Super Powereds: Year 1 (28 page)

"I'm not," Vince replied. "I work as hard as anyone out there. I run, I lift, I train, I do everything you ask to get stronger and prepare myself for combat."

"You do," Coach George agreed. "That's why I'm taking the time out of my day to have this conversation rather than just drumming you out of the program immediately."

Vince's eyes widened slightly. He'd been expecting a lot of things, but expulsion from the program had seemed too extreme for just one fight.

"I have... issues with my power sometimes," Vince said carefully.

Coach George looked at him for a moment, then spoke again in a lower tone. "Look, kid; let’s just put our cards on the table here. I know about you and the rest of your petri dish dorm. Of course they were going to tell the people who were supposed to help teach you." The last part was proactive, accurately anticipating the question Vince had been about to interrupt him with. "So you say you've got issues with your power? Well, I've got issues with people who can't use the very thing that qualifies them for this course in the first place. This is your only chance; if I were you, I'd try really hard to convince me there's some reason you should stay."

George had expected another snappy comeback, but to his surprise the kid lowered his head a bit and seemed to genuinely think. Most men his age would have assumed that it was a bluff and made up some crap to throw back as an answer, but the kid with the goofy silver hair was being rational about it. George readied himself to actually listen to what Vince would say, a courtesy he wouldn't have normally extended.

"If the procedure isn't permanent, and Alice loses control, what happens?" Vince asked at last.

"She starts free-floating around the place again," Coach George replied.

"And Mary?"

"She won't be able to block out the voices."

"What about Nick and Hershel?" Vince asked again.

"Nick, god only knows what, and Hershel would start shifting uncontrollably to Roy again," Coach George answered. "I assume you’re building toward a point here?"

"I am," Vince answered. "And this is it: If the procedure isn't permanent, if I lose control again like I did before, what happens?"

"You have an entire faculty of capable Supers to keep you in check," Coach George told him.

"A faculty that can only react," Vince pointed out. "You can't anticipate. That means for you to contain me, something has to have already happened. If it happens when I'm down here, then it’s probably no big deal. But I have normal classes too, and I eat lunch in the dining halls, and that’s time I spend with regular humans. Humans who wouldn't be able to survive a sudden wildfire or a lightning bolt to the chest."

"So you're scared of hurting other people?" Coach George asked.

"Yes. I'm terrified of it," Vince said. "I want to be a Hero to help people, to use my abilities the way my dad always told me I should. I want it more than I've wanted anything in my life, aside from control of my powers. I will work hard, and I will do what you say, but I won't absorb more energy than I have to until I'm positive that I won't lose that control. If you have to kick me out then you have to kick me out. I'm not endangering innocent people for the sake of my own ambition, though."

George stared down the skinny boy sitting across from him. All the training had stacked a little muscle on his shoulders, but he still gave off a lean, almost shrimpy impression. Physically this kid was nothing worth taking a second look at. His eyes, though, that was a whole other story. George had seen a lot of tough talk in his years of dealing with kids who grew up stronger than everyone else. What he hadn't seen near enough of was eyes filled with determination and integrity, eyes like the blue set that were meeting his gaze from across the table.

"I'll give you one year," Coach George said eventually. "You can keep up this tentative crap until the end of your freshman year. As long as you keep up the work in gym and the start of combat training I think you can keep pace with the slower half of the class."

"Really?" Vince asked dumbly, unable to disguise the shock in his voice.

"Yeah, really," Coach George confirmed. "Be warned, though, this is all you get. At the end of this year you either make peace with the necessity of using your power or don't bother coming back. Starting second year that attitude won't just put you at risk, but people who'll be depending on you as well."

"I understand," Vince nodded.

"Good. Now get out of here; you've still got a few minutes before gym," Coach George said, gesturing to the door.

"I will. Um, thanks," Vince said lamely.

