Super Powereds: Year 3 (7 page)

“I guess you could see it that way,” Vince admitted. “But it overlooks a very key fact.”

“Which is?”

“I’m still here. And without Nick and his crazy plan, I sincerely doubt I would be saying that. So no, I don’t think I’m a victim in what happened. I’m the guy who got handed the luckiest break of us all.”

“It’s your choice how you see it,” Thomas said. “And I must say, in truth, I respect you for the one you have made. I was thinking of getting something to eat, would you care to join me?”

“There is nothing I’d rather do.”

7.

Nicholas Campbell’s first day was a far cry from what the HCP students were experiencing. No shattering revelations, no future-determining decisions; really, the greatest challenge he’d faced was finding something remotely palatable in the dorm cafeteria come lunch time. He could have raced home to grab a sandwich; however, he’d built his schedule in such a way that his Tuesdays and Thursdays left little to no free time, giving him an abundance of it on the other three weekdays. It was a move many college students were familiar with, though most of them struggled with it a good bit more than Nicholas had to. His classes were, for the most part, some variation of math or business related to his major, subject matter he’d been intimately familiar with since he was old enough to sit and watch someone deal cards.

There was one exception in his lineup, though, a class he’d taken ostensibly to satisfy a science credit, but truthfully had been chosen primarily out of curiosity. It was the type of course no member of the HCP would dare be seen in, despite the relevance of its subject matter. After all, if you were looking for Supers, wouldn’t you start in a class that centered on them?

“Good afternoon,” greeted the professor, a slight-statured man with thinning brown hair. “My name is Professor Lee, and this is Theoretical Physiology of Variant Homo Sapiens. My Teaching Assistants are walking around with a syllabus, and I’ve started a roll sheet on the first row. Pass it along, please. I realize many professors at our institution don’t bother taking attendance, but I am not one of them. Showing up is part of the curriculum, and I expect you to fulfill it just as you would any paper or test.”

There was ample squirming throughout the smaller-than-average lecture hall as many of the students hoping for a blow-off class were disappointed. The room held tiered seating, but students only filled a little over half the seats. Due to either subject matter or perceived difficulty, this had never been a class with a waiting list for entry.

“Now, for those of you I lost with all that fancy terminology, this is a course dedicated to the discussion of what we currently know about the humans commonly referred to as Supers, specifically the difference in their anatomy. There is no text book, and there is notably limited required reading, because, despite Supers having been among us for over fifty years, we still have very little cumulative knowledge about what makes them different.”

A hand went up near the front. Nicholas expected the professor to ignore it, but evidently, this happened often enough for him to have accepted it as part of the class. The older man pointed to the student, signaling him to speak.

“I thought Supers were the same as us, genetically. That’s why no one has ever been able to artificially create one.”

“You’re not wrong,” Professor Lee said. “But you also aren’t right. The ‘same as us’ is a misnomer in itself. If everyone had the exact same genetic code, then things like DNA testing wouldn’t work. We have a general code we all fall into, Supers and Powereds included, but within that spectrum of similarity, there are also countless differences that contribute to things like hair color, which hand is dominant, various diseases, and the ability to lift a truck overhead. We know what does a lot of those things, but no one has figured out the variation that causes Supers to exist.”

The professor paused to see if anyone else needed clarification, but they either all got it or his first explanation had been too intimidating to inspire more curiosity. He swung by the podium and grabbed a drink of water, then continued.

“While there is little reading in this course, I don’t want you all to get the idea that no one has explored this subject matter. Quite the opposite, actually. There are endless terabytes of data out there on the physical makeup of Supers. The problem is that the research is largely conducted by private corporations with no inclination to share, and what is done in the public sector is subject to serious government censorship.”

Another brave student found the gumption to raise her hand. After a nod from Professor Lee she went ahead.

“Why would they do that? Isn’t this something that everyone would be interested in?”

“They don’t share for the same reason that The Manhattan Project didn’t send Germany regular updates on what they were doing. Right now, as we speak, a great race is taking place in labs across the world. You, and I, and everyone in this room, unless they are Super themselves, wake up every day with the knowledge that there are people out there who can do things we never will. No amount of effort or moxie will allow me to levitate off this floor under my own willpower. Some of you might be at peace with that, but the mass of humanity is not. As a species, it is not in our nature to acclimate to being second best. So, imagine that, tomorrow, some company comes out with a new chemical compound that could alter you, give you abilities you never had before. What would you pay to be better than human?”

The class grew silent as each student looked inside themselves and realized they would indeed pay a tremendous amount to be one of the few in the world with extraordinary powers.

“And that’s just one aspect of it,” Professor Lee continued. “Imagine being able to control the abilities given. You could create a private security firm of a few thousand capable of besting any army in the world. What if they were to locate the difference between Powereds and Supers? How many unfortunate souls do you think would trade their life savings to go from worse than normal to better? No, the reason research is so hard to come by in this field is that, until the code is cracked, the scientific community is on what might be the greatest treasure hunt in all of known history. Still, we do have a few smatterings of knowledge; enough to make sure you all leave this class smarter than you entered it, at least.”

Professor Lee picked up a syllabus and began going over it with the class, but up in the top left row, one student was barely paying attention. The professor could scarcely have chosen better words to seize the attention of Nicholas Campbell than “treasure hunt,” and right now, that brain of his was caught up in all the unseen possibilities of what he knew and so few others didn’t: one company was closer than anyone else to finding that chest of intellectual doubloons.

8.

