by Hayes, Drew
Rearing back, Ashley telegraphed her first punch so blatantly that Hershel felt even he could have blocked it without Roy’s help. For Judy, it wasn’t even an effort. With a single calculated motion, she raised her forearm and began to brush Ashley’s blow aside, readying a counter of her own. However, no sooner had she touched the charging girl’s arm than it became apparent that such a strategy might not be viable.
The explosion filled a quarter of the cell, sending Judy careening backward into a wall and knocking Ashley halfway back to her starting position. In moments, both were back up, neither any worse for the wear, save for Ashley’s uniform. Her right sleeve was completely destroyed, the black fabric simply ending in a singed spot near her shoulder. Without the sleeve obscuring his view, Hershel could see the red energy reappearing, pulsing veins of it running across her entire arm.
“Explosions? Is that her power?” Hershel started to glance at Professor Fletcher, then remembered his duties and kept his eyes trained on the fight.
“What the hell was that?” Judy yelled from across the cell. Hershel nearly jumped in surprise at the sound of her voice. He’d expected that, just as they could only hear him when the intercom was pressed, so too would they be muted. It did make more sense this way, though. After all, if he was supposed to intervene in the event of danger, knowing the mood and discussion of what was happening could play a big part.
“‘That,’ as you put it, was about a tenth of what I can really do,” Ashley replied, the glow on her arms getting steadily brighter. “My way of giving you a warning shot. I don’t want my climb to the top hampered by using lethal force. How about you just give up, that way I won’t accidentally hurt you?”
Judy’s concrete lip lifted in an oddly unsettling smirk. “I might consider that, if I really thought you were holding back that much. But I think you’re bluffing. Besides, that blast flung you as much as it did me. Much stronger and you’ll just hurt yourself.”
“You wish, I just didn’t have time to set my footing. I’m tough enough to withstand my own blasts. So don’t get mad when I turn you to rubble.” Ashley held up her hands, clenching them into tight fists as she spoke.
Moving carefully around the cell, eyes locked on her opponent, Judy kept a healthy distance between herself and Ashley. In a different situation, Hershel would have suspected her of looking for an opening, but given that Ashley seemed to be able to detonate at close range, that was probably impossible. Fighting her from any angle meant dealing with the explosions, unless one had the ability to attack from a distance. No, if Hershel were to guess, he’d say Judy was buying time, thinking through a plan that would change the dynamic of the fight. It was what he’d do, in her situation.
“You know, it’s pretty unlucky for you that I’m the opponent you were put up against,” Judy said, finally stopping her continuous circle. “If you’d gotten someone with less training, or who didn’t know as much about Supers, you might have been able to bluff your way into a victory. But even if you’re as tough as you claim, it seems to me you don’t have a lot of practical fighting experience. Which I bet means that you aren’t nearly as confident in your control of those explosions as you’d need to be to use them on a smaller scale.”
Before their eyes, Judy’s gray appearance faded away, turning her back into the same normal, slightly tanned woman who had walked in the door. The only exceptions were her fists and part of her arms, which stayed concrete. Ashley’s own eyes grew wide as she watched the change. The glow in her own arms dimmed noticeably.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making myself weaker,” Judy explained. “So weak, so human, that if you try and use an explosion like the last one, you stand a good chance of killing me. Unless, of course, you know how to use them on a small enough scale to end this fight without using lethal force.” Judy’s concrete hands raised and she shifted her feet, preparing to mount a charge of her own.
“That’s… that’s crazy.” Ashley stepped backward, her red glow nearly vanishing as she backpedaled.
“No, it’s a calculated risk. This is what real fights are, rookie, and I suggest you adapt to it fast.” Without another word, Judy charged, quickly closing the gap between her and Ashley. Her heavy fists easily made it through the weakly-mustered guard of the girl with the braid. While the punches weren’t enough to outright flatten Ashley, it quickly became apparent that the beating was taking a toll on her, as trickles of blood began to flow from her lip and eye.
“Should we stop this?” Hershel asked.
Professor Fletcher calmly shook his head. “Right now, Ashley still has a chance to turn things around. If she can use her ability with enough control, she could defeat Judy. Or, if she can think of a new plan, she might also be able to turn the tables. Painful as this can be to watch, we owe her the opportunity to change the match’s outcome. Nothing is decided until—whoops, never mind.”
As he spoke, Judy had landed an aggressive blow to Ashley’s temple, sending the brunette spinning to the ground. To her credit, Judy immediately backed away and gave her opponent room to breathe and recover, but Ashley’s slow, groping attempts to climb back to her feet made it clear that the match was done.
“Winner: Judy Bush.” Hershel’s voice rang through the cell, even as its door opened and another of the seniors appeared; Thomas had apparently pulled infirmary transportation duty. He wrapped Ashley in a cocoon of orange energy, then lifted her gently off the ground. Hershel gave his friend a moment to get clear, and then continued. “Judy, if you require healing, please follow this man to the infirmary. Otherwise, head back to the gym with the other freshmen to await your next match.”
“Nicely done,” Professor Fletcher said. “Before you go, though, I wondered if you would tell me what you thought of Judy’s strategy during the match?”
