes, have been properly trained to minimize that collateral damage. That’s why the training and certification started; it was so Supers could do their job without being held financially liable for every flipped truck and melted mailbox that wound up in their wake.”
Dean Blaine blinked in surprise, as did a large amount of the class. Stella, while forceful, was rarely so well-informed on a topic.
“That was an excellent, well-reasoned theory,” Dean Blaine said.
“My dad is an insurance adjuster,” Stella said by way of explanation.
“I see, that sheds a little light on it,” Dean Blaine said. “And Ms. Hawkins is correct. The roots of the HCP are most certainly in the goal of allowing those with special talents to use them to help people without being afraid of fiscal reprisal. That was the beginning, though, designed to suit a program far less expansive than our current HCP. So who else can tell me why we hold our defenders to such rigorous standards?”
This time several hands went up. Dean Blaine called on the fastest to get it out of the way.
“Yes, Ms. Adair?”
“Because we have to know more than just how to do the least damage to a city block. We need to know how to avoid, or least limit, civilian casualties. We need to know how to deal with hostage situations, and how to cope with the political implications of chasing someone across international lines. Being a Hero means people are trusting you with their lives. We need to be as best prepared to live up to that trust as possible,” Alice said.
“Very good,” Dean Blaine said. “However, as with the insurance, these are things that are already widely known and accepted as reasons for the HCP. I’m more looking for things that you, as participants, can appreciate that an outsider wouldn’t understand the necessity of.”
Most of the hands went down at this stipulation. A few stayed raised, though, and Dean Blaine perused his pickings, selecting one after a few seconds of analysis.
“Mr. DeSoto.”
“We’re learning humility,” Shane said. “Most of us came from towns where, if we weren’t the only Super, we were one of very few. We grew up feeling like we were untouchable. We aren’t, and some people needed to experience that firsthand to believe it.”
“Now, that is an excellent one,” Dean Blaine complimented. “Few people not in the program would understand just how important losing is. Mr. Wells, what is another example?”
“We’re learning what to really expect,” Allen said. “Before this class it had never occurred to me how many hard choices would come with being a Hero. I thought of it as just blasting away at bad guys. Knowing what I do now, I’m approaching this potential future with a lot more caution. I still want to do it, but I have a better idea of what I’m in for. If I’d had to face some of the tough situations in the field, with no mental preparation, it could have ranged from problematic to traumatic, depending on how bad things got.”
“Quite true,” Dean Blaine agreed. “The preparation of the mind is, in my opinion, one of the most undervalued necessities we instill here at Lander. Mr. Campbell, do you have another point you’d like to add?”
Nick’s hand hadn’t been up, but he rolled with the question anyway. Dean Blaine had made it clear long ago that the hand system was ancillary: he would call on whoever he pleased to answer him.
“The physical training,” Nick replied. “I mean, yeah, most people get that a Hero needs to be strong, but how many understand that he needs to have stamina, flexibility, and pain endurance even when he isn’t a front-line fighter? I think outsiders picture us just lifting buses and chewing on nails. They don’t appreciate the full range of effort we have to put in just to be adequate in a support capacity, let alone a front-line one.”
“A bit obvious, but valid, I’ll give you,” Dean Blaine said. “Now, that’s all focusing on the positive, what you get out of being here. That isn’t the entirety of the process, however. For every student who graduates there are tens to hundreds that tried for that spot. Putting aside obvious concerns about physical capability, why do we keep them out? Wouldn’t it make more sense to allow everyone help who wants to do so?”
“No,” Vince said, speaking up. “Because not everyone should be a Hero.”
“Would you like to elaborate, Vince?”
“I just mean that being looked up to, and exalted, that comes with a lot of prestige. A lot of power. That’s going to attract plenty of Supers, not just ones who genuinely want to help. It’s not a bad idea to have some sort of filter before we just hand out a title that tells everyone this is a person they can trust and rely on,” Vince explained.
“You’re quite right,” Dean Blaine said. “Heroes are trusted by civilians and governments alike. We have to be very careful who we give such responsibility to, and not just in case they have less-than-pure intentions. Who can tell me another danger of letting anyone through the HCP?”
“Because the worst-case scenario is that someone starts as a genuine Hero and then turns,” said Chad, face staring down at his desk.
