by Hayes, Drew
“Last time we met, I told you that two of your uncles were among the people you saw most frequently.” His voice was almost gone, but Alice strained her focus, picking out each word as it fell from those fading lips. “But the other is one you haven’t seen since you were a toddler. And how would you? After all, for most of your life the world thought that Globe, the man once known as Phillip Adair, was dead.”
Alice opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness of the overhead fluorescent. Coming out of the trances had never been that jarring before, though Rich was probably more delicate about it since his abilities weren’t in a race with the clock. Carefully, she pulled herself up to a sitting position on her cot, noting that a small table with a massive carafe of water had been set up nearby. No one ever seemed to know why Rich’s trances left people with cottonmouth, but she was grateful for the gesture as she filled up a cup and doused her dry tongue.
Nick and Mary were stirring as well, the only other presences in the apartment as far as Alice could tell. The woman was gone; she’d probably ducked out as soon as her power faded. While a quick departure seemed a bit inhospitable, the Subtlety side of Alice appreciated it. The less time they were with her, the less chance of their operation being compromised. Someone stumbling upon a gathering of just Alice, Nick, and Mary wasn’t nearly as incriminating, even if it would raise a few questions.
“Nick, did you know about Globe?” Alice surprised even herself by how calm her tone was. Perhaps the sting of secret family members faded the more often they popped up. Or maybe it was just too much to process right off the bat, and it wouldn’t hit her until later. Idly, she wondered if this made her and Vince cousins.
“No, and I’m a little pissed about it,” Nick told her. “All that time hunting for clues, and not one of those sacks of shit let me in on the familial relationship. We’re going to be having a long talk next time we’re all at the clubhouse.”
“The more relevant issue here is how are you, Alice?” Mary asked. “What we saw in there… it wasn’t easy for me. I can’t even imagine how tough it was for you.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m going to be working through a lot of that shit for a while, especially the bathtub scene. When tonight is done I plan to head back to the dorm, take off my makeup, and have a good old-fashioned mini-breakdown.” Alice finished off her water and crumpled the paper cup, setting it down next to the cooler. “But that’s later. For now, we’ve got a party to get back to.”
“I think you’re permitted to skip out on the rest of the evening,” Mary told her.
“And risk someone asking questions or getting suspicious? Remember, my boyf—Nick is the host, and we’re sort of an item. It wouldn’t do for me to flake out halfway through the party.” Alice hopped up from the cot, adjusted her dress, and picked up the garish mask she’d be re-donning.
Mary was watching Alice move with concern and something else, something Alice wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in her short friend’s eyes before. “But after everything you just went through…”
“I’m a Subtlety major. Pushing through, hiding my feelings, that’s what I do.” Alice extended a hand to Nick, who accepted it and intertwined his arm with hers.
“You almost called me your boyfriend a minute ago, didn’t you?”
“Not that you’ll ever be able to prove.” Alice tossed a glance over her shoulder to Mary, who was still seated on the cot, looking uncertain about whether to keep protesting or not. “Grab your hat, Mary. Parties wait for no one.”
90.
“Hang on now, walk me through this again.” Roy’s eyes took note of Mary’s return, but only because he’d been watching for her. Hershel was originally supposed to hang around until she got back, but that plan had gone out the window when Violet came running up to Hershel jabbering about some freshman who wanted to talk to Roy. Excusing himself by claiming to have had too much to drink, Hershel went up to Nick’s apartment where he helped himself to some whiskey.
Five minutes later and Roy, the late arrival, burst onto the party scene. Much as he wanted to do a tour around and talk to some of the lovely women he’d taken note of in Hershel’s memories, duty came first. The hardest part was finding a quiet place to talk, but the space was large and they’d eventually located a corner.
Of course, there were still mundanes around, which meant they had to choose their words carefully.
“I need you to spar with me,” Ashley said. Roy had been a bit surprised to see the freshman searching for him was the same one whose match Hershel had overseen. He was even more shocked when he got a close enough look to realize she was the girl from Six-Shooter as well. It did explain why she hadn’t simply walked up to order a drink, though. As a freshman, she was underage.
“Everyone talks about how tough you are,” she continued, eyes scanning for anyone who might be getting too close. “They say you’re a real brick of a fighter. I’m having trouble with control. Well, I mean, figuring out how hard to… punch. I didn’t have many sparring partners growing up, and now I’m having trouble adjusting. Punch too hard and I might hurt someone, too soft and it doesn’t do any good.”
Roy closed his eyes, dearly wishing he’d left this crap for Hershel. He loathed talking in code and working out subtext. Thankfully, this was simple enough that even Roy could keep pace. Ashley’s power was creating explosions, and she’d never had an environment in which to train against living fighters before. She needed control, to know exactly how much power to put into a blast for it to be effective yet non-lethal, and that was the sort of thing one gained through experience. Coming to Roy made a certain amount of sense—of everyone in the senior class, he was probably the most durable, even more so than Chad. But what didn’t add up was why she’d felt the need to go all the way to the seniors in order to find someone who could help her.
“Have you tried talking with your teacher, or coach, about this?” Roy asked. “I feel like it would be their job to get you past that kind of hurdle.”
