Super Powereds: Year 1 (19 page)

She walked into the girls’ side of the dorm, then into her room where she deposited her bags. Perhaps it was loneliness after all, only it was affecting her for the first time because her nose was constantly being shoved in it. All around the other students were meeting people and forging friendships. Yet Alice, for all her social grace and tact, had spent yet another Friday night by herself. Well, it wasn’t as though she’d ever had to make friends before. She could always manage a conversation with surgical precision, but when it came to taking that leap, she found herself unable to plunge. She realized it was a somewhat ironic way to think of her dilemma, given that her own ability left her nothing to fear from gravity, though since that was only a recent development perhaps it make a sad sort of sense.

Alice began putting her new purchases into her closet. Maybe she would try reaching out to her dorm mates tonight. It was Saturday, after all; one had to assume they were planning something. They were idiots, and of course Mary was an enormous hazard, but they knew what it had been like to grow up as a Powered, and that should provide them with at least a bit of common ground.

Besides, if she spent too many more Friday nights alone she’d have to hire a contractor to widen her closet.

* * *

“They don’t seem to be bonding well,” Mr. Numbers noted as he and Mr. Transport dined on breakfast in their apartment.

“Is that problematic to our plan?” Mr. Transport inquired.

“Not problematic per se; however, it does lower our chances of success,” Mr. Numbers replied.

“Do tell,” Mr. Transport encouraged.

“We need to keep them on the straight and narrow. Peer pressure is a tool that could work for or against us in the long run, but it is not even on our thin list of options until they are moving and thinking as some semblance of a collective,” Mr. Numbers explained.

Mr. Transport took a bite of eggs and mulled over Mr. Numbers’ point. “So you’re proposing that it would be easier for us to manage them as a herd than as individuals.”

“Correct,” Mr. Numbers confirmed. “It does put all of our eggs in one basket; however, given that the loss of even one student to the side of villainy will result in our termination, it could be said that all the eggs are in that basket anyway.”

“I see what you mean,” Mr. Transport agreed. “Do you have a solution?”

“Not a solution, but a possibility. One of the greatest ways to bind people together is through necessity,” Mr. Numbers said.

“Ah, such as how you and I didn’t care for each other when we were first paired, yet trusting our lives to one another forged a powerful bond,” Mr. Transport commented.

“Precisely,” Mr. Numbers said.

“We can’t put their lives in constant danger without arousing suspicion, though,” Mr. Transport pointed out. “What do they value with similar or equal intensity?”

“Their grades,” Mr. Numbers replied succinctly.

With that, the conversational portion of breakfast was done.

* * *

Hershel’s eyes snapped open and he leapt out of bed. He couldn’t believe the memories Roy had bequeathed him from last night. Fighting the number one rank? And Mary... he was both floored and amazed by her. To handle Roy with such total control... it was unreal. She’d even exploited his weakness for betting. Fortunately, Hershel had no such weakness, nor did he have any desire to see his alter ego be singled out as the top rank. Roy was already unbearable lately; winning this fight would validate his arrogance and leave him unwilling to listen to another word from anyone. Hershel threw on some pants and a wrinkled shirt. He was getting off campus, walking to a coffee shop, and keeping Roy caged all day long.

“No, you’re not,” said a familiar voice as he stepped into the common room. Mary was waiting for him, sitting on a couch facing the boys’ side and sipping on a bottle of water.

“I most certainly am,” Hershel replied with more force than he meant to. “Do you have any idea what you did? Once Roy beats Chad there won’t even be the possibility of getting through to him. You should have just hung the weakness over his head if you wanted to stop him.”

Mary shook her head. “Roy would never have obeyed, no matter what it cost him. You and I both know that. The only real chance of controlling Roy is through his own pride. He made a bet on his own strength. He’ll honor it when he loses.”

“When he loses?” Hershel said, stepping toward Mary and sitting down on the couch. “Do you know who you’re talking about? I’ve barely seen any Super even damage Roy. The only person who ever beat him in combat was our dad, and he’s the one who taught Roy how to fight. He won’t lose, Mary. He never loses, on anything or to anyone.”

