by Hayes, Drew
The kindness made it harder. If he’d been annoyed, or angry, she could have dug in and come back at him with the same energy. Dean Blaine being so nice… it was somewhat disarming, hard to find the angle of approach. It struck Mary that that might be the exact reason he’d chosen such a response, but it wasn’t as though she could call him out for being overly understanding.
“I know how the process works,” Mary said. “I’ve heard the thoughts of enough people who went through it, and you’re right, it really isn’t so terrible. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s not happening to me. You see, that’s why I called this meeting early. Because we have another one in a couple of weeks, only you won’t be there for it. It will just be me, Alice, Nick… and Galina.”
The room’s silence was oppressive; Dean Blaine grew so still she wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Slowly, his motions causing the chair to rustle, he leaned forward and locked eyes with Mary. “To be clear, Miss Smith, are you threatening to withhold aid on our investigation of Shelby Adair if we don’t allow you to retain your memories?”
“What… no. Of course not,” Mary replied, becoming a touch flustered. This was all so much harder when she couldn’t see what people were thinking. “Why would I make that bluff? There’s no way I’d do that to Alice, and you all know it.”
“Thank goodness. For a moment, I feared you were trying to lie your way through a game of hardball.” Dean Blaine’s entire body relaxed as he leaned back. “Very well, then. Please continue.”
That was one potential pitfall avoided, thankfully. Now she just had to sell the dean and the professor on her proposal—an idea that was probably far easier said than done.
“I want to keep my memories, Dean Blaine, for several reasons. First off, it seems dangerous to wipe out any information at this point in the game, especially when we don’t know who the mole in Lander is.” If anyone was surprised that she was aware of the hunt for a traitor—and really, why would they be? —it didn’t show on their faces. “Right now, there’s no telling who might hold the key to figuring that out, and given how much action I’ve been at the center of, I’ve got as much chance of knowing the right detail as anyone else. Aside from that, though, there’s also the risk involved.”
“Risk?” Dean Blaine asked.
“Globe kidnapped me once. Even if we don’t know why he did it, the fact remains that he did. Granted, he hasn’t made any moves against me or the others since, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be approached once my official HCP ties are cut.”
“I see.” Dean Blaine exchanged a glance with Professor Stone, who said nothing, though she did grant him a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “If Globe did approach you—and that is a big ‘if,’ since he hasn’t approached anyone else who dropped out—”
“He didn’t kidnap them, either,” Mary reminded him.
“True, but the fact still remains that what you’re describing illustrates the need to wipe memories even more. If you turned against us, with all the secrets you’ve overheard and the myriad of things you know to be dwelling in the minds of students, you could be the greatest potential leak in HCP history.” Dean Blaine didn’t look particularly worried about the idea; it seemed more like he was tossing it out for the sake of form. No one there really thought she would turn on her friends; Mary didn’t need telepathy to know they weren’t that stupid.
“Mary, what you have been offering me are excuses, and somewhat poorly reasoned ones at that.” Dean Blaine paused, staring at her for several long seconds before continuing. “Let’s stop this charade. You know we’ve bent the rules with Nick Campbell, and given your participation in our… let’s call them extracurricular events, you have earned enough trust that I didn’t immediately reject the idea of you keeping your memories. In truth, it would make things simpler moving forward, especially in regards to the Galina project. However, if you want this notion to be earnestly considered, then you need to tell me the real reason you want to hang on to your memories. If you can’t do that, this discussion is over.”
Not the most encouraging sentence she’d ever heard, but at least the idea wasn’t sunk yet—though if she kept attacking from the angles of logic and excuses, it probably would be. While she’d hoped to build a real case for why she should keep her memories, Dean Blaine was right. These were all just second-thought excuses. Mary steeled her nerves and prepared to use the all-or-nothing technique for these sorts of encounters: telling the truth.
“No one knows—I mean, really knows—what it’s like to walk a mile in another person’s shoes. But thanks to my telepathy, I can come pretty close. I told you I was going to leave the HCP, and that’s true. I’m not leaving Lander, though. My plan is to finish out my degree and then apply to graduate school. Maybe even get a doctorate. What I want to undertake requires education, experience, and, above all else, insight. I want to do what Dr. Moran does. I want to be a psychiatrist who specializes in treating Heroes. I want…” Mary trailed off, her words all bunching up on her tongue, becoming too clustered to come out coherently. She paused and organized her thoughts before continuing.
“I know being a Hero takes a toll. I may never understand it without doing the job, but I’ve tasted it. I’ve peeked into the minds of those who wear the masks, and I’ve seen how drained they can become. My goal is to become someone who can help them, who can make their lives a little more bearable. It’s what I did in Melbrook, and I like to think I’m already pretty good at it. After a real education, I might be excellent. But part of that job requires understanding what it is these people go through. That’s why I want to keep my memories, all of them, from Lander. Because everything I’ve been through and heard in others’ thoughts—the fear, the determination, the anger, the loss, all of it—is part of the Hero process. I don’t want to lose even a single stray thought. I want to carry all of this with me, use it, build on it, and become someone who can make the world a better place. Not by being a Hero, but by helping to keep Heroes stable, sound, and in the field for as long as possible.”
