by Hayes, Drew
Ashley’s charge was rough, worse than even the bullshit Roy had pulled as a freshman. It made him want to wince, seeing all the holes in her form and ways she was telegraphing her impending attacks, mostly because he recognized so many of the failings from his own early efforts. Dodging her first blow would have been laughably easy, but instead Roy raised his left arm to block the attack. Better to let her get a little comfortable for the first few strikes, so she could find a rhythm. Eventually, he’d need to take the opposite tactic, keeping her purposefully off balance to truly test her focus. For the first blow, he just wanted to see how well she could control her power.
Though the explosion rang in his ears, it did nothing to move Roy’s arm. Worse, Ashley froze up as soon as the attack occurred, leaving herself so open that Roy had to deliver a quick, gentle, jab to her stomach just to make her aware of the mistake. The people she fought in class would do far worse if she didn’t learn to stay guarded and follow through with her attacks.
“I didn’t even feel that,” Roy told her, holding up his hand to pause the match. Examining his arm, he found the jacket sleeve he was wearing had been lightly singed but was otherwise completely intact. “That wasn’t bone-breaking level. It wasn’t even wood-breaking level. You’d have been lucky to dent sheetrock with that small of a blast.”
“Sorry.” Ashley was rubbing her stomach carefully, clearly surprised by the counterattack. “I wasn’t expecting you to block, I thought you’d dodge instead. It threw me off, and I sort of panicked. I instinctively weakened the blast out of fear that I’d hurt you.”
“That ain’t the worst instinct; better to go too soft than too hard at this point in your training. But at the same time, you can’t be so dedicated to predicting what an opponent does that you get rattled when they use a different tactic.” Roy looked at his arm for a moment longer then began to unbutton his uniform jacket. He peeled it quickly away, revealing a matching tank top underneath, and tossed the jacket down several feet away. “For this next one, stay at bone-breaking level, but don’t worry about what I’m doing at all. Just get close to me and let the explosion fly.”
“Okay. I can do that. I can connect.” She put her hands back up, and this time both of her fists glowed with energy.
“Stop. Don’t think about connecting. Just focus on getting close and making your blasts exactly strong enough. Remember, your power doesn’t come from your muscles, and one of the many benefits of explosions is that ‘close’ is often good enough.” Roy was pretty certain there was a saying about that—something with hand grenades—but his attention was stolen by Ashley’s second charge before he could quite recall what it was.
This time, he decided to dodge just to change things up. Her left arm swung in an uppercut that would have been ridiculous, if not for the explosion of energy that tore forth from her hand even as Roy leaned away from the blow. It was a whole other league from her first strike, and while the hand was several inches away from Roy’s body, he could still feel the power of it wash over his chest. A second later, Ashley’s right fist hit, landing directly in Roy’s stomach. He had a moment to appreciate that it was almost exactly the same spot he’d struck her in before she released the second explosion. It slammed into his abs, but wasn’t enough to shove him backwards. It did feel correct for the amount of force she’d been trying to use though, and given the victorious look on her face, Ashley knew she’d gotten it right.
That triumphant grin vanished immediately as Roy grabbed her arm and spun her around, putting her in a lock.
“What are you doing?” Ashley spat.
“I’m sorry. Did you think that landing one good punch meant you’d won the fight?” Roy was careful with his grip, making sure she was uncomfortable without going so far as to cause serious pain. This was instruction, not torture. “Remember, you’re learning to fight other students, which means anything powerful enough to one-shot them risks being lethal. I hesitated and you capitalized, which was correct. Then you reveled, which was so fucking wrong I can’t believe I have to point it out. In training, you fight until somebody wins or calls for a pause. In battle, it’s just the first one. Save the triumph for when you’ve got something to celebrate.”
“Okay, I get it.” Ashley tugged on her arm, which Roy continued to hold in place. “I said, I get it. Aren’t you going to let me out of this?”
“I could, and if you really need me to, I will, but your next opponent might not be so kind. You want to learn how to fight for real, this is a situation you will almost certainly find yourself in. How are you going to get free, without potentially killing the person holding you?”
The most obvious solution would be to use her power to cause a small explosion where his hands were, knocking them back and setting her free. But that came with the potential of blowing his fingers off, if not his entire hand: while technically not lethal, that wasn’t the sort of thing that would fly against other students if it happened regularly. Until Ashley had perfect control, she was going to have to think her way out of these situations rather than rely upon raw force.
As Roy felt her body tense, he knew she was gathering energy. With a darting glance to the covered window, Roy silently hoped she didn’t do anything too dangerous, and then braced himself for a lot of potential pain in his hands.
When the explosions came, they were tremendous—although neither touched Roy’s hands in the slightest. No, Ashley hadn’t tried to break the hold. Instead, she’d detonated her energy blasts on the soles of her feet, driving her and Roy backwards and slamming them both into a wall. He took the brunt of it, and by the time they’d scrambled to their feet, she was halfway across the room, successfully freed from his hold.
