Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  After a quick deliberation, and a call over their radios to an unseen entity, the guards parted, allowing Will access to the casino boat’s main floor. There were still dozens of hurdles left to clear before the task was done, but Will was finally on board. He was making progress.

  * * *

  “Not bad. I thought he’d get dunked a few more times before making it inside.” Professor Pendleton was bent over the screen, watching Will’s avatar stroll past the roulette wheel. He glanced at the clock and let out a slight wheeze of disappointment. “Looks like we’ll have to pull him out soon. Class is almost over, and you’ve all got lesser sessions to attend. Before you go, however, let’s make this a learning opportunity for everyone. Tell me how you think you’d have gotten on the boat. Then, before we meet again, come down and try it. We can all talk next time about whether your idea worked or not, and how you changed things in the face of failure.”

  “Do we start with the same stuff as Will?” Britney asked.

  “You’d both be given dresses as fancy as his suit, although you can change that in the settings if needed,” Professor Pendleton said. “And you’d get the cash, too. The tablet was just for him, though. In contrast, you’ll have access to your powers within the system via digital tools, so that advantage more than evens out.”

  Alice and Britney were both silent as they watched Will’s character navigate the casino on-screen. They’d witnessed all of his failures, as well as his small triumph, so they knew much of what would and wouldn’t work.

  “I think my first move would be to buy a wetsuit and a waterproof bag,” Britney said. “Life isn’t James Bond, so my clothes wouldn’t stay dry under just the suit. But if I sealed the dress off in a quality waterproof bag, went invisible, and swam over, I bet I could slip into a bathroom and change with minimal risk of being caught. Once I’m in the casino, I think it would be smooth sailing. The guards are looking for people sneaking onto the boat; the scrutiny on the floor seems highly diminished in comparison.”

  “You’d need something to cover your face, too,” Alice suggested. “All the women inside are wearing makeup; you’d stand out if yours was smeared.”

  “I imagine I’d have to hit a few dive shops. But in a town on the water, I feel like there would be a good chance of me being able to get the supplies.”

  “You’ll have the chance to test it before next class.” Professor Pendleton reached over to the keyboard and hit a few buttons, causing a small timer to appear on the screen. He leaned into the microphone and said, “Will, sorry, but time is almost up. I’m shutting you down so you can make your next classes. Just sit tight as it powers down, or the switch can be disorienting.”

  That done, he turned to Alice. “And how would you get on board? Flying?”

  “Since I don’t have Britney’s power on top of my own, I think that might be a touch conspicuous,” Alice replied. “But I’m also better at fast-talking than Will. Plus, I imagine there’s a very different attitude toward a fully decked-out lady trying to enter their club versus a random guy in a suit. I think I’ll buy a ride like he did, and try to charm my way past, maybe see if any other latecomers are making their own trek to the boat and ask if they’d like company.”

  “Can’t say either way if that one will work; it depends on how well you can execute it,” Professor Pendleton told her. “I do want you both to take note of how Will handled his failures, though. He tried new strategies, and when they didn’t work, he changed his approach. That is the right way to use this sort of tool: learning to think through your problems and see what works. Almost every scenario in here is based off real situations Subtlety Heroes have had to deal with. Learn from the experiences, and don’t be afraid of failing. Failure is just learning one way not to succeed.”

  The computer let out a series of beeps. Over on the treadmill, Will carefully pulled his head free of the helmet. He looked around at the comparatively dull room, blinking away the bustling casino atop the slowly moving river.

  “Still worried that the AI won’t make it an interesting challenge?” Professor Pendleton asked.

  Will set the helmet down on the railing, pressed his hands to his eyes in attempt to clear out the lingering visions, and let out a long sigh. “I hereby officially withdraw my concerns. And I want to know when Alice will be busy in class, because I’m going to get Deckard no matter how many tries it takes.”

  51.

  Despite the fact that it hadn’t been her choice to take the job, Mary had grown to enjoy working at Supper with Supers far more than she’d ever expected. It wasn’t just because the stakes were lower than what she dealt with in class, although a forgotten basket of breadsticks was far less likely to get someone hurt than an out-of-control Sim. It was that working there allowed her a glimpse into what life was like for normal people her age.

  Thanks to the other servers, the hostesses, and the myriad of Lander students who didn’t slink away underground every day, Mary was able to get a full dose of the most common troubles plaguing her peers. Initially, this had been done as necessary research so that she knew what to complain about when the monster of small talk reared its head, but over time she’d found it interesting enough to justify itself. Mary was fascinated by the fact that, while humans’ problems were less dire in scale, to their owners they were equally as important as the problems of those fighting to make their way into the ranks of Heroes. By this point, she’d gotten along far enough in her psychology classes to know it was all just a matter of perspective, and she didn’t fault them for how they processed challenges. Rather, she often found herself wondering if, perhaps, there was another scale out there, one by which her problems and those of her friends would seem mundane and trivial to someone peeking in.