No one said anything for a long moment. Then Mr. Numbers turned to Professor Stone. “Did she rehearse that with you? Because she didn’t with me.”
“Nope. I think it came off the top of her head,” Professor Stone said.
“Thank you, Mary. That was an insightful look into why you wish to keep your memories,” Dean Blaine said. “I’ll consider your request over Winter Break. However, since you told us about your intent to leave here rather than at Lander, you have yet to formally withdraw from the HCP, and therefore we have no grounds to wipe your mind yet. We can talk about it once you return. Now, if no one has any other pressing business, I need to call Mr. Transport. Some of us are just starting our day.”
Mary said nothing as he rose from his chair and punched in the teleporter’s phone number. She’d done her best; now it was out of her hands. If nothing else, she still had her full memories for the next few weeks.
It was what came after that she had to worry about.
145.
The eyes of a seasoned casino worker were hard to read. The most veteran employees were experts in the art of appearing friendly yet professional, worldly yet relatable, keen-eyed yet not unblinking. They created an artifice of someone who had seen and lived it all, but wanted to talk to a tourist about their cats while they lost another hand of blackjack. Still, as someone who had grown up in this industry, Nick had the training to look past such false smiles and hollow words. And he knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the casino.
Sadness throbbed under the surface, an unseen river carting away the happiness of nearly every employee he glanced at. Some hid it better than others, but the overall pall was unmistakable. Unless Nevada was about to outlaw gambling, there were very few things that could impact so many of their people at once. Suspicious already, the moment Nick rounded a corner that led to the elevators he finally understood how serious the situation was.
Ms. Pips w
as standing there, flanked by employees as she fired off directives at a ceaseless pace, waiting for him. As soon as her eyes fell upon Nick, she said something to the people around her. Nick was too far off to hear it, but they scattered like roaches caught in the light the moment her lips stopped moving. All he could do was keep walking, ignoring the loud beeps and clattering of coins that filled his ears, noises that had once conjured a sense of familiar homecoming. There was no room in his heart for such pleasantries, though. Not with the terror of what was to come choking out every other emotion.
“Ms. Pips,” Nick said as he arrived at the elevators.
“Nicholas.” She reached over, pressed a button, and seconds later a nearby set of doors slid open. Together, they stepped inside, and she waved a small card in front of the scanner before hitting a button for the upper floors. They stood near each other in silence as the doors slowly came back together and sealed themselves shut.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or is this something I’m supposed to puzzle out for myself?” Nick barely recognized his own voice; it was so tense it sounded strange in his ears.
“No. No tests, no hoops to jump through, none of that. It wouldn’t be proper. Not for this. But it sounds like you don’t need me to spell it out. I think you already know what’s happening.” Ms. Pips sounded different too, Nick realized: less detached than normal, and perhaps with the smallest hint of weariness in her voice. She must have been running herself ragged if exhaustion was managing to break through her usual stoicism.
Nick took a deep breath to brace himself. It would be okay. Information wasn’t something to be feared; it was an asset, always and forever. No matter how bad things might be, once he knew the score, he could start fixing them. “Tell me anyway. Like you know you should have told me before.”
“Hold on there; let’s get one thing straight at the outset. I wanted to tell you from the start. Gerry was the one who insisted on keeping you in the dark. He even managed to get a promise out of me. I know you’re going to want to lash out, but find a better target.” It was Ms. Pips’ turn to take a long breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. Nick hadn’t heard her use this tone since he was a child, and even then it had been a rare occasion.
“Nicholas, Gerry is sick. Cancer. Had it for a while now. We’ve been getting him the best treatment we can, but even most Supers with healing powers can only repair the damage, not cure the disease. In the last year, it’s been getting worse. You must have noticed how he was dropping weight the last few times you were here. A few months ago, Gerry came into my office and told me he was done with the treatments. Nothing was taking, and even the healing sessions weren’t making as much of a difference… he’ll tell you about it, I’m sure. The point is, he’s doing poorly.”
Though his right hand was clenched in a fist so tight his fingers were turning white, Nick kept his voice even. “Why am I just now hearing about this? Why wasn’t I told the minute he took a turn? Why has Eliza been moping around my apartment for months, obviously coping with this news, and I was kept in the dark?”
“Because Gerry knew you’d come running here to be with him, and he didn’t want that.” Ms. Pips lifted her arm slowly, reaching over, and for a second Nick genuinely had no idea what she was about to do. Then her hand fell lightly on his shoulder. He realized she was trying to comfort him, despite clearly being unfamiliar with the tactic. “I know this is a strange concept for people in our world, but Gerry has always wanted what’s best for you, Nicholas. Even when that meant we disagreed on what path to put you on, I’ve never for a moment doubted that man’s dedication to you. So when he saw you building a life for yourself out in California, away from us and the future you’d have here, the last thing he wanted was to yank you away from it. You’re obviously pissed off and distraught, not that I blame you for either, but I want you to keep in mind that he asked us to keep quiet because he thought it was best for you.”
