Super Powereds: Year 3 (117 page)

           
      
“It wasn’t, that time,” Professor Cole agreed. “But there are two things to keep in mind. The first is that your last attack was close, damn close, to landing in Chad’s center mass. If you’d managed to pull it off, the fight may have turned out very differently. Who knows, if you had a rematch with fists, you might surprise yourself at what you could achieve.”

           
      
“Maybe, but we’ve had a lot of sparring matches during class. I’m pretty sure Chad would find a way to win. He always does.”

           
      
“True as I’m sure that is, he’s never fought the version of you that knows how to wield a weapon.” Professor Cole reached out and lightly tapped Roy’s bat with her index finger. “And that’s the second thing to keep in mind. As strong as you are with those fists of yours, this bat makes you a lot stronger. Chad may have beaten Close Combat Roy a thousand times in a row, but this is the first time he’s ever dealt with Weapons Roy. Try to make a good first impression.”

216.

               “The five of us . . .” Alice let the words slosh around in her head, distilling as much meaning as possible from Abridail’s statement. The implication was obvious: the only unique group of five she was a part of was the Powereds who’d been turned into Supers. And while it certainly possible that they’d have an impact on the future—in fact, that was what they were training to do—Alice couldn’t see any of her friends intentionally taking things down a bad path. Well . . . maybe Nick, but he’d have been equally capable of that with or without his abilities. It was possible that time would change them, though possible wasn’t the same as likely. Looking at the fact as they were, the most likely conclusion was that it wouldn’t be their actions that caused some sort of timeline uproar at all.

           
      
“You mean the procedure, right? Once our test group shows that Powereds can be changed with no negative side effects, that’s going to cause an issue?”

           
      
Abridail nodded as the winding ride they were on slowed, letting them take in a full view of the bridges that ran like threads between the seemingly infinite number of dreams. Idly, Alice wondered if these bridges existed naturally, or if Abridail conjured them specifically for his journeys. If it were the former, some interesting metaphysical possibilities opened up, though she strongly suspected it to be the latter.

           
      
“You five have made too much of an impact; the secret is out, even if powerful people are keeping a lid on it for now. There’s almost no future where what happened to you doesn’t become common knowledge, and once Powereds know what they can become, there’s no way to stop them, short of genocide. The lines between Powered and Super blur, and the ranks of
variant Homo sapiens
swell.”

           
      
“And not everyone is happy about it,” Mary concluded. No one knew better than a telepath about the simmering resentment in the hearts of humans. Powereds they could pity, find a sense of superiority against, but Supers . . . discovering one’s species had gone from the top of the heap to the number two spot was a bitter pill for many to swallow. Envy burned in them, and all too often, that slowly morphed into hatred for the people whose whole world worked on a different set of rules.

           
      
“No, they aren’t,” Abridail confirmed. “Humans begin to feel like they’re getting choked out, the societal power they’ve wielded since Supers were discovered starts to erode, and even more violent militant groups emerge to fight against the idea of Supers. At the same time, Supers feel their sense of superiority seep away as the Powereds lose their status as ‘lesser beings.’”

           
      
“Wait, why do the Supers care?” Alice asked. “It’s not like us getting control of our abilities takes away theirs. The humans I can kind of see, but other Supers hating us makes no sense.”

           
      
“You haven’t noticed, have you?” Abridail said. Suddenly, Alice realized that the star world was beginning to fade out, turning to fog as Abridail began the true start of what they were meant to see.

           
      
“I did.” Mary’s voice was quiet, one of the few times it matched her size, yet Alice could still hear each word perfectly. “I’d just hoped it was a fluke.”

           
      
“It’s not,” Abridail told her. He looked back at Alice, who met his eyes with uncertainty. “Five of you were turned and thrown into the same HCP class. Of that five, only one of you was kicked out, and it was based on moral grounds. Around you, dozens of Supers who’d had their abilities for their entire lives were cut, and yet your lot stayed. You really never put it together?”

           
      
Alice swallowed hard, trying to push the revelation through her throat to where it could be properly digested in her gut. “I guess . . . I guess I tried not to think about it.”

           
      
“Others are not so willing to overlook the coincidence, and in most futures I’ve seen, the next groups bear out the theory,” Abridail said. “Powereds who are turned to Supers are, on average, more powerful than naturally born Supers. Some scientists even propose that your increased abilities are why you were Powered in the first place: they were more than your bodies could handle. At least, handle without artificial assistance.”

           
      
“Do you know what they did to us?” Mary was staring at Abridail with more intensity than Alice had seen in her friend’s face since she was kidnapped. “I listened to every thought the doctors and nurses had, I combed through their heads looking for clues, and I’ve skimmed the thoughts of everyone I met who had even a loose affiliation with the program, but
no one
I’ve encountered actually knew what they were doing. Even the doctors only had compartmentalized tasks. You’ve gotten to look into these futures that Alice’s mom can see; surely you know something about what they did to us.”

           
      
“Yes, I know what they did.” Abridail met Mary’s intensity with a somber peace, an armor of calm against the weapon of her ferocity. “But I cannot tell you that today.”

           
      
“Why the hell not? Don’t we deserve to know?”

           
      
“You do, and you will, but not today,” Abridail told her. “Today is about a different piece of your puzzle. What’s been done to you is in the past, nothing you can do will change it. I have to prioritize stones that are not yet cast.”

