Meta (Book 3): Rise of The Circle (18 page)

S
o it turns
out that Doctor Hawk is just an old guy named Leonard Hawk who has a Ph.D. in Law. He's not, as I imagined in my mind, a seven-foot-tall half-man, half-bird metahuman. This is maybe the most crippling disappointment I've experienced since I got here.

The classroom looks similar to the “real” ones upstairs, with the notable exception that this one looks like it was designed this century. There's no chalk or white board. Instead, a high-definition touchscreen display covers the entire wall at the front of the classroom.

In the classroom, I see a lot of familiar faces from the few days I've been here already. According to Michelle, this is one of the mandatory classes that all metahumans here have to take. There's not enough room for everyone to take it at once, since apparently the class lends itself to
lots
of questions that take up a big chunk of the classroom time, but by the time everyone graduates, they'll have come through at least once.

Just because the faces are familiar doesn't mean they're all friendly. Just about everyone who was out in the woods the other night was caught and punished, and of course, rather than blame Nathaniel or themselves for being out there in the first place, they blame me. In fairness, they had been hanging out in the caverns for weeks without anyone on the faculty having any idea, so I'll concede that
technically
it was me who got them all caught.

The display wall is showing multiple television channels from all over the world, as well as half a dozen lines of scrolling text with different news items. I'm amazed anyone can concentrate on their own pre-class conversations with the information overload happening in front of us. Represented on the screen, I can see all of the major meta news channels, as well as some overseas channels that I'm not familiar with.

The channels are a mix of talking heads and shaky camera phone footage of metahumans flying, running into burning buildings and fighting each other. My eyes scan over all of the screens, half expecting to see Derrick's big head on one of them, giving his insights about everything that's been happening in Bay View City live via satellite to a host. I don't find him, but my eyes do get caught on something.

It's previously recorded footage of the prison break at Silver Island, footage that I've seen countless times. When Derrick and Michelle had me under virtual house arrest, it was pretty much all that was on TV all day, every day. Even if it hadn't been on TV constantly, I would have still seen it hundreds of times on my tablet. After the breakout, I was obsessed with it and with trying to find some detail that everyone else was missing, some clue that gave any kind of idea about what the Alphas’ weaknesses might be, or just a clue about what happened to Midnight, especially before Sarah told me that he was still alive.

The same question that I asked myself every time I watched this footage was now literally written across the screen: What Happened to Damian Keane?

I would add to that what happened to Iris too. The general public doesn't know much about her role in the events that day. No footage of her was found, nor was she well known enough to become a focal point of the media narrative. That all belonged to Damian Keane. In the time since Silver Island, the Alphas have placed the blame for everything that happened squarely on him and the media has been all too happy to play along. Now he's the boogeyman. No one knows where he is or if he's even still alive, but the public is reminded daily that he can come back when everyone least expects it, and God help you if you're not a metahuman when he does.

Leonard Hawk suddenly stands from his desk and instructs the few students milling around talking to each other in the aisles to find their seats. The classroom itself seems to sense that Dr. Hawk is ready and the display wall changes to an all-white surface with the words “Citizen’s Arrests” appearing at the top.

"Take your seats, everyone, take your seats," Dr. Hawk says as he moves to the lectern in the front of the room and opens his briefcase, shuffling papers and pulling a few out for later reference.

Despite not actually being half-man, half-bird like I had hoped, Dr. Hawk does
kinda
look like a bird. His frame is thin and his suit seems to hang off of him. He looks like he's in his fifties or sixties, and his hair is an unnaturally dark black, likely the result of being dyed to try to make him look younger than he is. It doesn't. He has a small, almost invisibly thin pair of spectacles perched on top of what is a truly humongous, crooked nose. For his sake, I hope the nose came later in life, because I can't even imagine the amount of teasing that happens to a boy with the last name Hawk and a nose that looks like that.

He picks up a remote control on the lectern and lowers his glasses to try to identify the labels on it before he glances up at the screen and realizes that the presentation has already started on its own.

"Sorry about that. I hadn't realized the show had already started. They must have shown me how to use this damn thing a thousand times, but I still don't get it. Can't teach an old dog new tricks, I suppose. Anyway," he says as he picks up a cylindrical object off the desk and keeps it in his hand, "today we'll be talking about Citizen's Arrest."

He uses the object in his hand to draw a digital line underneath the words on the screen. Seems like he's got the hang of the virtual marker at least.

"Now, unless I've been derelict in reviewing your personal files, no one currently seated in this classroom is a member of law enforcement, the courts, or the military. Why is that important? Because that means you are, by definition, citizens. That means the rules, regulations, and laws surrounding any detainments you make fall under a different set of guidelines than those working for a branch of the government."

"Dr. Hawk?" a student sitting in the front row asks as she raises her hand.

Dr. Hawk sighs before he acknowledges her, and I remember what Michelle said about there being a lot of question askers in this class.

"Why does it really matter? I mean, when one of us catches a bad guy, it's not like the police, or whoever, is going to ask how we caught them," she says, not realizing that's not really a question as much as it's just a statement.