"Thank me by working hard," Coach George told him, and Vince exited his office with a quick nod of agreement. George, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair and savored the few moments of solitude he had left before he'd have to ride and demean the remainder of the freshman class. He reflected back on his talk with Vince, going through the boy's logic and motivation in his head once more.

"I'll say this for him," Coach George mumbled out loud. "That kid has the same brass balls as his dad."

47.

“How are the presentations going?” Mr. Numbers asked as he entered Dean Blaine’s office.

“Fine, save for one student having a very bad reaction to the name Globe,” Dean Blaine replied. “Where’s your other half? I asked to see both of you.”

“He’s in Moscow tending to some company business,” Mr. Numbers lied. Mr. Transport was actually in Kenya, but Dean Blaine didn’t need to know that.

“I suppose the job must come first,” Dean Blaine acknowledged. “Still, I assume you’ll provide him with a full record of our conversation?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I really wanted you down here to touch base on your charges and see how they’re adapting outside of my class,” Dean Blaine said.

“They’re doing better,” Mr. Numbers replied. “Mary and Alice seem to be pursuing a friendship with one another, albeit at a halting pace. The others are growing more interconnected as well, and even Roy has been on better behavior. Of course, the project helped them with branching out their social circle quite a bit. Thank you again for that.”

“It was a small concession to assist my students,” Dean Blaine said, waving it off. “It was a good idea, too. I might actually continue using it in years to come. It gave a lot of the remaining students an excuse to get to know one another.”

“On that note, how many do we have left?”

“We’re down to approximately forty students. I suspect by the time George finishes the number will be closer to thirty-five. Usually those who can survive the first semester make it to the end of freshman year,” Dean Blaine said.

“Fifty percent left? That’s a pretty high rate for a freshman class. Is George going easy on them?” Mr. Numbers asked.

“Quite the contrary: he seems to get harsher as the years go by, and Persephone hardly tempers him at all anymore,” Dean Blaine commented.

“That’s good, though,” Mr. Numbers said. “Anyone who can’t even make it through this will have a breakdown two weeks into being a Hero.”

“Agreed,” Dean Blaine said. “It’s a very difficult job. I was quite thrilled to leave the combat field once this administration position became available.”

“I’m surprised they don’t try to bring you back. Your power is so unique, it made the difference in a lot of fights,” Mr. Numbers said.

“Well, thank you, but now I’m sure there’s another Hero with a unique power to make that difference. Times change, and we must change with them. Those of us not blessed with enhanced physical attributes are lucky if we can make it to thirty as a Hero. There were some good times, but this is where I do my good now. To that effect, is there any other assistance you require from my end to help bond the students?”

“I think the project accomplished what we needed,” Mr. Numbers told him. “Besides, Mary is doing an excellent job bringing them together on her own, and Mr. Transport and I have a few activities planned to strengthen their unity.”

“I do hope one of those activities will get Mr. Reynolds to begin using his powers,” Dean Blaine commented.

“Ah yes, Vince. We’re unsure what to do about him. He’s clearly afraid of his own abilities, or afraid the treatment will prove to be temporary,” Mr. Numbers said.

“That would match well with the report I received from George,” Dean Blaine agreed.

“Normally, we would have him work through those fears, but in this case they’re actually very realistic things to be scared of. This will be something he either finds a way through, or he doesn’t,” Mr. Numbers said.

“It would be a shame to lose a Super with such potential, but that is the way things go,” Dean Blaine said. “At any rate, I thank you for your time, and tell Mr. Transport next time I schedule a meeting I expect him to make time for it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Mr. Numbers said respectfully. “Oh, one quick question. You said one of the students had a bad reaction to the name Globe. Which student?”

“Chad Taylor, the number one male rank.”

“Very odd,” Mr. Numbers agreed. “I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t one of our charges. I’ll leave you to your work. Have a good day, Dean Blaine.”

“And you, Mr. Numbers,” Dean Blaine echoed.