  It certainly helped her enjoyment that she’d quickly mastered the job, able to keep mental tabs on her tables so that she anticipated their every need. She actually had to hold herself back occasionally; otherwise, the service would have seemed a little too perfect. People were paying for the illusion of Supers, not the reality. That topic, always a bit thorny and lurking beneath the surface, was even more troublesome after such a bold move by the Sons of Progress. Most of the time, everyone tried very, very hard to ignore the fact that there was a sub-species of human capable of dominating the original version. Heroes helped the matter a great deal, making Supers seem like near-saints, stopping the few bad apples that occasionally popped up. When divergent movements appeared, however, it wasn’t quite so easy to deny that uneasy truth: that Supers were people too, and not all of them were content with living in humanity’s shadow.

  More than a few times over the last month, between refills of iced tea and delivering sandwiches, Mary’s mind had flashed to the visions that Abridail had shown them: a world torn apart by the division of Supers, Powereds, and humans, versus one that still rested in a tentative peace. She was always listening, to the humans and Supers alike, trying to glean some insight to what could steer them toward the less destructive future. Unfortunately, people and their fears were far from uniform, which made finding a single idea all but impossible.

  It was because she had this policy of always listening that she noticed the thoughts directed at her, even though they came from a table that wasn’t hers. She nearly frowned, halting the expression only because she was at a table and that would be poor service. This wasn’t someone she especially wanted to talk to, but he also wasn’t the kind of person it was smart to ignore.

  Finished with taking her customers’ orders, Mary made a quick stop by the computer in the back to punch in their appetizers, and then walked around to a small table near the back of the restaurant. At night, this was the desired date table because it was tucked away out of sight, creating a romantic atmosphere. During the afternoon, on the other hand, it was nicknamed the Office because anyone wanting to do work or read while they ate was sat there, out of the way of distractions. He didn’t have a laptop open, or a book in front of him, but it was clear at a g
lance that Ralph Chapman was here on business.

  “You could have asked to be put in my section,” Mary said. She didn’t sit, even though she knew he was waiting for her to. He could deal with it; she had other tables to keep up with and didn’t need to look like she was slacking.

  “Your section is right in the center of the restaurant; this is a better place for private conversation.” If that was Ralph Chapman’s idea of an apology, it certainly didn’t sound like he was sorry.

  “Those aren’t conversations I have at all in my place of work. If you want to talk about that stuff, you know where to find me.” Mary whirled around to leave, but Ralph spoke before she could get more than a few steps away.

  “I want to know why Globe took you.”

  Her eyes went wide and she scanned the area, relieved to see that none of the other servers were in earshot. The Office’s location was removed enough from the other tables, so being overheard by customers shouldn’t be a problem either. She spun on him, fire in her eyes, only to find him looking completely placid as he took a long draw from his glass of sweet tea.

  “The usual place has too many ears around it,” Ralph said. “I thought this conversation was best had just between the two of us. Now, I can have it loudly, or quietly; that’s up to you.”

  “I’m pretty sure this is an abuse of power for a DVA representative.”

  “Interviewing a kidnapping victim to try and gain insight into a wanted criminal’s activities? No, that’s well within our spectrum of abilities. True, the venue is suspect, and you could complain about that, but if I can show that it was my only free time in the day, it will be hard to prove anything malicious about it.” Ralph stared at her, stirring his drink slowly, rattling the ice cubes as they smacked against the glass.

  “I’ve been asked about this at least a dozen times, by my people and yours.”

  “They’re the same people, Ms. Smith. Don’t forget that. I just have a few follow-ups of my own that were not already covered,” Ralph said.

  Mary checked around her again. It was still clear, but that wasn’t going to last forever. Sooner or later, someone would happen by, and if it was at the wrong moment, then more than just her own secret could slip. Ralph had her over a barrel, at least for the moment. She tried listening to his thoughts, but all he was thinking was that the tea was too sweet. DVA agents were apparently taught how to deal with telepaths.

  “Can we at least talk after my shift? Somewhere not in my place of work?”

  “I think I can swing that.” Ralph pulled a business card out of his pocket, along with a ten-dollar bill. “Address is on the back of the card. The money is for my server. Tell her to keep the change.” With that, Ralph rose from his seat, polished off the last of his drink, and walked past Mary, offering one last bit of unsolicited advice hiding a thinly veiled threat.

  “Try to be prompt. I’ve got a lot to do, and I’d hate to reschedule and come back here another day.”

  52.

  Chad was studying for a test as Vince approached him. Of course, in Chad’s case, “studying” meant he was flipping through his textbook and notes, making sure to get a good look at each page and then moving on forever. For the most part, Vince was grateful for the ability he’d been given—exponentially more since finally getting it under control—but it was hard not to envy Chad’s gifts when it came to everyday life. His power meant he would be successful at almost any activity he tried, physical or mental; Chad could breeze through life effortlessly, if he wanted. Yet he’d chosen the hardest path available to him and was still dominating it. Tempting as it was to hate Chad for that, his own work ethic made it impossible to begrudge him the success. No one trained more, or harder, than Chad Taylor.

  Which was exactly why Vince had to interrupt his friend’s study session.

  “Hey.” Vince sat down on a chair near Chad, who paused his “reading” and looked up from the book. They both knew he didn’t have to stop—Chad was more than capable of carrying on a conversation while still getting work done. This was merely a courtesy. It was happening slowly, but he was beginning to get the hang of customary social skills.