“That’s why I told him to fight Chad,” Mary explained. “Roy needs to be beaten. He needs a dose of humility, and you need to stop thinking of him as this unstoppable force. You’re just as strong as he is, and after today’s fight I hope you’ll be one step closer to believing that.”

Hershel paused. His initial fear and hesitation was waning as the girl he had been unable to stop thinking about was finally talking to him and looking at him. A part of him wanted to believe she was right and that Roy could lose. The only hurdle was the decade of experience that said otherwise. Still, as he looked into her strong amber eyes, his resolve weakened, and he did what men have been doing for women they admired for centuries.

He caved.

“You really think Chad might be able to beat him?” Hershel asked.

“I know he can,” Mary responded. “Unlike the rest of you, I’ve actually seen Chad fight.”

Hershel snorted. “You know Roy will remember this whole conversation when he comes out.”

“Will it change his mind?”

Hershel shook his head. “Roy could hear a direct message from God saying he’d lose and still show up ready to go.”

“Exactly,” Mary said. “So have breakfast and relax for a bit, then go change into Roy. Let this day run its course and have a little faith.”

“I’ll try,” Hershel said. “Why are you so sure Roy will lose, though?”

“For one thing, he already fought a number one ranked student last night, and you saw how well he did there,” Mary countered.

“You didn’t hurt him though,” Hershel pointed out.

“See if you still say that to me tonight,” Mary said.

31.

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport were interrupted from washing their breakfast dishes by the sound of the intercom from the kitchen sounding.

“Mary and Roy here. Roy would like to be taken down to the underground levels for some special training,” came Mary’s voice through the speakers. “Would Mr. Transport be on hand to assist us?”

Mr. Number and Mr. Transport looked at each and gave a nod. Mr. Transport went to the door and swung it open.

“Good morning, students,” Mr. Transport declared. “So, you wish to put in some training time on the weekend? Well, kudos for the determination.”

“Actually,” Roy said from just outside of the door frame, beyond where Mr. Numbers could see at his vantage point. “I’m the only one going down, and I’d appreciate it if you hung close by. I don’t think my business down there will take too long.”

“You can always take the lift back up if you like,” Mr. Transport tried to deflect.

“Please go with him,” said Mary. “I think it will prove to be necessary.”

“Very well,” Mr. Transport said with a sigh. “Let’s keep it brisk if at all possible, though. I do have things to do today.”

“No problem,” Mary assured him. “Roy will be done in no time at all, won’t you, Roy?”

“Damn straight,” Roy agreed.

“Well then, off we go,” said Mr. Transport. A moment later the door began to swing shut, as Mr. Transport’s body was no longer there to wedge it open. It stopped before locking, pushed opened by the small hand of Mary Smith, who poked her head into the room and locked eyes with Mr. Numbers.

“While they’re gone, what do you say to a game of chess?” Mary asked.

“Hardly seems like much of a game with a telepath,” Mr. Numbers replied gruffly.

“No powers, I promise,” Mary countered with a quick grin.

“...Fine,” Mr. Numbers conceded. The girl was clearly up to something, and if he wanted to know what it was, he needed more data.

* * *

“So, what exercise are you looking to practice?” Mr. Transport asked Roy as they arrived in the underground area.

“Combat,” Roy replied briskly, striding off toward the gym. Mr. Transport had never seen Roy so focused on anything. He was in his combat uniform, had left his silly little hat back above ground, and seemed to be dead set on whatever he was doing. It was more progress than Mr. Transport had dared hope to see from the narcissist in the entirety of the year, let alone in the span of a few days.

Mr. Transport set off at a brisk stride, not quite catching up to Roy but never losing sight of him, either. They emerged in the weight room, where several grey uniforms were getting some exercise and a pair of black uniforms stood at the back near the free weights. It seemed the two other freshmen were stretching near the weights rather than lifting them. Mr. Transport was about to conclude they must be too intimidated by the older students to work out around them when he suddenly realized who those two students were.

“Chad!” Roy bellowed from across the room, drawing the attention of everyone there, included the intended party, Chad Taylor, who was stretching in the rear of the room. “I’ve come to challenge you for your rank of number one,” Roy declared, cocky smirk twitching at the edges of his mouth.

