Super Powereds: Year 1 (4 page)

“Shh,” Vince hushed him quickly. “We’re in public; you know we can’t talk about that kind of stuff.”

“Oh please,” Nick said, taking another bite of his burger then guzzling down soda. “We’re at one of the only five colleges in the nation that offer certification for Supers to become the government-approved responders known as Heroes. I’m sure, like, everyone in this cafeteria is a damn Super in disguise.”

The young men paused for a moment and looked around. Besides themselves, there was a small group of ladies halfway across the dining hall, and a large table mixed up of boys and girls clear on the other end. There were also a few tables where, like Vince and Nick, only one or two occupants sat. No one in the room looked particularly Super, or even interesting for that matter. Well, with the exception of the girl with short pink and black hair sitting with her friend. Vince did notice her as he did his visual sweep. Even aside from the colored hair, something about her stood out.

“Okay, maybe half the people,” Nick conceded as he finished looking around him.

“According to the doctors at who told me about this place, less than half of one percent of the student population is enrolled in the Hero Certification Program,” Vince informed him. “So odds are pretty good you and I are the only people with abilities here.”

Nick let out a low whistle. “Less than half of one percent? That seems really low.”

Vincent shrugged. “There are a lot more humans than Supers. Even if this is only one of five schools, Lander is still a big university. A lot of people are going to come here wanting a run-of-the-mill education.”

“Poor bastards,” Nick said, shaking his head. “All kinds of awesome stuff going on around them and they have no clue about it.”

“At least they better not,” Vince said. “I heard that keeping your abilities a secret is, like, half of your grade. They say if you’re found out you have to do some kind of awful makeup courses to graduate, and that’s only an option if you’re at the top of the class.” Vince unthinkingly ran his hands through his hair. At least the campus was full of enough people with their own strange features that he might have at least half a chance of blending in.

“Don’t worry about the ‘do,” Nick told him. “I didn’t think it meant anything significant, and I already knew you had some sort of power when we met. Of course, I still don’t know what the damn thing is... But hey, that’s what friendships are built around, right? Secrets and mysteries.”

“You’re something of a drama queen, aren’t you?” Vince asked.

“Gasp! A dagger, straight into my heart,” Nick said, grasping his chest and leaning back in his chair. His breathing became labored and his hands slumped to the sides. He was dead, his life ended before its prime by the harsh words of someone he had thought of as a fast-growing friend. But hark! One of his hands lifted oh so slowly, making its way to the table and grappling the hamburger, then raising it triumphantly to his opened and waiting mouth.

“I don’t even want to know what’s going on in your head right now,” Vince said to his slumped-back friend.

“Good call,” Nick assured him.

Vince sighed and pushed away his now-forgotten chicken strips. Nick was loud, indiscreet as could be, and showy every chance he got. But he was also the only person to try to be Vince’s friend in years, and he knew what it had been like for Vince before. Those two qualities alone made him someone Vince knew he’d need to keep around.

“Get a book of matches and meet me back at the dorm,” Vince told Nick. His words seemed to bring some life back into Nick’s hamburger-munching corpse.

“You’re supposed to wait until midterms before you go all pyro on shit,” Nick chided him.

“I’m not going pyro! I just... Look: you said you wanted to know what I can do, right?” Vince asked him.

“Why yes, yes I do,” Nick said with a series of enthusiastic nods.

“Then get a book of matches and meet me in the dorm,” Vince repeated, pulling up the remainder of his food and walking away from the table. He dumped his refuse in the bin then made his way to the exit. He was relatively certain it would take Nick at least a few minutes to find some matches, plus a few extra to finish his burger. Vince was counting on those precious extra moments, because if he was going to try and do something with his power then he needed to get prepared and focus.

And, just to be on the safe side, pray.

5.

Vince had been in his room for only a few minutes when he heard a knocking at the door.

“No way he’s that fast,” Vince muttered to himself as he hopped up from his bed and opened the door. As it turned out, yes, there was a way that Nick was that fast.

“Hey, I grot mamfes,” Nick mumbled through a mouthful of burger. In all of the scenarios that had run through Vince’s head of how Nick would finish his meal and get matches, the possibility of Nick’s curiosity overwhelming his desire to eat while stationary was one that had not occurred.

