Super Powereds: Year 1 (2 page)

“If that’s the case then we will be on our way,” said Mr. Numbers. “I don’t want to keep you from your... activities. We will need to speak with Roy at a later date.”

“Wait,” Hershel said, jumping to his feet. “I know what you’re here about, and I really want to get in. I’m tired of living like this. Never knowing when it will happen, never knowing where I’ll wake up. Please, if you can really help me control it... Please don’t leave.”

“It’s okay, Hershel,” Mr. Transport said as he patted the large boy on his shoulder. “We aren’t giving up on you just because of a reschedule. You’re a serious candidate for our program. I promise we’ll be back once we can talk to Roy as well.”

Hershel nodded his understanding, and then turned away quickly so the two men wouldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He didn’t know what his chances were at the moment, but he was smart enough to guess that crying in front of the agents wouldn’t help things.

Mr. Numbers tapped impatiently on Mr. Transport’s shoulder and gestured to his watch. Mr. Transport nodded, and then turned his head to Ms. Daniels.

“Thank you for the tea,” said Mr. Transport just before they vanished.

* * *

The duo appeared in a sprawling garden, under a gazebo and next to a pair of wicker chairs. There was a small serving cart on the far side of a stone table. Sitting next to the cart and sipping on a cocktail was a man. He wore a white open-throated shirt and a pair of khakis. This man was getting on in years but wearing them unbelievably well. It’s not that the signs of age weren’t present, but rather that they served to draw out and enhance his fine features rather than muddle them.

“I’m glad you could make it,” greeted the man in a voice that made clear, without apology, that he had never considered their presence optional.

“Our pleasure, Mr. Adair,” Mr. Numbers said hurriedly. For the first time all day, for the first time in years really, the pair was showing signs of nervousness. They had been told of their required presence for this meeting, but not about the subject matter that it concerned. That left both of them feeling something they were not accustomed to: vulnerable.

“Sit, sit,” said Mr. Adair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’d like a gin and tonic, if it’s no trouble, sir,” said Mr. Transport. This was their final meeting of the day, so Mr. Transport didn’t see the harm in indulging just a bit.

“Just water for me, thanks,” said Mr. Numbers. Mr. Numbers was already writing out the riot act he was going to read Mr. Transport for asking for alcohol while on the job, but facially he was working hard to keep everything upbeat and positive.

Mr. Adair pulled two glasses from the cart at his side, then a carafe from which he poured water into both. He handed the glass as it was to Mr. Numbers, but dipped his finger into Mr. Transport’s. Immediately the liquid bubbled and fizzed, stabilizing seconds later when Mr. Adair handed the glass to Mr. Transport.

Both drinks were delicious. Mr. Transport wished his had been made in the traditional way so he could have asked for a recipe.

“I know you boys are busy, so I won’t mince words,” said Mr. Adair. “You’re here because you two are the admissions committee for the new program that is launching.”

“Well, it isn’t quite that simple,” said Mr. Numbers. “There are evaluations and approvals and whatnot.”

“Humility is wasted on the powerful, Mr. Numbers,” said Mr. Adair. “You are two of the most trusted agents in your company, and with good reason. You both had abilities that could have made you well-known Heroes; instead, you chose to do the same work without the prestige. You are loyal, reliable, and dependable. Whomever you recommend for this program will be who gets in. You know it, I know it, and everyone who matters knows it.” Mr. Adair punctuated his words by pouring himself a glass of water and swirling his finger about until the liquid turned a deep golden hue.

Mr. Numbers didn’t have a reply for this one. He could already see any attempts to defer responsibility on that account were a lost cause.

“So, with that said, I asked you here to meet me because there will be one addition to the program that you will both endorse fully,” said Mr. Adair, pausing to take a sip of his cocktail.

“And who would that be, sir?” Mr. Numbers asked.

“My daughter, Alice,” said Mr. Adair. “She is a Powered, a person born with super human abilities, but unlike a Super she lacks the capacity to freely control them. Though I’m sure your thorough friend here has already found that out.” Mr. Adair gestured to Mr. Transport.