Ashley nodded, and Roy noticed she broke eye contact when she did. “He gave me exercises to do, techniques to figure out how hard my punches should be when sparring.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that it’s taking forever, and it’s all non-combat training,” Ashley spat. “Expl— punching fruit doesn’t help me keep my head during a real match. I need to fight someone better than me, someone I can’t hurt, until I’ve learned to control myself in a genuine fight.”
“Uh huh, and what did your teacher say when you brought this up?” Roy asked.
“He told me that you don’t cross a mountain by leaping; you do it one step at a time,” Ashley replied. “But he also said that if I really wanted a sparring partner, I should go find one. You know they never discourage extracurricular training.”
That wasn’t entirely true; the HCP never discouraged safe extracurricular training. Ashley wouldn’t know the difference yet, though. She was too young, too headstrong, too… well, too much like Roy as a freshman, if he were being honest with himself. The girl had power, he’d seen that through Hershel’s eyes, and she knew it. Right now, she probably thought the only thing holding her back was not being able to use her abilities properly. No doubt she believed she’d be at the top of the class with a little training and the right opportunity. That sort of brashness was dangerous, especially with an ability like hers.
“What’s so wrong with the step-at-a-time method? I’ll tell you this right now: your teacher is right about it being the best way. Slow and steady, constant effort, that’s the way you get better at anything. There are no montages, Ashley. Just people who train like hell, putting in all the steps they can every day. I think you’re looking for a shortcut, and the only thing those do is get people hurt.” Roy hoped Hershel would keep the gloating to a minimum when he found this memory. Four years ago, he’d have never even come up with these words, let alone said them. Then again, the Roy of four years ago also would have never made it to
senior year.
“I’m not… okay, fine, maybe I am looking for a shortcut,” Ashley admitted. “But is it so wrong to want to train in actual combat? To make sure that even in the direst of moments I can still use the right amount of force? I want you to honestly tell me you think it’s a bad idea.”
That was a tough one. What she was describing wasn’t inherently wrong; in fact, mastering control of one’s abilities was a cornerstone of the HCP education. Which made it all the more curious that she was trying to jump ahead in the curriculum. Roy couldn’t say her idea was terrible outright, but helping her might result in people getting hurt.
How he would handle this depended on why she was so desperate, what was driving her forward. If she wanted control to be a proper Hero, that was one thing. If she was just chasing power though, then Roy had no desire to lend her any aid. He could already guess where that path would end.
“The idea itself isn’t bad,” Roy said at last. “But there are two issues: why are you so desperate to get stronger so fast? And why come to me? There are bound to be other people closer to your age.”
“Actually, they’re pretty much the same answer,” Ashley said. “I need to get stronger because I’m behind. Even if I go step by step, there are other people who’re doing the same thing, only they’ve got a head start on me. The one out in front is the one I’m aiming for. That’s why I came to you, too. I’d heard that not only were you tough, but you’ve also been the most dedicated at trying to be the best. You’re the only one always trying to knock the king off his throne, so I thought you might be willing to help me do the same.”
Inadvertently, Roy’s eyes wandered over to Chad, who was having a conversation with Shane and a mundane woman in a football player costume. It was true that Roy had personally challenged Chad more times than anyone else, at least outside of class battles. The other serious contenders were no doubt waiting until they had a strategy, or an occasion that would raise their rankings. Roy had stopped caring about that a long time ago. He just wanted to win, to know that all the years he’d spent chasing after the man, the friend, who’d whipped him senseless freshman year weren’t in vain. That was the lesson Roy had learned the best from their initial fight: losing wasn’t the end of the world. Especially not if you learned from it. Roy would lose to Chad a hundred times if that was what it took to beat him once.
“I do understand,” Roy said at last. “And I’ll think it over. No, first, I’ll talk to your teacher, then I’ll think it over. I ain’t doing jack shit without his approval; that comes before anything else. After that, I’ll give it consideration. That’s all you’re getting tonight, so don’t push your luck trying to argue. Got it?”
Ashley nodded, a grin stretching across her face despite the fact she’d gotten a “maybe” at best.
“Good. Then hightail it out of here,” Roy told her. “You’re underage, and there’s a lot of booze at this party. The last thing we need is to get in trouble for having hooch around minors.”
91.
“Today, I want to discuss the Damage Potential Scale by which Heroes evaluate threats,” Dean Blaine told them. It was the first Ethics of Heroism class since their trial, one that the students had certainly been dreading. Even though they’d done their best, many had frozen at the sight of human-like Sims, and nearly everyone had failed to rescue at least one civilian. They were expecting to be raked over the coals for these mistakes, but Dean Blaine had entered the room quietly and kicked off the lesson without so much as a single harsh word. It should have been a relief. Instead, it only made the bulk of them visibly more anxious.
“Despite the fact that the terms of the scale are commonly bandied about, they are almost never used appropriately,” Dean Blaine continued. “It’s not exactly a secret, though it also isn’t something we often discuss beyond Hero circles. The first and foremost thing you need to understand is this: the scale is not a measure of a Super’s power. It is simply a tool you will use in combat to best determine how to respond to situations. In fact, there has never been a successful power-ranking scale devised in the history of Supers. Would anyone care to venture why?”
