Black and White (32 page)

I
ridium knew about Career Day, in an abstract way—it was what kids who didn’t have superpowers got. Normal kids, deciding on their normal lives. She hid a yawn behind her hand. She was fairly sure normal kids didn’t have to sit through dozens of corporate presentations vying for her application to be the face of everything from cars to cat food.

No more regimented classes on theory, here in Fourth Year—now it was practice, training patrols, and practical instruction on heroing. Iridium was always covered in bruises and scrapes from the full-contact sessions Lancer ran, and she was always tired from memorizing page after page of criminal code.

But today was different. Today was the lottery.

Frostbite’s head dipped, and she jabbed him. Night was
standing at the end of the row of chairs set up in the cafeteria, and she could feel his eyes sweep over the crowd at regular intervals. Derek would kill her if he got sent to detention for sleeping and ended up sponsored by hemorrhoid cream.

Jet was in the front row, of course. She was always front and center these days, it seemed. Iridium had lost count of the number of practices and classes that got interrupted by press. The press loved Jet. Face like an angel, powers like a nightmare. Tragic origin story. She couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d planned it.

“That concludes our presentation,” said the Superintendent. “Please put your name in the datapad for all sponsorships that have piqued your interest. The preliminary lottery is in one week.”

Iridium knew that the chance portion of the branding lottery was a sham at best—how else did you explain how her father, Blackout, and Night had walked off with the three biggest sponsorships in their year—Lester, the City of New Chicago; Blackout, Mid-Atlantic Petroleum; and Night … well, you couldn’t walk past a bus stop without seeing Night’s face these days.

Three best friends, three plum jobs. Iridium knew she’d never get the same treatment. She followed Derek and Chen down the row of corporate booths, putting her name in for anything that didn’t repel her too much.

She’d never get past the interview, anyway. Once the sponsors drew five student names, they interviewed the candidates and picked the most marketable. The one with the biggest muscles or smile (or hell, even breasts), the one with the cleanest-cut past and best party line.

Iridium was none of those things.

“This sucks,” she told Derek. “My entire life is depending on some corporate wankstick liking the way I pose.”

“Careful who hears you say that,” he said, as the representative from Kensington Semiconductors glared at Iridium.
“These wanksticks are all that stands between us and some paper-pushing job in Ops.”

Iridium curled her lip. What was worse—being at the beck and call of Corp and her sponsor, or sitting in a stifling room with the other washouts who couldn’t get a sponsor in the first place?

After a stultifying hour, the Superintendent called them back. “We have a special announcement before you are dismissed,” he said. “Here to present the news is Vice Mayor Petrelli.”

The vice mayor bounded up and took the PA, to polite applause. “Thank you, Superintendent. On behalf of the City of New Chicago, I’m delighted to announce that we’ve signed an early deal with a student here today to be our official Hero.”

Murmurs ran through the room, along with groans from heroes who’d hoped to pluck the prime spot in their city. Hornblower cursed under his breath. Dawnlighter pouted.

Vice Mayor Petrelli extended his hand. “The city is very pleased to recognize … Jet.”

Iridium felt like someone had kicked her in the gut.
“Jet?”
she hissed.

Frostbite blinked in shock. “Whoa. Guess you won’t be doing a cosponsorship, huh?”

Iridium set her jaw. “I guess not.”

Jet took the PA. “Thank you, Mr. Petrelli, and thank you to the entire city for putting this enormous trust in me. When I graduate, I will
not
let you down.”

Iridium stood up and left rather than listen to the rest of the speech. In the hallway, the temperature dropped, and Night stepped out of a shadowed door.

“You should try being happy for your friend.”

“Hooray for corporate lackeys,” Iridium said, deadpan.

Night leaned in, the way he had the day he’d threatened to break her arm. “You need to be careful, Iridium. Some at this school are seeing entirely too much of your father in you.”

“And that’s a bad thing why, exactly? Heroes are supposed to help people, not pose and ape for money.”

Night shook his head. “You talk like him, but you’re not nearly as smart. The world turns on poses and public faces, Iridium. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Iridium said, stepping around him, “I hope I never do.”

Night didn’t reply, but she felt him watch her until she turned the corner toward the dorms, eyes cold and hard as a knife in her back.

J
et knocked on the door—two perfunctory raps—before she let herself in.

The huge man seated behind the desk looked up from his computer and scowled at her. The metal pin connecting his left arm to his shoulder gleamed in the light. “My my,” Lancer said. “The darling of the Academy has come to pay a visit. Go away, girl. I’m busy.”

No longer the scared mouse, Jet ignored the hostility in his voice as she also ignored his words and shut the door. She needed him. He was the only one who could help her. Smiling brightly, she sat in the seat opposite the desk. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

His scowl pulled into a snarl. “Maybe you need your hearing checked. I said go away.”

“Sir, I’m here to ask for your help.”

Lancer sneered. “Why don’t you go ask one of the other instructors or proctors to give you what you need? With the way Corp’s been shining to you, and now with the city practically in your pocket, anyone would bend over backward to aid the little Shadow.”

Hearing Night’s name for her on Lancer’s lips made her seethe, but she quashed the feeling and instead turned up the brilliance of her smile. She’d been practicing. She knew that her smile was reflected in her eyes, even if inside she wanted to rip his prosthetic leg from his body. She was becoming quite the actress.

Night was very pleased.

Jet said, “But sir, you’re the best there is at teaching aggressive and defensive fighting tactics.”