“At first glance, it seems stupidly risky,” Hershel replied, looking down at the scorch marks and flecks of blood in the cell. “If Ashley had been able to control her blasts better, or had taken a dumb risk, things might have turned out very differently. But the more I think about it, the more I realize she gathered a lot of information before taking that gamble. Seeing Ashley’s range, gauging her strength, even finding out how tough she was to calculate proper attacks; it was still a risk, but it’s like she said, it was a calculated one. Honestly, though, what impresses me most is that she even had the idea in the first place.”
“How do you mean?” Professor Fletcher opened the door to the observation room and motioned for him to head down, which Hershel did as he kept talking.
“I mean, she decided to make herself weaker to win. Everyone in the HCP is almost universally concerned with winning through getting stronger. For her to be able to think like that, to use the rules as much as her power against an opponent, means she’s got the sort of mind that’s going to make her extremely dangerous. If Judy isn’t in the top five for freshmen women, I’m going to be really scared of what these new kids can do.”
Though he didn’t say as much, Professor Fletcher’s assessment was almost precisely the same as Hershel’s.
10.
“Please tell me we have long enough to get some lunch before the meetings start,” Vince said, walking with Hershel and Chad toward the changing rooms. Ideally, they’d have the chance to put on regular clothes, pop up to the surface, and slam down some food before reporting in to choose their discipline. While the morning hadn’t been a particularly stressful one—at least, not for them—it had taken a long while for all the fights to be resolved. Vince almost found himself grateful that he’d been knocked unconscious when he was a freshman. It had made the day go a lot faster.
“It’s just now one o’clock, so I’ve got an hour and some change,” Hershel said, checking a nearby clock on the wall. “I don’t know when your meeting is scheduled, though.”
“Not until two forty-five,” Vince said, relief evident in his voice.
“That’s right after Roy,” Hershel noted.
The three men walked through the entrance to the changing room and quickly opened their lockers, revealing the mundane clothes tucked away inside. “You’re not wrong about that, but he’s dead set on going with Weapons,” Hershel said. “It was a surprise at the time; though the longer he works at it, the more I’m glad he made that choice. We might just have a real shot at graduating.”
“True. Choosing a discipline is almost as important as the training itself,” Chad agreed.
“At least ours were straightforward,” Vince said. “Oh, Hershel, did you ask Mary if she wanted to join us for lunch? Camille is going to meet us by the lifts.”
“I did, but her meeting is earlier than ours, so I’m bringing her back a sandwich. Alice might be able to find us up there when she wraps things up. She had one of the first meetings on the schedule.” Hershel removed a phone from his pocket as he changed from his uniform to his jeans and glanced down at it. “In fact, hers should be starting any minute now.”
* * *
Alice stepped into the room, noting the long table near the front where Dean Blaine sat with Professor Hill on one side and Professor Pendleton on the other. No sooner had she entered than Professor Hill gave her a warm smile, beckoning her forward to the lone unoccupied chair directly in front of the table. Too aware of the gazes on her, she walked over to it and took her seat, careful to give eye contact to each of her educators while also maintaining a neutral expression.
“Alice Adair, the time has come for you to choose your discipline,” Dean Blaine announced, as if it weren’t obvious. Silly as she felt hearing it, Alice could only imagine it was far worse for the dean, who actually had to say it to every senior as they made their way in here. “Currently, you are enrolled in Control and Subtlety. Despite the final exams being preempted, Professor Hill has determined your grades to be exemplary and would like you to know that he will offer no objection to you continuing in Control.”
The warm smile on Professor Hill’s face grew bigger, and she could almost imagine him trying to flash her a thumbs-up from across the table. Professor Pendleton, meanwhile, looked bored as he fidgeted with the pen in front of him.
“And what about Subtlety? Do I have that option as well?” Alice made a point of not looking at Professor Hill; she could already feel his smile fading as he took in her question.
“Since you managed to produce reasonable grades throughout the year, solved part of the cypher in your mid-year exam, and succeeded in passing the final, there’s no academic reason to bar you from continuing down that road,” Dean Blaine informed her. Professor Pendleton had looked up from his pen and was staring at her with uncertainty. It felt strangely good to be the one confusing him, for a change.
“But it should also be noted that Subtlety Heroes are often looked upon with suspicion, and rightly so, as the moral lines they work next to are ill-defined at best,” Professor Hill added.
“Oh, blow it out your ass, Blake,” Professor Pendleton snapped.
“Gentlemen. I will ask you both to remember that we have a student in front of us and to please behave accordingly.” Dean Blaine still seemed to be calm, but Alice hadn’t taken two years of Subtlety for nothing. She noticed the small facial tics signaling his frustration and had a hunch that he’d cut off everyone in the room’s powers already, just to be on the safe side.
“No, actually, I think I’d rather let them fight.” Alice leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, staring back and forth between the two professors. “That’s the best thing to do with these sorts of squabbles, right? Just fight and get it over with. Isn’t that how family is supposed to behave?”