“Not too shabby.” Roy wiped some of the dust and concrete flecks from his shoulders as he moved back to the center of the room. “Little strong, though.”
“I’m fighting someone with enhanced endurance, so I knew you could take it. If it were someone weaker, I’d have just used enough power to knock them over,” Ashley replied.
That was the right answer, and a sound strategy. Despite his warnings about premature celebration, Roy permitted himself a small grin as he took his defensive stance once more. If she kept using her head, Ashley might just make it to the end of the year after all.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Roy said. “This time, see if you can hit me twice.”
110.
“With the exception of Mr. DeSoto, can anyone tell me why Heroes so rarely have to deal with hostage situations?”
Dean Blaine was cutting a brisker pace than usual, having barely bothered with more than cursory formalities before kicking off the day’s Ethics of Heroism course. “I ask because while many aspects of this information are classified, the existence of the answer is not. And you, more than any other class I’ve previously dealt with, have all been around a presence that hints at the correct response.”
Will, Britney, Chad, and Alice all raised their hands, but Britney was the fastest on the draw, so Dean Blaine nodded for her to speak.
“I’m guessing there are special people for that,” Britney said. “Probably ones with DVA approval and training. It’s sort of the same question as how even though not every Hero team has a teleporter, they can all manage to work across the entire nation.”
“Light on details, but spot on in concept,” Dean Blaine told her. “Although your comparison is an imperfect one: Hero teams are able to get around thanks to DVA assets who can transport them as needed. The answer to the hostage question is a somewhat more complicated beast. I trust you all remember earlier in the year, when I asked you why this system exists. Why we call ourselves Heroes. You know that we exist as symbols and cultural touchstones as much as, if not more than, Supers who stop crime. Heroes are meant to be held up and pointed to, serving as proof that Supers can be an asset to humanity. Because of that, our duty has been almost entirely in the limelight, historically. All work in the shadows and background was delegated to others. That
is how it stood for decades. As a matter of fact, the Subtlety discipline wasn’t added to the HCP curriculum until the mid-eighties, when the failings of several services made it clear that we needed to keep some resources in house. But listen to me, droning on about the theoretical, when we have guests who can speak in practical terms.”
Dean Blaine turned to the doorway, causing the students’ eyes to follow, which was why everyone saw at once as Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport stepped through the door. They both gave a nod of greeting to Dean Blaine as they joined him in the center of the room, carefully flanking him so the students’ concentration was focused on one point.
“Some of you know us from being around here or looking over the Melbrook dormitory. For those who don’t, my name is Mr. Numbers, and my associate goes by Mr. Transport. We work for one of the companies that fulfill all sorts of government contracts. Pertinent to you are the ones we do to make a Hero’s work flow more smoothly. Think of yourselves as the military and us as private contractors. While we have the same boss, our methods and resources vary greatly.”
“Everyone in our company has a different job,” Mr. Transport said, taking over in a more cheerful tone than any Mr. Numbers could hope to produce. “But Mr. Numbers and I are part of a team that handles, among other things, emergency extractions. Once you become Heroes, you’ll get your assignments through a DVA representative. However, in the course of those assignments, you might find that someone has taken innocent civilians hostage. That’s where our team, or one like it, would enter the picture. Unlike you all, who are trained for combat and neutralizing dangerous Supers, we were recruited for our powers to serve one specific task. In the span of a minute, our team can pull out any civilian hostages and allow the Heroes to stop their targets unimpeded.”
“Hang on,” Amber interrupted. “If there are teams specifically built for getting civilians clear, then why are we working so hard on learning not to hurt them? Won’t the battlefield just be emptied of innocent people ahead of time?”
“Ms. Dixon, my tolerance for outbursts is already minimal. You’ll find it even less so when we have guests.” Despite the harsh words, Dean Blaine didn’t sound especially agitated. The rambunctious and curious nature of students was something he’d long ago made a degree of peace with.
“We’ll take questions at the end.” Mr. Numbers, too, seemed unbothered by the rudeness. “But since that one always gets asked anyway, I’ll tackle it now. The reason you have to learn to work around civilians is the same reason every purse-snatcher and litterer isn’t pursued by Heroes: there are only so many qualified people to go around. Joining our company doesn’t require as many criteria as becoming a Hero; however, we still have to prove our skill and our trustworthiness, something not everyone can do.”
“It’s also worth mentioning that, hard as we try, our teams can usually only work on the small scale,” Mr. Transport added. “Clearing out a bank of hostages is one thing; we can handle that. But entire city blocks are another matter. Look at the robot attacks last year in Brewster. Even if they’d had enough advanced warning to call us in, there was no way for us to clear out all those people. It fell upon the Heroes at the scene to try and keep them safe.”