“How did you find matches so quickly?” Vince asked as he gestured for Nick to sit in the computer chair again. Mercifully, this time Nick swallowed the food in his mouth before answering.

“They were lying on the ground by the door when I left the dining hall,” Nick explained.

“Let me guess: you used your power?” Vince asked rhetorically.

“Sure did,” Nick replied with a grin. “I wanted to get this show on the road.”

“Fantastic,” Vince said dejectedly. “Just what I needed.”

“Okay, see, now I’m confused. You’re the one who volunteered to show me what you can do. What’s the problem?” Nick asked.

“It’s... I guess it’s nothing, really. I just get nervous about using my ability,” Vince admitted.

“Still? Didn’t you go through the two months of therapy to get used to controlling it?” Nick took another bite of burger after his question, clearly banking on Vince to do some explaining.

“Yes, and I can control it... mostly. It’s just there are some aspects to it I’m still working on. Look, it should be fine. If we use matches then everything will be okay,” Vince said reassuringly, though he never could have admitted who he actually was trying to assure.

“Sweet,” Nick said as he polished off his lunch. “So what do I do?”

“Just face me and light a match, then hold it up in front of you,” Vince said. He sat down on the edge of the bed so that he was only a few feet from Nick.

“Can do,” Nick said, pulling a book of matches from his pocket and carefully extracting one from the end. Vince noticed the matchbook had a few missing from it already. It was a pretty decent guess that Nick had focused his luck and some poor smoker had dropped their matches without noticing. Much as he was hesitant to view luck as an ability, Vince had to admit it definitely had its uses.

Meanwhile, Nick had plucked his match and was trying to light it with all the skill of a drunken hobo. On his fourth try he finally got the match head to ignite and was so surprised he nearly dropped the small flame onto Vince’s carpet. He was able to keep his hold, though, and slowly moved the burning match so it was directly between himself and Vince.

Vince’s eyes were locked on the flame, focusing on it with all of his concentration. Ever so gently Vince raised his hand and opened it so that his palm was on level with the match. For a few seconds nothing happened, then the flame began to lean toward Vince’s palm. A moment later there was a small burst of heat and Nick was pinching only a tiny piece of ash between his fingers.

“Whoa,” Nick exclaimed. “What did you do?”

“I absorbed the energy of the flame,” Vince explained. “That’s my ability: I can absorb energy and store it for later.”

“What do you mean ‘for later’?” Nick said, already pulling out another match from the book.

In response Vince held up the index finger on his right hand. A small flame appeared at the tip of his finger, a flame about the same size and intensity as the he Vince had just vanquished. It burned for almost ten seconds, then vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

“I can use the energy I absorb any time I want,” Vince continued once his finger was out. “I can use it slowly, like I did just now, or release it in controlled bursts. In this case it would have made a tiny fireball. I don’t have the ability to extend or increase it, though. However much energy I have absorbed at the moment is what I have to work with.”

“Awesome,” Nick said, nodding his head. “Now do this one.”

Vince sighed, but he couldn’t deny this was good practice anyway, so he accommodated his dorm mate’s demands for entertainment and absorbed the rest of the matches one by one.

“I have another question for you,” Nick said as Vince snuffed out the final match from the book.

“Shoot,” Vince replied. His mind had wandered off near the end of their practice session, focusing instead on how the aching weariness he had been fending off seemed to be decreasing a bit in his absorbing hand. He wondered if using a part of his body as an absorption point had pain-fighting properties.

“I get that you absorb the flame as it exists, but why is it every time you use your power, I wind up holding nothing but a fleck of ash? Does stealing the energy destroy the matchstick?” Nick was poking at the small piece of ash Vince’s last absorption had left on his fingernail.

“Yes and no,” Vince said, turning his attention back to his dorm mate. “Remember when I said I was still getting the hang of some stuff? Well, that’s what I meant. See, I don’t just absorb the existing energy: I absorb the potential energy as well. At least, I do if I don’t sever the connection.”