The room went deadly silent as Professor Hill looked from her to Professor Pendleton, to Dean Blaine, and then around the rotation several more times. “Blaine… you didn’t—”
“Didn’t stick my nose where it didn’t belong? Quite correct, I did not. Alice learned through her own methods, or did you miss the part about her passing the junior year of Subtlety training? I kept your secret for the same reason I didn’t tip you off to the fact that she knew. I told you from the first day that this secrecy, all of it, was on you. It was never my place to get involved.” Dean Blaine stared down his employee without so much as even blinking.
For a moment, Professor Hill stared back, but when he didn’t see anything to distrust, his gaze turned to the other man in the room. “Then you did this, didn’t you, Sean? Found a way to tell her without actually telling her, right?” He quickly looked to Alice, expression somewhere between angry and frantic. “What other lies did he tell you? It’s not true, you know. What happened to your mother—”
“You should really stop talking,” Professor Pendleton warned.
“So I can let my niece believe all the terrible things you fed her?”
“No, because she did this in the hopes of goading you into spilling secrets.” Professor Pendleton looked at Alice, who offered not so much as a smirk in reply to the accusation. “It’s akin to reverse interrogation. You make someone flustered and angry, get them on the defensive, and they’ll start denying things you never even knew to accuse them of.”
“He’s right. And I’m not sorry. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.” Alice let her arms fall to her sides and leaned forward, refusing to back down in the slightest. “I know there’s more about my mother than you all are telling me. I’m going to find out the truth, no matter how hard I have to keep digging.”
Silence fell upon the room for a long moment, broken when Dean Blaine scratched a quick note onto the form in front of him. “Ms. Adair, shall I correctly interpret this circus as your way of letting us know you’d like to make Subtlety your discipline?”
“I sort of felt like just saying it wouldn’t have been fitting,” Alice replied. Only now, with the game fully played, did she allow a smile to creep across her lips. “But yes, Subtlety will give me the tools I need. That’s what I want to keep studying.”
“While, generally speaking, pursuing a major of study out of personal reasons doesn’t usually lead to a good outcome, I suppose it’s hard to argue with the results you produced,” Dean Blaine said. “Please tell the next student that we will call them when we’re ready. I need to speak with my colleagues for a few moments.”
“Yes, sir.” Alice Adair rose from the chair, took one last look at the dean and her two uncles—one fuming, the other staring at her—before slipping quietly out the door.
11.
By the time Mary’s meeting came around, things in the interview room had calmed down significantly. It certainly helped that Professor Pendleton had left, since he’d already talked to the few remaining Subtlety students, and now Professor Stone sat on Dean Blaine’s right. While Mary hadn’t heard the fight as it happened—Dean Blaine’s power having shut her out completely—she’d pieced it together from Alice’s thoughts after she left the room. Professor Hill did still seem a touch out of sorts, but it was possible she saw that only because she was looking for it. Inside this room, shielded by Dean Blaine’s power, their thoughts were their own, so Mary merely took her seat quietly, facing the three educators.
“Mary Smith, the time has come for you to choose your discipline.” His words were almost exactly as Alice had recalled them, proving that he had either rehearsed this part of the meeting or had been doing it so long that it was automatic.
“Currently, you are enrolled in Control and Focus. While neither of these classes had a final exam, your overall scores and demonstrated skill throughout the previous years have left neither of your teachers with any doubt that you can handle the next step down either path. You may choose without additional examination.”<
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Mary looked away from Dean Blaine to Professor Stone, who met her gaze as if she’d been waiting for it. Mary dearly, desperately wanted to be able to have a discussion with the older telepath, but it was impossible with Dean Blaine blocking all powers in the room. There was always the option of talking out loud; however, that came with the risk of revealing things she wasn’t certain she wanted to be common knowledge. Not yet, at least. With few options before her, Mary decided to roll the dice.
“Dean Blaine, would you mind letting me use my power for a few minutes? It doesn’t need to be on you and Professor Hill, just Professor Stone.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline that request,” Dean Blaine replied, noticeably unsurprised by the question. “Anything you wish to ask or discuss with Professor Stone may be said out loud or not at all.”
It had been a long shot going in and she knew it, but Mary still felt a bit disappointed at getting shut down. Nothing for it now: she’d either have to hold her tongue or press on. There was technically no risk in silence, yet all the same, Mary knew she would regret this moment if she didn’t speak. So very much was at stake, for the others even more than her.
“Professor Stone, is this okay?” She couldn’t have made it any vaguer, not that she hadn’t tried, so Mary felt a rush of relief as the older woman gave her a soft smile and nodded.
“It’s fine, Mary. Just for now, but it’s fine.”
“Does anyone plan to tell me what that was about, or at least what discipline Ms. Smith has chosen?” Dean Blaine interjected.
“Focus, sir. I’ll be continuing my education in Focus.” Mary stood to leave but paused before heading to the door. “Also, if it’s possible, I’d like to have a meeting with you. Sometime in January, after whatever mid-year events or exams you throw at us.”
Dean Blaine considered the short, amber-eyed woman for several seconds. “I’ll put something on the books and send you an email. Let me know if the time doesn’t work for you, and I can move it around. The one upside to booking my time this early is there’s ample wiggle room.”