Mr. Numbers stepped out of the office and made his way through the underground area toward the lifts. Finally away from the dean, his mind was kicking back into its regular gear. Just as well, too; Mr. Numbers now had some additional research on his plate.

First and foremost, though, Mr. Numbers needed to get their plans for winter break squared away. He and Mr. Transport had hatched a lovely scheme to bond their students together, but it was taking far more prep work than originally expected. If it worked, though, then it would be well worth the effort. Unfortunately, that effort was eating what little free time he possessed. He hadn’t even had time to pop by town and pick up more puzzles. It was frustrating to be a man as brilliant as Mr. Numbers with nothing to take his mind off of that brilliance.

48.

“Because there are certain things about my life you just don’t need to know,” said the exasperated voice from the other end of the cell phone.

“But Daddy, don’t you think the fact that you were part of a really famous team of Heroes might have been something your daughter would have wanted to know about?” Alice shot back. After weeks of trying she had finally managed to track down her father and get him on the phone, though the results weren’t panning out exactly as lucratively as she’d expected.

“Given what we were famous for, no; I felt it was something better left in the past,” Charles told her. “And given that many of the records about the incident were sealed and we agreed to keep it confidential, that only added to my motivation. Now, I’m in the middle of a very important meeting here, so was there anything else you needed?”

“No, Daddy. That was it,” Alice said stiffly.

“Good then. Study hard, finals are right around the corner.”

“I will, Daddy.”

“Of course. I love you, Alice, I’ll call you soon,” Charles said.

“Love you, too,” Alice all but mumbled. There was the click of disconnection and Alice was just sitting in her room holding a cell phone. She wasn’t sure why she felt any surprise: it had always been like this. He was a kind father, and he was good to her when he was around, but he always so sectioned off, so sealed away. Alice often wondered what it was like to have warmth in a person’s life. Not just tolerance or caring, but genuine joy at someone’s company. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected she was getting closer to it here than she ever had at home, and as bad her phone call had been, that thought cheered her slightly. Well, that and the fact that she was still riding high on getting the best grade in the class so far for their presentations. Nick had seemed oddly unexcited by it, but it felt good knowing she had set the bar for the others to follow. There were still more presentations Thursday, but she was confident that they would not be easily dethroned.

A soft knock rapped at the door.

“Come in, Mary,” Alice called. The boys couldn’t get into the girls’ lounge area unless they were let in, so the only person who could be knocking on her door was her fellow Melbrook female.

The door was pushed open and Mary entered. “Hey, the guys are going to the dining hall in, like, ten minutes. I thought I’d see if you wanted to come,” Mary offered.

Alice did her best to keep a sneer of disgust from rippling across her face. Her little understanding of dormitory food held it in the esteem of old vomit and fresh excrement. Still, it was nearing the end of the first semester, and she’d still yet to set foot in one of these establishments. Not to mention it was where the rest of her... maybe not yet friends, but associates, gathered to dine, so if she was serious about trying to get closer to people, this was one of her best opportunities.

“I think I would like that very much,” Alice lied.

Mary chuckled. “You know, it really isn’t that bad.”

“We shall see,” Alice said skeptically, rising from her bed and sliding on her shoes.

In truth, the food wasn’t that bad. And what was lacking in culinary refinement was made up for with the experience of sitting around with people Alice was growing ever more comfortable with, complaining and laughing about their classes and day-to-day lives. It would have been an overall positive experience except for the fact that a girl who has been raised with dieticians and organic diets most of her life has a very poor tolerance for things deep fried in grease.

Alice would never admit it, but as she spent the next few hours unwillingly regurgitating her last meal (along with a few others), she still felt like it had been an overall good idea to eat with the others. She also made a mental note that from here on out she would be bringing her own damn food.

* * *

“Thanks you for that wonderful presentation on Lord Pholos, Mr. Riley and Ms. Dixon,” Dean Blaine said as the two students bowed to polite applause from the class. Eventually they collected their materials and went to their seats, so Dean Blaine retook his customary spot at the front of the classroom.