“My research had said that she was in the non-lethal category,” said Mr. Transport. “She flies, correct?”

“You are correct, Mr. Transport,” said Mr. Adair. “My daughter’s power is tethered to her emotions, so when she gets happy she winds up bouncing off the ceiling. If we’re lucky enough to have a ceiling over her at the time.”

“Forgive me for saying this,” said Mr. Numbers. “But the program’s initial testing cases are supposed to be Powereds with desirable abilities that are currently a danger to themselves and others.”

“I know,” said Mr. Adair. “That’s why I called you here to tell you that you would recommend her instead of going through the channels to submit her as a viable specimen.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Adair, that would compromise both our duties to the program and the company,” said Mr. Transport.

Mr. Adair said nothing in response at first. He leaned back in his own wicker chair and stirred his drink with his finger. As he stirred the colors changed, going through a rainbow of shades and depths. Finally it settled on a light pink and Mr. Adair took a sip.

“Mr. Transport,” Mr. Adair began. “You know what my code name is, correct?”

“The Alchemist,” Mr. Transport answered readily.

“Right, and you know why I am called that, yes?”

“Because you have the ability to manipulate and change the properties of matter,” said Mr. Transport.

“Correct again,” Mr. Adair said. “So maybe what you are missing is my role in this world. You see, while other Supers defend their homes or countries, I defend our economy. I turn radioactive sludge into oil, rocks into gold, worthlessness into pricelessness. Most Supers seek to garner favor from politicians and leaders. Leaders and politicians work to garner favor from me. I am one of the primary shareholders of the company you both work for, as well as several other powerful corporations. I am not going to threaten either of you, because we all know my abilities are ill-suited to a physical altercation. I am simply going to tell you that you will recommend my daughter for the first trial of the new program. End of story.”

Mr. Numbers looked at Mr. Transport. They had been partners for many years and had learned to read each other’s cues like a second language. There was no question for Mr. Transport as to what Mr. Numbers was telling him right then. Time to roll over.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Numbers.

“Good, I’m glad we understand each other,” said Mr. Adair. “So, when will things get started?”

1.

Six Months Later

Vince adjusted his backpack to put the weight on his other shoulder. Two months since the procedure had ended and he’d been put in recovery and still his body felt like it was aching and healing. He never remembered feeling like this beforehand, but in fairness, there were plenty of other things that hadn’t existed beforehand either.

Today was an excellent example of what going through the program had yielded him. He was walking across the beautiful, sprawling college campus of Lander University, passing other kids his age and blending in like a normal person. Well, almost anyway. His damn hair still made him stand out. One of his biggest hopes had been that a side effect of the procedures would be his hair becoming a normal color, but no such luck. It was still silver like it had always been. And not old man silver, either: silver like moonbeams glinting off steel. It wasn’t that it was unattractive; in fact, it accentuated Vince’s bright blue eyes quite nicely. No, the problem was that his hair marked him as different, and after all these years, Vince was yearning to be nothing more than a face in the crowd.

“At least we’re in California,” Vince mumbled under his breath as he quickened his steps. He was getting second glances from the other students, but not as many as he was used to. Aside from that, he passed a few people whose looks made him do double takes of his own. It was comforting, in a mutual freak sort of way. By the time Vince reached his dorm assignment, he was back on the positive side of things.

After all, this was what he had worked for during those two months of recovery, studying and being tutored so that he could get his GED and come to this college. It had been hell to concentrate, especially with his body still adjusting to everything, but he had put in the time and pulled it off. It was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip away. Besides, the nurses and technicians had told him the other people from the program would be given the option to come here, too.

The building Vince walked up to looked less like a dorm and more like a medium-sized house. He didn’t see how it was possible to fit many people in this one-story brick home, but he trusted that whoever was managing housing had that in hand.