“Go on,” Dean Blaine said softly.
“A Super who commits crimes is a pain for the regular people to deal with, but Heroes can handle most of them in relatively short order. When a Hero turns, on the other hand, he doesn’t just bring his abilities to the table. He brings all the training he received in the HCP, all the combat experience he acquired on the job, all the secrets he was made privy to, and all the trust that other Heroes have in him. When a Hero turns away from the law, entire towns get destroyed and other
Heroes almost always die.”
“There is a very unfortunate amount of truth in that statement,” Dean Blaine said. “It is one of the key reasons we screen so thoroughly before admitting someone to the HCP. We seek to determine not only who they are, but also who they will become over time. It is a difficult task, and one we put tremendous effort and resources into. However, we are not, I’m sad to say, always successful.”
132.
The class looked like life had come after them in a dark alley wielding a sock full of quarters. They were haggard, tired, and worn. Since the return from break, George and Persephone had kept their promise, treating each gym session as though it were their final chance to enact some sort of long-festering revenge on the students in their charge.
The battles were brutal, the mental exercises exhausting, and there was constant drilling of strategies historically used by different Heroes. The end result was that as the class gathered on Friday afternoon, they didn’t fall into line so much as gradually limp there. Some of them were suffering from literal physical pains: the class had just ended and they hadn’t had a chance to meet with the healer yet. Others were simply laboring under a weary spirit, demonstrating physical distress as outlet for what they were coping with internally.
“You all look like utter shit,” Coach George said as they finished lining up. “And with only three weeks left until finals. I don’t think most of you could take on a sack full of terminal kittens right now, let alone a trained warrior wielding superhuman abilities.”
The class stood stoically, most of them in healthy agreement of his assessment.
“A mind is like a knife,” Coach Persephone said, taking her turn to walk down the line. “It must be kept sharp, bright, and always at the ready. Look at you all. Half of you haven’t even been able to hear this whole speech, that’s how much your brains are glossing over.”
Again the coaches were met with a weathered, beaten silence.
“It is for these reasons that things will be changing a bit,” Coach George said. “Persephone and I feel that we have taken you as far as you are capable of going in the time allotted to us. That isn’t to say we couldn’t whip your squishy asses into beasts if we had a decade to play with, but all we were given was a single school year. So, rather than drive you into the ground one by one over the remaining time before your exam, we’re taking a different approach.”
“As of Monday,” Coach Persephone announced, “you are all ordered to be on rest for one week.”
There was a ripple through the students, certain their feeble minds had snapped and full-blown delusion had set in.
“The gym, the training rooms, and all the facilities will be completely off limits to you during those seven days,” Coach Persephone continued. “Once that time had passed, you will spend the remaining two weeks undergoing a personalized training regimen. By that we mean you will work out in the ways that you find most effective. This can occur during your formerly scheduled gym time, or whenever you have free time. We are legally obligated to remind you that staying in the HCP requires the maintaining of a C average or better, so budget your time between training and study wisely.”
Looks were now being exchanged, each seeking clarification from the others that this was really happening.
“During these two weeks, Coach Persephone and I will be on hand, should any of you wish to schedule time with us for personal tutorials. That will be the limit of our involvement from now until your exam, though,” Coach George said.
“And one last piece of business,” Coach Persephone said. “Many of you have noticed that there is a day between the last finals at Lander University and the commencement of your test here in the HCP. This day is used as a dead day for final preparations and recovery. It is something of a tradition, however, for the staff to put on a small festival for the students on the night testing is over. It will occur in the gym, and there will be food, some dancing, and games. This is done as a stress-relieving outlet, and to buffer between the sets of finals. We hope to see you all here.”
With that, she and Coach George turned and made a swift exit. They never turned back once, yet the students still didn’t begin to mill about until several moments after the doors had swung shut.
* * *
“Can anyone else not believe that just freaking happened?” Nick said as the group walked briskly toward Melbrook.
“It makes a lot of sense, if you really think about it,” Mary pointed out. “We’re supposed to be at our peak for the exam. That’s hard to pull off when we’re getting pummeled every week.”
“No kidding,” Roy agreed. “Even I’m starting to feel it after these past few months. Three more weeks and I think Chad would be the only man able to still stay standing on test day.”