Lancer’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery, girl?”

“No, sir. Simple truth. You’re the best martial-arts and street-fighting instructor the Academy has. I’d be a fool to turn to anyone else.”

And never mind that he was a washout who’d barely clocked three years with the Squadron. Jet smiled demurely.

After a moment, Lancer leaned back in his chair. “Well, I suppose I can hear you out before I send you on your way.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jet said, and meant it. “When I’m engaged in battle, my response time is too slow. I need to increase my reaction speed. Can you help me?”

“That’s just practice, girl,” he said, snorting. “More you do it, the better you’ll get. Or you’ll get yourself hospitalized, or dead.”

“I do practice, sir. I put in hours in the gym and on the mats, sparring with anyone and everyone. I know the forms, I’ve studied the moves. In the Academy, I’m fast. But out there, where it matters, I’m slow.” She took a deep breath. “Will you tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

He looked at her, his dark eyes searching for something in her own. Finally he grimaced and said, “When you’re out
there, and someone approaches you, what do you do? First thing. Tell me.”

“I run through the ABCs of Peacekeeping. Analyze, bat-tlescan, confront.”

“Good. Next?”

“That’s just it, sir. I seem to be in the middle of reviewing battlescan when I get attacked. There’s not enough time for me to make a sound decision before I’m locked into combat. And then I’m forced on the defensive.”

“So you’re taking too long to determine next moves.” He shrugged. “That’s common at first.”

“I try to think of all the possibilities before dedicating myself to an action. That’s the logical way to move forward.”

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing logical about a dirty fight. On the street, you’ve got to survive.”

“But there’s honor to battle. Rules to physical engagement.”

He snorted again. “Now you sound like you’re dating me. You want rules, Jet? Simple. First rule: Survive. Second rule: Don’t be your own enemy. Everything else is just practice, until your body knows what to do even as your mind is still processing the situation.”

“But—”

“No buts!” He slammed his fist onto the table, and Jet jumped in her seat. “Don’t try to rationalize it. Don’t paint the real world into pretty shades of pink. It doesn’t work like that. You go in there with your black skinsuit looking all slick, and your ideals about battle, thinking it should be glorious and chivalrous or anything other than staying alive no matter what, and you will get killed. Make no mistake about that, girl.”

Chagrined, Jet kept silent.

“Out there, the bad guys don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re doing a photo op because some stupid agreement with your sponsor says you can’t pass up an opportunity when the press is on the spot.” His eyes flashed, and a bitter smile
played on his face. “If you think the world is going to accommodate your vision of it, think again. Arrogance is death.”

“Sir,” she said, her voice soft, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut it. Worse than arrogance is compassion. With arrogance, at least, you’ve got the right attitude. You’re a strong fighter, a warrior dedicated to protecting civilians from the scum of the earth.” His lips pulled into a sneer. “But compassion is death, girl. Far more so than arrogance. Compassion will get you a skinning knife in your ribs, a plasgun blast to your head. You want a mantra, Jet? Here’s one: They don’t matter.”

“Who doesn’t, sir?”

“Them. The enemies you’re fighting. Once you start thinking of them as people, your heart’s going to screw up what your head’s telling you to do.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Overthinking it slows you down. Overfeeling it will get you killed.”

“I see,” she said slowly, not liking the advice but appreciating that it held a note of ugly truth.

“No, girl. You don’t.” He barked out a laugh, a harsh sound that grated on her ears. “You think you know better. You think that you’re different, that you can go out there and be sympathetic and yet firm. It doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.”

“Then show me what to do.”

He paused. “Excuse me?”

She leaned forward in her seat. “Teach me. One-on-one. Show me how to fight the way a Squadron hero should fight.”

“You’ve got Fourth Year instructors for that,” he said, scoffing. “Madame Marvel and Fisticuffs, I believe. They can even hook you up with tips on how to smile for the vids as you take out a villain.”

“They’re not the best,” she said plainly. “I want the best, sir. I want you to teach me.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “I’m not the best and I know it. I got
taken out of the field in my prime because of a stupid mistake on my part. So tell me the real reason why you’re here, girl, and maybe I won’t shove a detention band down your throat.”

She lifted her chin. “You hate me, sir. And that means you wouldn’t hold back when we spar.”

“You want me to really fight you? To pull all stops? To beat you down if you don’t get it right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this would be in addition to your regular Peacekeeping and Defense units.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

He stared at her, his gaze merciless, his face set in stone. “You’re a filthy Shadow. But you’ve got guts. And you’ve got gumption. You want me to do this, you make sure you sign a waiver and get it to your mentor and to Academy Records. When I break you in half, I don’t want the responsibility of paying your funeral expenses.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, grinning. “Thank you, sir.”

“Go ahead and thank me, girl. I promise you, tomorrow you’ll be cursing me. Five in the morning, main obstacle track. Every morning, rain or shine. You ever don’t show up, I’m done with you. We clear?”

“Yes, sir!” She stuck out her hand. “Thank you, sir!”

He stared at her hand like she was holding a steaming pile of dog turds. Finally Jet lowered her hand.
It doesn’t hurt
, she told herself, keeping the smile pasted on her face.

It doesn’t hurt.

“Tomorrow, girl. Don’t be late.” With that, he went back to his computer. He didn’t look up when she rose from her seat, nor did he acknowledge her final “Thank you, sir.”

Jet thought she saw him look up when she closed the door softly behind her, but she decided that she was mistaken.