Chad seemed oddly nonplussed, giving Roy a shrug then turning to the other freshman. “Shane,” Chad said to his friend, “would you be so kind as to get a referee and a healer so that we may count this as a sanctioned match?”

The other freshman, Shane one could easily conclude, gave a nod of his head and set off toward the offices. Chad finished his stretches and walked calmly over to Roy.

“You’re in the top five, so I won’t be taking it as easy on you,” Chad said simply.

“Taking it easy? You’re better off worrying how you’ll find the strength to last five minutes against the powerhouse you’re facing,” Roy shot back.

“So be it,” Chad replied. “Let’s select a room.”

* * *

“First move goes to the lady,” Mr. Numbers said as he gazed at the chessboard.

“Let me guess: from my opening move you can deduce my strategy, my personality type, and my favorite food?” Mary asked.

“I thought you promised no powers.”

“I didn’t need my powers to know that about you,” Mary answered, moving a pawn forward. Before her finger had even left the piece Mr. Numbers had run the simulations and knew how he would win this game.

Mr. Numbers made his move, then Mary, and so on for several turns. Eventually Mr. Numbers made a striking observation.

“You have no idea how to play chess, do you?” Mr. Numbers asked.

“I don’t know much about strategy,” Mary admitted. “I do know how the pieces move, though.”

“Are you sure? Because your moves say otherwise. The only ones you’re using to their full potential are the pawns and the king,” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

“Sometimes a piece must make some bad moves in order to make good ones,” Mary said.

“I presume you have an explanation to go with that statement. By all means proceed.”

“All right,” Mary said, picking up a piece. “Take this rook for example. It’s quite the powerhouse when you think about it: unstoppable, yet limited in its movements. All it can do is charge blindly forward or to the side.”

“Correct,” Mr. Numbers said.

“But what if this rook were defective somehow? What if it could only move forward, if it didn’t have the ability to go side to side? That weakness would limit its movements tremendously, leaving the rest of my army vulnerable and exposed.”

“That is true, but only in a purely academic sense. A rook is used by the player wielding it, so it cannot be defective. Your rook can move side to side, and is not broken, so start using it correctly,” Mr. Numbers retorted.

“Let’s say that it was,” Mary continued. “Just for the sake of argument. Now, as the person controlling this army, should my first priority be charging blindly forward despite my weakness, or would it be fixing my rook?”

Mr. Numbers said nothing for a moment, then moved his knight and took another of Mary’s pawns.

“You know an oddly large amount about human psychology for a girl who has lived in the woods,” Mr. Numbers observed.

“Maybe,” Mary acquiesced. “But have you ever wondered what I did out there in the silence?”

“Ate gophers?”

“Actually yes, but that’s not what I meant,” Mary said. “I spent those years growing up, and sorting through all the thoughts and things I’d been exposed to. I read psychology books and watched television, all to put the various and often horrible things I had grown up hearing leak from people’s minds into perspective. Think of it as intensive training in dealing with humanity.”

“An interesting pastime,” Mr. Numbers said. “Also, checkmate.”

“Good game,” Mary said with a smile. “We should play again next weekend. Maybe I’ll learn a little about strategy from battling you.”

“I don’t think you’ll improve that much playing only one game a week,” Mr. Numbers told her.

“Probably not, but at least by next week my rook should be in working order.”

* * *

“This is a match for ranking,” said the crackling pre-recorded voice of Dean Blaine through the speaker box. “As such, the only ways to win are to incapacitate your opponent or force him to give up. Should serious injury occur, the match will be stopped while the injury is reviewed and it is determined if the student can continue. Everyone do your best!”

The last line felt a touch out of place as Roy and Chad stared at each other from across their combat cell. The referee was watching from his post through the thickened window, along with Mr. Transport, a girl in grey who was presumably a healer, and Shane. For Roy, though, none of those people mattered. The only one of consequence was looking unconcerned and removing the jacket from his uniform, revealing a tank top scarcely hiding the chiseled physique underneath it. Chad let his arms dangle at his sides, then gave the referee the nod that he was ready. Roy followed suit, and a husky male voice bellowed through the speaker.