Several hands shot up, and after carefully surveying his options, Dean Blaine pointed to the respondent he felt might offer historical perspective along with an accurate answer.
“There are several reasons,” Shane replied, lowering his arm. “As we’ve talked about before, new powers and categories are constantly being discovered, some of which would break any system we previously had in place. Additionally, it isn’t as easy as saying one power is better than another. Different powers have different relationships, and there’s no ranking system that’s ever been able to encapsulate that. The longest lasting attempt was the Werker scale in the early sixties, which only made it for five years before it was abandoned as useless.”
“Very well said, Mr. DeSoto.” Dean Blaine scanned the class. Everyone was hearing the words; however, it seemed a few were having difficulty processing exactly what they meant. “Can you provide an example of the types of relationships that would invalidate a power-ranking scale?”
“Sure. The most classic example is the strongman and the advanced mind, but I’ll add myself in for extra clarity. At this point, I’m not sure my shadows will be able to cut through Roy’s skin; for the sake of argument, let’s assume that’s the case. So: I fight Roy, and he wins, because I can’t hurt him. Then Roy fights Mary, and he loses because she can simply lift him in the air with telekinesis. That makes it seem like Mary has the strongest power. However, if I were to fight Mary, she’d be unable to stop my shadows and I’d likely win. Hypothetically, anyway. In that situation, how do you say which power is better? Each was weak and strong when applied to different kinds of Supers. It doesn’t work, and the more abilities you add to the situation, the more complicated it gets.”
“And in only a few minutes, Mr. DeSoto has articulated a truth that took decades for the DVA to finally reach. Today we’re going to learn the lone scale that has proven useful—and before anyone asks, yes, there is a reason I’ve waited until your fourth year to teach it to you. In fact, I specifically waited until this exact session, following your previous trial.” Dean Blaine turned from the class and began scrawling on the chalkboard. Moments later, he clapped his hands clean of any dust before gesturing to the first words he’d written.
“NTC Class, short for Non-Threatening Combatant. In the field, you’ll hear them referred to by the slang term of ‘knocks.’ This is the lowest tier of the Damage Potential Scale, representing someone who poses no greater threat for damage than a human. You will often find healers and teleporters on this list, though our own Ms. Belden is an exception. The rules for engaging these Supers are to treat them with the same care you would a human, only using lethal force if absolutely necessary and prioritizing saving civilians above all else.”
A hand went up, and Dean Blaine nodded.
“Why would we ever need lethal force? You just said they were as weak as humans,” Rich pointed out.
“Humans can still detonate bombs, point guns, and do any number of things that require lethal force in response,” Dean Blaine replied. “And thank you, Mr. Weaver, for driving home one of the largest issues new Heroes face. This is a scale assessing damage potential only. An NTC might just as easily have a power that makes them difficult to stop, even one that allows them to be more powerful than you in a fight.”
“Pretty sure I can take a healer.” Rich’s eyes darted to Camille, and he hastily added, “A normal healer, I mean.”
“Perhaps that’s true, Mr. Weaver, but not every NTC has that type of ability. Rather than waste class time with this debate, let me simply say this: my power classifies me as a Non-Threatening Combatant.”
There was no audible gasp through the room; some of the students had already put that much together. Several eyes did go wide as the implications settled in the slower minds, though, which was why Dean Blaine pointed to the chalkboard again, eage
r to get the lesson moving once more.
“After NTC is Standard Class. This is where the vast majority of Supers fall: capable of more damage than humans, but not so significantly powerful that they instantly require lethal responses. Demolition Class is the next step, representing a Super who could destroy an entire city block in an hour if left unchecked. Here is where the vast majority of strongmen and women rest, as they have power but not range. Dealing with a Demolition Class Super is where things begin to shift, as, depending on the circumstances, you may need to neutralize them as fast as possible, even if it means killing them outright.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” Vince said, turning red as soon as he realized he’d blurted the thought out rather than thinking it. Since the damage was already done, he lowered his head and added, “I think they should have a chance to surrender, at least.”
“And if you fight one in an empty field, that is your prerogative to offer,” Dean Blaine told him. “However, if a Demolition Class is starting a fight in a downtown neighborhood, where there are whole buildings full of people that will die in a prolonged battle, would you value the criminal’s life higher than theirs?”
Vince said nothing to that. He liked to think he’d find a way, that he could stop someone without killing them. And maybe he would, one day, but the last trial had shown him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t yet strong enough to manage such a feat. When the time to choose had come, he’d obliterated the criminal Sims rather than see any civilians injured. No, Vince had no right to criticize the scale.
“Next is Manhattan Class, so named for the project that brought us the atomic bomb. The more astute of you can guess that this signifies someone who, if left unchecked for an hour, would cause destruction on par with an atomic blast,” Dean Blaine continued. “This classification, and the one that follows it, are also the reasons I waited until now to teach this lesson. Only after seeing what the stakes were like, only after failing to save innocent people, could you perhaps understand why a Hero must respond to a Manhattan Class as they do.”