“Yeah, I’ve really got no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick said, flicking off the piece of ash and checking the matchbook to see if he had missed any.

“Okay... How to explain this? Look, let’s pretend that you have another match and you light it, okay?” Vince said.

“Sure, why not,” Nick agreed.

“Now, if you leave the match be, the fire will eventually consume all of the wood,” Vince said. “However, if you were to lick your fingers and put it out halfway through then you would still have some of the matchstick left. With me so far?”

“Mostly,” Nick said.

“Good,” Vince said, choosing to plow ahead and hope for the best. “Well, obviously the match that is allowed to burn all the way down produces more fire, and therefore more energy. See, that’s why the match disintegrates in your hand. When I steal the energy of the flame, I don’t just take all the energy that’s there, I also take all of the energy that has the potential to be there.”

“I don’t suppose you could break that down a little easier, could you?” Nick asked, pulling out his dice and fiddling with them. Vince took a deep breath and tried to hold his patience. This could be a confusing concept if someone wasn’t used to it; Vince needed to keep that in the front of his mind.

“Think of like this,” Vince tried again. “There is only ash in your hand because in the fraction of a second that I begin drawing the energy of the match, the whole thing burns up in a flash and is taken into my body. That make sense?”

“Actually, yeah,” Nick said. “But if it burns all at once then why aren’t my fingers singed? I mean, if I’m holding it and it burns, it should hurt.”

“You’re not totally wrong,” Vince said. “Normally that would still burn you. But heat is a form of energy, and I’m taking everything the match has to give. So, while it might flash burn in your fingers, all of the heat flows into me.”

“Dude,” Nick said. “I get it, but your power is fucking complicated.”

“This from the guy whose ability works on quantum probabilities,” Vince pointed out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nick said. “I just control luck. Nothing complicated about that.”

“Right,” Vince said sarcastically. “Nothing complicated at all.”

6.

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport sat at a small café in Paris, sipping their respective coffees. They had been saddled with a busy day so far; however, they were provided with a nice gap at lunch time, so Mr. Transport had suggested they adjourn to one of their favorite dining establishments. Mr. Numbers had concurred, and they had left the sweltering plains of Africa for a more tranquil and enjoyable environment in which to dine.

As was their custom, they were reviewing the particulars of their next assignment before departing. Mr. Transport had been somewhat surprised to see that their next job was classified as “long-term.” Those assignments were quite rare, given his and Mr. Numbers’ capabilities to handle things in a prompt and efficient manner. The deeper he read into the dossier, though, the more concerned Mr. Transport grew.

“Mr. Numbers,” Mr. Transport ventured tentatively.

“Yes, Mr. Transport?” Mr. Numbers replied without looking up from his own copy of the assignment file.

“Do you feel there perhaps there was a misfile and we were given someone else’s assignment?” Mr. Transport asked, trying desperately to keep any hope out of his voice. It was very bad for one’s job and health to be heard questioning the wisdom of the company they worked for.

“The possibility crossed my mind,” Mr. Numbers admitted. “However, if you read on, you will see certain accommodations at the place of employment have been made specifically for us. It even references us by name several times.”

Mr. Transport flipped a few pages ahead, and sure enough, Mr. Numbers had been correct. “Very well,” Mr. Transport said carefully. “Just wanted to be certain we were deployed to the right area.”

“Quite understandable,” Mr. Numbers agreed. “It would be irresponsible of us as agents to allow time and resources to be wasted on a clerical error. Since that is not the case, though, it seems we have a few more hours until we begin our new assignment.”

“That it does. Perhaps we should use that time to pack and prepare so we are properly equipped for the full term of the assignment,” Mr. Transport suggested.

“Excellent idea,” said Mr. Numbers. “Would you mind depositing me first, then swinging back by in an hour or so to pick me up?”

“Not at all,” assured Mr. Transport. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a few bills. Mr. Transport kept a variety of currency for almost every country in the world available at his apartment. It was much faster than trying to haggle or work out an exchange rate every time, plus it allowed him and his partner to stay in the background, the area in which they were most comfortable. Mr. Transport set the money on the table, careful to tip generously. A moment later he and Mr. Numbers were gone.