Dean Blaine moved a step forward, retaking the room’s attention effortlessly. “Not every HCP introduces you to the existence of these resources during your education. Some feel it gives away too much, or lessens the responsibility students feel. However, I’ve found it’s better to give you understanding now, while there is still time to make mistakes and process the information correctly. Remember, these men and the companies they serve are resources for a Hero, no different than a communicator. They are not a safety net. They are not a place to pass the blame. As Heroes, the buck always stops with us. However, they are a specialized resource that will make your job easier in certain situations, and can help keep innocent people safe.”
Whispers went around the room, a fair bit of murmuring as the students wrapped their minds around what they were hearing that was quieter, and less abrupt, than Amber’s outburst. From the beginning, they’d always been told it was them against the criminals, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, holding the line. And it was true, to a point. At the end of the day, there was no backup plan to stop a powerful Super outside of using other Supers. If they failed, people would die; that truth remained untarnished. Yet now, as Dean Blaine peeled back the layers, they began to understand that they wouldn’t have to tackle these situations completely alone. He found this lesson to be telling not in the moment, but in the weeks that followed. It was important to see whose resolve would lessen when they thought there would be other people to count on and who would retain their sense of responsibility.
Slowly a hand rose, one belonging to Camille Belden. Mr. Transport pointed to her without bothering to check with Dean Blaine for approval first, a realization that hit him visibly as he glanced over in apology. Dean Blaine said nothing to stop him or Camille; better to move on to questions than let the muttering continue for much longer.
“I wanted to ask what else you do,” Camille said. “Knowing you can pull out hostages explains a lot, and would be really helpful in some fights, but Mr. Transport mentioned that there were different kinds of teams. Seems like we should know all the resources that will be available to us.”
“A lot of what we used to do is sorted into the domain of Subtlety Heroes,” Mr. Transport told her. “And some of it involves work directly for the government, with no Hero interaction. But aside from aiding with hostages, teams are usually called in for covert communication, working as translators, locating missing people, disposing of dangerous technology, and guarding high-value assets. You’ll get a full briefing once you become Heroes; those are just some of our more frequent requests.”
More hands went up, now that the gateway was opened, and Dean Blaine scanned carefully for who to pick next. Ultimately, their questions wouldn’t matter much; they’d get boilerplate answers or none at all if they dug too deep, but it would be revealing for him all the same.
There were only ten spots for graduation, and a class full of fierce competitors. At this point, he was taking into account every single variable he could for the looming decision.
111.
With every day that December’s trial grew closer, the amount students trained seemed to increase exponentially until free time was a functionally fictional concept. The lengths of class sessions hadn’t changed; this was effort they put in on their own well after the HCP had dismissed them each afternoon. Even if no one said anything, even if this was ostensibly just another test, they’d been around too long to need it spelled out for them. The end of a semester was always a high hurdle to clear; and even if this semester was the exception, it wasn’t as though there was any harm in improving themselves.
Yet, for as full as the gym and combat cells were in the weeks leading up to the event, on the day before it finally arrived there was nary a single white uniform to be seen outside of class. Determined as they were, every student who’d made it this far in the HCP understood the value in resting the day before a big activity. There was a huge difference between being prepared and exhausting one’s self; those who mistook the former for the latter had since been cut from the program. Even Chad was taking the night off, preparing for a video-chat date with Angela, assuming she didn’t get called away for work.
Vince planned to do something similar; he’d booked reservations at a nice restaurant for him and Camille later in the evening. It wasn’t the fanciest of places (being a waiter only paid so well, and with all the training, Vince had scaled back the number of shifts he took), but he was looking forward to the dinner tremendously. Truth be told, they could have cooked canned soup over an open fire and Vince would have looked forward to it. It was the company that made a meal, not the food.
Before he could enjoy a nice evening with his… well, Vince was almost certain they were a couple, but neither had actually brought it up or said it out loud.
Regardless, there was still a task that needed seeing to before he could take the night off. While training might be foolish with the test so close at hand, there were still some preparations Vince needed to take if he wanted to be truly ready for whatever lay in store. For the most part, he’d done all he could in the previous weeks, training with and building up various energies. There was just one task remaining, and he couldn’t accomplish this one on his own.
Knocking gently on the door to Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport’s apartment, Vince waited for it to open. Instead, Mr. Transport appeared next to him. It would have been startling if not for the years of practice living with the teleporter.
“Good afternoon, Vince,” Mr. Transport greeted. “I take it you’re ready to go?”
Vince pulled the plastic poncho he’d donned tighter around his shoulders. “I am if you are. Did you find any?”
“When you’ve got most of the world to work with, you can find anything you need.” Mr. Transport held up his phone, showing a digital display of the entire nation. “In this case, we won’t even need to leave U.S. borders. Not that I’d let us, anyway; there are more than a few countries who get testy about people teleporting into their territory. One time, I was hopping across Europe, and I ended up—”
“Mr. Transport, I really do want to hear your story, but is there any way you can tell me once we’re there?” Vince’s tone was polite; he knew all too well that he’d just interrupted a man he was asking a favor from. “Camille and I have a dinner reservation to make, so I’m on a timetable.”