  “Good afternoon, Vince. Can I help you with something?”

  “I, uh, what makes you say that?” Vince asked, flustered by being called out on his plan.

  “You’re usually very conscientious about keeping quiet when others use the common room to study,” Chad replied. “If you’re interrupting me, then the safe assumption is that there is a purpose in mind.”

  “Guess you’ve got me there.” Oddly, Vince felt a bit relieved by Chad addressing the situation straightforwardly. He’d have probably danced around the topic awkwardly with bad small talk before finally getting to the point, but this saved them both time. “I wanted to speak to you about training.”

  “Much as I would enjoy testing my own skills against yours in a sparring match, I think we both know that would be a bad idea in the long run,” Chad said, managing to sound gentle, like he was letting Vince down easy.

  “Trust me, I know that better than anyone,” Vince assured him. “I’m not looking for a fight though, just some insight. Hershel said that you see everyone’s weaknesses better than anyone else in the class, because, well, you’re always ready to fight them. I’ve been having some trouble deciding how to train and better myself, so I thought working on my weak spots would be the best use of time. But it’s hard for me to see my own blind spots.”

  “I see.” Chad allowed his book to close entirely and set it down on the coffee table before fully turning to Vince. “Just so we’re clear: you want me to outline what your biggest weaknesses are, the things I would most likely capitalize on in the event we were pitted against one another, so that you can strengthen them and become a more powerful threat overall?”

  Vince’s face began to flush, and he fidgeted with his hands on the chair’s worn fabric. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how selfish it was until you said it like that.”

  “In most cases, it certainly would be,” Chad agreed. “However, I’m actually quite grateful for the opportunity. A match is always possible within the program, and against your very best, I might learn much. That’s assuming you’re able to reach your best, however. You are a strong Super and a dedicated friend, Vince, but as you are now, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be that much of a challenge to defeat.”

  The flush faded quickly as Vince tried to figure out if he was insulted or not. From almost anyone else, that would be a psych-out attempt or a veiled barb, but Chad was one of the few people whose honesty was genuine. He never really meant to hurt, at least not primarily. If someone asked for his opinion then he would give it, and that was what Vince had been seeking in a roundabout way.

  “How so?” Vince said. “I’m not saying it would be an easy win for me or anything, but the only time you and I really engaged, I did manage to send you flying.”

  “Perspective is important,” Chad told him. “For one thing, that was over a year ago, and we have both been growing in that time. But more importantly, you were not my goal on that hill, Vince. My goal was to get the orb inside the device you were guarding, and on that account, I succeeded.”

  Vince allowed his head to nod slowly in agreement. “That’s true, though I’m still pretty proud of that punch.”

  “You should be. It was a good one,” Chad said. “It also doesn’t change the fact that, as you are now, I could easily best you.”

  “If you’re willing to tell me how to get better, I’m here to listen.”

  Chad smiled, a rare sudden sign of the emotions locked away in that controlled brain of his. “You are, aren’t you? That’s one thing I admire about you, about everyone in this dorm. Each of you is willing to put the desire to be better ahead of your ego. Even Roy, albeit he needed some convincing. All right, Vince I’ll tell you what your biggest weakness is, although figuring out how to train it is ultimately going to be on you. To put it simply: you are trying to spread your power too thin.”r />
  “You mean with all the different energies?” Vince asked.

  “Not at all. Those add to your arsenal and make you more dangerous. I’m referring to your offense and defense. You’re trying to use your power for both, when you need to focus on one.” Chad looked at his dormmate for a long moment, brow furrowing slightly. “You and I are both doers by nature. I think it will be easier to show this lesson rather than tell it.”

  There was no denying the truth of that; Vince always learned better through actions than words. Of course, that idea came with the same caveat they’d started the conversation with. “It would probably make things easier, but we still can’t spar.”

  “No, we cannot,” Chad agreed. “However, if you’re willing to let someone else—Alex, specifically—in on your weaknesses, I think he can provide an excellent demonstration of what I want to show you.”

  It was a dangerous prospect, letting Chad teach someone else what Vince’s biggest weaknesses were. Just because he’d figured them out didn’t mean the rest of the class had. And if Vince couldn’t find a way to overcome them, then he might be opening the door to someone else beating him when it really mattered. Of course, Chad was doing exactly that by trying to teach a competitor how to be better, making the running harder on himself in the process. What right did Vince have to shy away from the same risk?

  “I’ll call Alex and book a combat cell.”

  53.

  Mary had only been to a few bars in her college career, a tally she was quite happy with, so she didn’t have a great standard of comparison as she walked into the one at the address Ralph Chapman had provided her. All the same, it came off as a bit dingy, with dark walls and battered stools instead of the usual cornucopia of bubbly wait staff and bright neon signs advertising drink specials. This was a real bar, a place people came to drown their troubles, not where college students gathered to engage in intoxicated revelry. It was also almost completely deserted, save for a thick-necked man in a stained apron standing behind the bar and the barely visible profile of Ralph Chapman tucked away in a corner booth.