A loud ding filled the air, and the door opened to reveal a carpeted hallway. Nick and Ms. Pips stepped out, letting the elevator begin its downward trek behind them. “Where is he?” Nick asked.
“In his room.” Ms. Pips pointed down the hall, even though they were both fully aware that Nick knew where Gerry lived. “He wanted to be at home, to be comfortable, so we had equipment brought in. I’ve had to threaten the other employees within an inch of their lives to keep them away from him; he keeps trying to pitch in and work despite… well, everything. He’s expecting you, though. Told him you were coming home for Winter Break. I think he held on… never mind. Just go see him.”
Nick started down the hallway without as much as a word of goodbye. There was no space for propriety in his mind, a brain that was already whirring with plans and schemes that grew more complex with every step he took along the dark carpet. Maybe Gerry and Ms. Pips were resigned to this fate, maybe they felt they’d exercised every option and come up empty, but Nick was not yet willing to lie down and accept the death of his mentor as inevitable. No, he’d seen too much in his time at Lander, gained too great an appreciation for how deep the well of power among Supers truly ran. Nothing was impossible. Somewhere, there was someone who had exactly what they needed.
And as soon as Nick made Gerry understand that, they could start the process of saving his life.
146.
The last time Vince had seen Michael Clark, it was when he was sprawled out on the ground after being summarily and unquestionably defeated by Vince. According to the gossip that went around Lander, Britney had reported Michael’s actions during the team event to Dean Blaine, who had removed Michael from the program as a result. In those early days, it had felt like people left the program regularly, so it hadn’t caused too much of a stir. If anything, all Vince had felt was relief that the then-bald ice-based Super would no longer be around to make trouble for him and his friends.
The storied history made it all the more shocking to be sitting in a sizable kitchen, being served hot chocolate by the man who’d ambushed him more than once and beaten Alex halfway to brain damage. Even weirder was the fact that Michael seemed unbothered by the reunion. He was smiling cheerfully as he made a mug of coffee for himself and took a seat next to Vince at the counter. Mr. Transport had excused himself after getting a phone call, presumably to pick up Dean Blaine, so for the moment it was just the two of them. In all the crazy things Vince had seen and experienced since Michael left, the two of them being in a room without punches getting thrown felt like it might eclipse them all.
“You knew me before, I assume?”
Vince nodded slowly, not entirely sure he trusted his tongue to avoid letting any key bits of information that might cause trouble slip.
“That’s about the reaction I would expect,” Michael said. “From what they told me, I made quite a bit of trouble. I’ve always had a temper, and being Super in a town without many others meant no one ever really called me on it. I was the special one, and so I could… sorry, it doesn’t matter. I’m working on taking responsibility for my actions, which means the circumstances of how I grew up are irrelevant. Whatever I did to you or your friends was my own fault, and I apologize for it. I know that rings hollow since I can’t actually remember any of it to regret, but it’s the most I can offer considering the circumstances.”
Sipping his drink carefully, Vince stared at the man who’d once been the terror of their class. He looked different, and not just because of the hair or two years of aging. Michael had always seemed weighed down, as though—even at his craziest—he was still aware of the need to impress and succeed. This version didn’t carry that burden. And why would he? Aside from a few staff members Vince had seen as they made their way to the kitchen, it didn’t appear as though there was anyone here to impress in the first place.
“So… you don’t remember any of it?” Vince asked, finally setting his mug down.
“Not a bit. Well, a little from my normal classes here and there—I don’t think they
’re legally allowed to wipe that stuff out—but for the most part my time at Lander is all one foggy blur.” Michael pressed his right index finger to his temple. “All of it was wiped. My first clear memory is being in Dean Blaine’s office, getting handed an ultimatum. Come to Lander East and try to work through my shit, or be formally charged with assault for some of the stunts I apparently pulled. Should be an easy call, right? Yet the guy still had to sell me on it. Looking back, I really can’t believe what a shortsighted dick I was.”
It was hard to argue with the assessment, yet all the same Vince felt part of his mind try to pipe up and reassure Michael that he hadn’t been all that bad. That would have been a lie, though. The old Michael was pretty damn bad. This one… well, he didn’t act nearly as unhinged, but neither had the old Michael, at first. Vince was reserving judgment until there was more than a conversation over cocoa to judge from.
“You had some moments,” Vince told him. It seemed the best way to agree without being needlessly cruel. “But you seem to be a lot more balanced than you were back at Lander. What have you been doing up here, anyway?”
Michael shrugged. “Nothing too incredible. Training, for a good part of it. It helps keep me centered. Of course, I’m also doing regular therapy, meditation, yoga, and all that other mind-clearing stuff they make you learn when you’ve got an aggressive nature paired with a history of violence. Drying out may have been the biggest help, though. I’m not sure if Dean Blaine told anyone, but I had a drinking problem back then. I mean, I still technically have a drinking problem; I just don’t drink up here. Nothing like being on a mountain with no booze for miles to help a guy stay sober.”