Alice was the last to get back to the dorm on their first day of school. Her French course had filled up faster than expected, so she’d been forced to grab a later class or put it off until next semester. It would be nice if HCP students were given some sort of priority in registration, but that would make it too easy for every teacher to know who in their class was secretly a Super. Aside from those bound by the HCP’s Secret Identity Rule, lots of Alice’s kind chose to live out the open. However, it was far from unheard of for Supers to be treated with some discrimination, either out of fear, jealousy, or good ole-fashioned prejudice. Powereds might be looked down upon, but there was no real point in going out of one’s way to shit on them. Life had already done a spectacular job of that.

As soon as Alice walked in the door, she knew something was off. For one thing, everyone, including Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers, was gathered in the common room without the television on. For another, Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers scarcely ever joined them in the evening—at least, not for prolonged periods. But even without those clues, she would have known this situation was out of the ordinary. Dean Blaine standing in the center of the room made that abundantly clear, as did his guest.

“Good evening,” Dean Blaine greeted. “Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Alice felt a stone of fear manifest. This was how she’d always imagined it would go. Gather them together, make Dean Blaine neutralize their powers, and have Mr. Transport send them home. No muss, no fuss, no more freaks in the HCP.

“For anyone who doesn’t remember, the gentleman beside me is named Kent Mears,” Dean Blaine continued.

“Right, he’s the job guy,” Vince recalled.

“Employment Liaison is the more official title, but at least you got the gist,” Dean Blaine said. “Mr. Mears is here because while, for most students, the option to work a job during college is optional, I’m afraid that, for you four, it is not.”

“Let me guess, someone out there wants to see just how much stress we can handle without cracking,” Hershel surmised.

Dean Blaine gave him a nod. “Partially, yes. It’s also partly to ensure that you can interact with regular humans as well as fellow Supers. These jobs put you back into the real world, a place where you have to be discreet with your abilities, and more importantly, a place where you are not surrounded by equals.”

“Not surrounded by equals? Didn’t we get enough practice at that when we were Powereds?” Alice asked.

“It’s not the same,” Vince told her. “We were weaker than everyone else; we had problems that made us less functional. Now, we can do more than regular people, and sometimes, feeling like you’re better than other people makes you treat them like crap.”

“Vince hit the nail on the head,” Dean Blaine agreed, barely concealing his surprise at the silver-haired student’s insight. It was easy to forget that, despite his failings in most social regards, Vince had a good idea of how people behaved in regards to strength and power. “Every other student in the HCP has spent their life knowing they were, technically speaking, greater in some way than nearly every other person they met. They’ve had to temper their egos and learn to suppress that sentiment in order to function in society. None of you have had to deal with that; you went from being Powered, to being in a place where you were surrounded by fellow Supers. Except for class and a few outings, you haven’t had extended dealings with the outside world. A point has been raised that, if we don’t give you some experience, it could lead to disaster once you are done with the HCP, regardless of whether it is through failure or graduation.”

“Not to mention, it gives people one more field to observe us in, and one more chance to watch for failure,” Mary added in.

“I won’t lie to you; that is true, too. But I wouldn’t have agreed to this stipulation if I didn’t believe there was genuine merit in it for all of you,” Dean Blaine said.

“I want to jump in and say that I understand this isn’t exactly a normal situation, and that’s quite a statement, given what I do for a living,” Kent Mears said, stepping forward from the corner where he’d been standing. “Blaine has explained to me that you four are working under special circumstances, so I’m going to do my darndest to place you in jobs that won’t be overly taxing or shove you too far out of your comfort zones. Unfortunately, it’s been clearly dictated to me that all occupations need to carry a social component, so I can’t stick anyone away to do data entry, but I still aim to make this as painless for you folks as possible.”

“Thank you,” Vince said, rising from the couch. “I’m sure we’ll all appreciate whatever help you can give. So, Mr. Mears, what do you need from us?”

“A few documents, a scan of your driver’s licenses, and a chance to talk with each of you one-on-one. I want to get a sense of who you are and what you’re good at, so that I can find positions best suited to you. Once I float your resumes, you’ll probably need to come in for an interview with the owners, and they’ll let you know if you’ve got a gig or not.”

“I should point out that, while Mr. Mears always has enough job openings to accommodate the junior and senior class, many of them are at the same establishments, so the odds of you working with fellow HCP members are very high,” Dean Blaine added.

“That shouldn’t be too bad,” Vince said. “I think we’re on good terms with most of our class.”

No one had the heart to point out that Vince was still gauging their acceptance by looking at the time before he’d wrapped himself in flame and torn a swath of destruction through last year’s final match. Things might still be okay—it was certainly possible—but there was also a very real chance that his escapade had placed a large target on their collective backs.

After all, a Powered becoming Super was hard for most HCP students to swallow. A Powered becoming stronger than them . . . that was a problem on a whole other level.

9.

Roger Brown skimmed over the application in front of him. It was light (not that he’d expected a wealth of experience), though it did have more than he usually saw in these applicants. This kid had at least worked a part-time job in high school, which was something. Unfortunately, it had been at a pet store, which wasn’t exactly the same set of skills needed in the establishment Roger owned. The Six-Shooter was a western themed bar and dance club near the edge of town, several miles from Lander. Unlike many of the nearby bars, The Six-Shooter didn’t put up with fake IDs or other such shenanigans. Roger ran a club, which was sleazy by definition, but he liked his sleazy club to be clean, safe, and free of harassment from local authorities.