“Roy Daniels, did you just admit you think someone is stronger than you?” Mary gasped.
“Only for now,” Roy replied with a smarmy grin.
“Yeah, well, this is a boon none of us expected, and I say we celebrate,” Nick tossed out. “I’ll go to the video store-”
The group groaned collectively.
“Not another bad movie night,” Alice protested. “Literally, anything but that.”
“Literally? Okay then, how about a rousing game of strip twister?” Nick asked.
“One day some lucky girl is going to castrate you, and I sincerely hope I’m around to see it,” Alice replied.
“All dong mangling aside, I’m with the chicks on this one,” Roy agreed. “Even Hershel is tired of those things.”
“You guys are nuts, my choice in horrific cinema is the stuff of legend. Back me up here, Vince,” Nice said.
“Yeah, whatever you guys want,” Vince said, his eyes shifting about. “I’ve got something to take care of real quick. I’ll see you back at the dorm.”
With that, Vince was jogging off hastily, backpack bouncing against him as he dashed.
“That was odd,” Nick observed.
“Let him be,” Mary said. “He’ll be back soon.”
Nick glanced at her momentarily, then shrugged it off.
“Whatever, I say we start with the Death Couch II and Death Couch IV just to set the mood-”
This time the group groan was louder and held for a full thirty seconds.
133.
There was a timid knock on George’s door.
“Come in, Reynolds,” Coach George called out, not even glancing up from his work.
Vince stepped in slowly, working his way forward and standing in front of the desk.
“How did you know it was me?”
“Because my superiors and colleagues don’t knock, and you’re the only frequent student visitor who hits the door like he’s scared it will hit back.”
“Oh. Sorry, I guess,” Vince said.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. On my list of stuff to watch out for, someone who knocks softly isn’t exactly on top. So, what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to schedule some one-on-one time to work on my electricity techniques.”
Coach George let out a sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Take a seat, Reynolds.”
Vince complied and plopped down in the available chair.
“We’ve been at this for months now, and what we’ve discovered is that at a distance of more than a few inches, your electricity arcs wild every time. When it does it’s impossible to determine which direction it’s going. Hell, half the time it doesn’t even include the initial target in the spray of places it strikes,” Coach George pointed out.
“Yes, sir,” Vince agreed. “That why I’m here to schedule time. So I can get better.”
“And I applaud that kind of spirit, that a problem is only a problem until you work through it. That said, you’ve got three weeks until we put you through one of the hardest tests of your life. You’re going to need to be in peak form. So do you think there might be a better way to spend your time?”
“I’m confused; are you telling me to give u
p on using electricity?”
“Absolutely not,” Coach George said emphatically. “I’ve known Supers who would kill for the level of versatility your power gives you. What I’m saying is that sometimes it’s all about time management. You have two weeks of allowed training time. Now, what do you think will pay off more for your test: struggling to invent a way to utilize electricity, or polishing up and refining what you can do with fire?”
“I guess that would depend on if I succeeded with the electricity or not,” Vince said honestly.
“Not really,” Coach George disagreed. “It’s two weeks, not two months. Even if you do neglect other parts of your training and manage to find a way to control the bolts, you’re not going to have time to master it. The best-case scenario is you walk out there with an unrefined technique that may or may not play out well, as opposed to being fresh and ready with an element you know how to use.”
“I suppose there’s logic in that,” Vince admitted. “I still want to learn better electrical control, though.”
“I’m one hundred percent behind you on that, kid. All I’m saying is pick your timing. Playing with new stuff is for down time. This is crunch time. Crunch time is for focusing on what you’ve got.”
“Yes, sir, I think I’ll do that,” Vince agreed. He stood from the chair. “Thank you for your time, and for the advice.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Coach George said. “And for what it’s worth, kid, I hope to see you back here next year.”
“Thank you,” Vince said, stepping out of the office. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure he’d just experienced the closest thing to a compliment Coach George was capable of imparting.
* * *
A manila envelope fell out of Michael Clark’s locker as he pulled the door open. He had just finished doing some extra Friday training before the ban went into effect and was going to grab his clothes to change back. This envelope was a new addition to his items, one he hadn’t added. Michael reached down and scooped up the envelope, cursorily noting it seemed to be moderately thick with contents.