Vince walked through the front door and shifted his backpack once more. It bounced and landed on his shoulder lightly, betraying that it was far from stuffed to the brim with Vince’s few articles of clothing and worldly possessions. One of the first things every wanderer lets go of is his unnecessary items. Travel light, move quick, stay alive. That was the code that kept Vince breathing and his abilities in check. But that was behind him.

In front of Vince was a cream-colored wall with a notice welcoming him to Melbrook Hall. There was another wall to his left and a hallway to his right. The notice had an arrow directing him to follow the foyer and then take a left. Vince did as he was told and found himself looking at a sturdy door with no window or discernible handle. There was only a small box jutting out with an oval-shaped green pad on top. Vince might not have been the most up-to-date with technology, but even he could figure this one out. He pressed his thumb to the oval, and after a minute the door opened with the sound of a small beep.

Vince stepped out of the foyer and into what looked to him more like a living room than anything else. There were several couches and chairs set up, a metal coffee table in the center of the room, and a large, flat-screen television on the wall directly across from him. It was decorated in white and red and smelled like an odd combination of flowers and chemicals, which Vince could only assume meant they were using an artificial air freshener. He walked around the room, taking in the scene.

On each wall perpendicular to the entrance was another metal door and scanner, these with signs above them. On the one to the left of the entrance was “Boys” while the one to right said, predictably, “Girls.” Vince went over to the television, only to notice that there were open doorways on either side of this wall that one could walk through. Vince did just that and found himself in a white-tiled kitchen. It had a large sink, a stove with multiple burners and a griddle, and all kind of cooking knickknacks that Vince had neither the knowledge nor the experience to make anything out of.

At the back of the kitchen on the right was a cupboard, which Vince opened to discover a fully-stocked pantry. On the left was another metal door. This one, however, had neither a sign above it nor a fingerprint scanner.

Vince walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, then over to the boys’ door. As he walked, he carefully skirted away from wall outlets whenever possible. He hadn’t had an accident since the procedure, but that didn’t mean he was eager to test his luck. Pressing his thumb to the scanner, the door opened and Vince walked into what he could only assume was the common room.

There was another television on the far end, along with pool and Ping-Pong tables. The other end held a set of dart boards and a wooden door with the word “Bathroom” on it. Opposite of the entrance were three more metal doors. These had scanners clearly in place, but no signs, though they were numbered 1, 2, and 3. With a shrug and a heft of his pack, Vince walked over to the middle door. He pressed his thumb down and waited for the beep, but this time all that came out was a harsh buzzer. He tried twice more before giving up and trying the room on the left, which was room one. This time the door buzzed and opened, though Vince couldn’t help noticing a chime that followed the usual opening sounds. He wasn’t sure what that meant, and the sight before him left him little free brain space in which to contemplate it.

Saying his room was luxurious would be something of an overstatement, but it was definitely more opulent than a boy who was always on the run was accustomed to. There was a large bed in one corner with a desk and computer set up in the other. Between the two was a large window with sunlight streaming through the blue curtains. The floor was carpeted, and as Vince walked across it, he saw that opposite the desk there was a closet next to a chest of drawers. Slipping his pack off, Vince walked over and pulled open a drawer, trying to figure out if he had enough clothing to warrant any kind of organizational system.

He was shocked to see that the drawer he opened already contained many, many pairs of socks. Checking the next drawer, he found shorts, then T-shirts, then he went back to the top and found boxers. That drawer he slammed shut more quickly than the others. Synapses flying, Vince came to the only logical conclusion.

“Crud; this is someone else’s room.” It only made sense; this place was too nice and too well-furnished. Why had the door let him in, though? Vince brushed that thought out of his head quickly. It was faulty equipment, not his fault, but it wouldn’t make it less awkward if this room’s inhabitant came home to find an intruder. Vince turned on his heels, snatching up his backpack and bolting for the door.

All of which landed him face to face with a taller boy standing in the doorway, wearing sunglasses and running a comb through his sandy brown hair.