           
      
“Then what’s the harm in telling us?” Alice said, stepping forward. “Why not just answer her question so we can focus on the things you want us to see?”

           
      
“Because our time is limited, and this,” Abridail gestured to the world forming around them, “is more important. We could afford the moments it would cost to answer your question, but not the unstoppable sea of new questions that would come afterward. I’m sorry that I can’t provide all the answers you want. All I can ask is for you to trust that you will get them someday, and that what lies before you is worth the sacrifice.”

           
      
“I don’t know that I trust you at all.” Alice walked over to Mary, who’d managed to calm her unexpected swell of emotion. “But if these are really my mother’s visions, then I want to see them.”

           
      
Mary reached out and took Alice’s hand in her own, giving it a firm squeeze. “And I can’t just let you have some stranger puttering about in your head all alone. I’d be the worst surrogate dorm mom ever if I did.”

           
      
“Thank you for your understanding,” Abridail said. “And now, please prepare yourselves. What you are about to experience is not for the faint of heart.”

217.

               Chad prided himself on his analytical abilities. Though the others didn’t realize it, a great deal of what he accomplished was tethered to the fact that he could predict an attack based on an opponent’s style and history. His brain enabled this wonderful trick, and the body he’d spent his youth training and remodeling allowed him to act on the information. Often, the data was processed so quickly he didn’t even consciously register all of it; instead, it felt like what others would call “intuition.” Chad knew better, of course; it was merely his subconscious running a routine that had been done so much it was automated, like breathing. Still, as Roy charged forward with his bat in hand, Chad felt an impulse that had never come from his intuition against this opponent. It was to not only dodge the blow, but to get clear altogether. The idea made no sense, yet Chad prided himself on those analytical abilities; he’d be damned if he stopped listening to them now.

           
      
The crack filled the cell, and flecks of concrete pelted Chad’s skin as he landed, having jumped back a solid eight feet from where Roy was swinging. Where he’d been moments before was a small crater, the tip of Roy’s bat resting in its center. By Chad’s calculations, the blow had been carrying a lot of force . . . and it was clear from Roy’s muscle position as he swung that he was holding himself back.

           
      
“Haven’t seen you hop away like that before,” Roy commented. He swung the bat around and up to a ready position, eyes set on the target before him.

           
      
“Your attacks have never been that dangerous before.” Chad lowered his stance slightly, improving his center of gravity. Technically, the stakes weren’t any different than they had been before; Roy’s strikes had been strong enough to end the fight with one direct blow in their last match too. But that was a maybe, at best. The bat carried a far higher chance of him pulling it off, especially with its increased range. He could try to disarm Roy, but if he was able to wield something that heavy, Chad suspected his grip might difficult to break. This wasn’t a fight where he could allow Roy to go down and recover after each bout. Chad had to keep the momentum if he wanted to win this time.

           
      
“If you liked that one, you’ll love this.” Roy charged forward again, bat held ready. This time, Chad understood the danger. Rather than letting Roy get into a spot where he could swing, Chad bolted forward, slamming a palm into Roy’s chest while simultaneously sweeping both legs out from under him. Powerful as he was, with no time to counter, Roy found himself airborne, and suddenly, all the strength in the world became meaningless. He barely had an instant to adjust to the spinning world before he caught sight of Chad’s heel raised directly overhead. It shot down, delivering a perfect hammer kick to Roy’s skull and driving him into the concrete, creating a brand new crater.

           
      
“Hold!” Professor Cole hurried over, and Chad stepped back, ceasing his attack instantly. She still shot him an uncertain look as she came to Roy’s side. “You know that probably ended the match.”

           
      
“Roy asked me to fight him as best I could,” Chad replied. “While I was able to give him leeway in our hand-to-hand matches, the threat he posed with the weapon was significantly increased. Thus, I switched to a heavier offense, just as I would in a real fight.”

           
      
“Luckily, you probably just knocked—”

           
      
Professor Cole was cut off by Roy rising from the ground, a small trickle of blood smeared on his forehead and concrete dust matting his chestnut hair. That much was expected, though, as getting slammed headfirst into the ground would definitely leave a mark, but what neither Chad nor Professor Cole was anticipating was the expression on his face.

           
      
Roy Daniels had a wild, madman’s grin slicing across his face as he hefted the bat over his shoulder and turned to face Chad. It was not a facade meant to intimidate his opponent, nor misdirection to hide his injury. Chad doubted Roy even knew he was making the expression, which made it all the more disturbing.

           
      
“Finally.” Roy’s word fell from his lips like an avenging angel from the heavens. “Three years. Three goddamned years I’ve been waiting for that. All this time, you kept holding back, trying to make our fights into learning opportunities for me. All this time, you’ve never viewed me as a real opponent, a genuine threat. This is the first time you were even a little bit afraid of me, and you tried to end me for it.” Roy lifted the bat and pointed it toward Chad, like Babe Ruth calling his shot. “Finally.”

           
      
“Do you want to continue?” Professor Cole already knew what his answer would be. If Chad had torn Roy’s legs from his body, she still knew what the answer would be. Roy wasn’t especially skilled, or graceful, or precise; he was more like a giant boulder barreling down a hill. And just like a boulder, he wouldn’t stop unless he was completely obliterated. Roy Daniels had determination in spades.