"Nine times out of ten, you'd be right, Miss Quinn," Dr. Hawk begins, "but what about when it might not be so clear-cut? What about if you apprehend a metahuman committing a crime of which there are no other witnesses? Or what about if you apprehend a metahuman
before
they actually commit the crime that you suspect they are planning?"

"If you've got a good relationship with the public and the police, it doesn't really matter, though. They'll take your word for it and take the guy into custody," another student chimes in. "It's not like they're just going to say, ‘Sorry, we don't believe you,’ and just let the guy go."

"No, in many situations, the authorities will take your word for it and take the suspect into custody without many questions. The problem we're addressing today isn't one that occurs at the time of arrest. It's one that can occur later, when the suspect has their day in court and argues that you did not have evidence of their supposed crimes. Now rather than a lawful arrest, one that a police officer can perform based simply on reasonable suspicion, you have just unlawfully imprisoned a person. This means not only may you be in danger of being arrested yourself, but also that the case against the suspected criminal will be dropped as the result of a mistrial."

"That's why I don't bring my bad guys to the cops. Just bring 'em to The Agency. They don't ask a whole lot of questions," the same student says, eliciting some knowing chuckles from others in the room.

"Well that is an option, and we all saw how well they did with detaining the suspects at Silver Island after all," Dr. Hawk replies.

The class is filled with a mixture of laughter and surprised gasps. I feel eyes on me, and suddenly I'm acutely aware of just how many people at this school see me as part of the failure at Silver Island. It bothers me more than it should, because on some level, I agree with them. On some level I know that I'm to blame.

"The purpose of this class, and certainly this entire school, is to change the way we, or rather you, think of your place in society. As we're continuing to see in Bay View City, there are many in this world who wish metahumans did not exist.

"If there is to be a place for metahumans in our society, it will involve working alongside the already established laws. When one thinks that because of their powers or abilities the laws no longer apply to them the same way, they're on a very, very slippery slope, one that often ends with a scenario similar to the one we're seeing in Bay View City, I believe.

"Returning to the idea of citizen's arrest, the biggest difference between an arrest you make and one a law enforcement officer might is that you are not protected by what is known as Mistake of Fact. This means if a mistake outside of the officer's control or knowledge has been made without their awareness, they cannot be held responsible for the false arrest. For example, if a police officer arrests a private citizen because they believe they have a gun on them, they are protected, in most cases, if the suspect does not actually have a firearm, as long as he or she can present probable cause.

"If one of you believe a suspect has a gun on their person and you detain them, and it turns out you were wrong, you have opened yourself up for possible litigation. At the very least, the arrest, and any other evidence obtained as a result, will become null and void. At worst, you may find yourself being served with a lawsuit."

I'm not exactly sure why, but this makes some in the class laugh.

"I know that for many of you the idea of being forced to appear in court to protect yourself in a lawsuit is laughable, but it is a very real risk. Failure to appear in court can result in a warrant for your arrest, which on the whole can make your part-time careers as vigilantes and freedom fighters hard, if not impossible.

“You may all think that you're invincible because you're young and because some of you actually
are
invincible, but that doesn't mean the law can't make your lives very difficult, and it doesn't sound like the metahuman circus is going to be hiring again any time soon," Dr. Hawk says in what seems to be uncharacteristically frank terms.

He doesn't sound angry, but he does sound serious, and the effect is felt by the rest of the class, which quickly stops laughing.

"I'd like to show you all an example from a court case during the first wave. You'll probably find it difficult to concentrate on the actual proceedings thanks to the clothes being worn at the time, but you're just going to have to ignore that. Let's just say that the first wave of metahumans might have done more damage to America's idea of what was considered fashionable at the time more than anything else."

This gets a laugh from the classroom, but this time it's one that Dr. Hawk was seeking, of course. He again removes his glasses to more closely examine the buttons on the remote control.

"This all used to be a lot easier when you could just roll a TV set into the classroom, but I suppose that's probably before most of your times, even before you came to this suped-up
classroom of the future
," he says, likely parroting how the classroom technology was pitched to him.

"Do you need help, Dr. Hawk?" a student from the second row asks.

He waves her off.

"No, no. I've got to learn how to operate this myself sometime or else it's going to be a very long winter for all of us, I'm afraid. Hmm, here we go."

The teacher points the remote at the wall of the classroom and hits a button that he seems confident will perform the task he's trying to accomplish. It half does. The screen blinks and changes from displaying the fake white board back to the multichannel interface that was on when I first came into the classroom. There are a few scattered snickers throughout the room as Dr. Hawk mumbles some intelligible curse word under his breath and continues examining the remote.

One by one, students in the class seem to realize that this may take a while. There's scattered chatter throughout the room as they turn to talk with each other. Some pull their phones out to get a quick game in. My phone's currently dead, the result of forgetting to find out what the Wi-Fi password is down here and instead just leaving my phone searching in vain for a cell signal a mile underground for the past few hours. Luckily, I've got about thirty different TV channels on right in front of me.

A lot are on commercial breaks, but as my eyes wander from screen to screen, one channel grabs my attention. I squint my eyes to try to see it more clearly from my seat in the back row of the classroom. At first it's like my brain can't fully process what I'm seeing, but without even thinking, I'm on my feet, walking closer to the screen to see.

A few students glance up at me as I walk past them, my eyes locked on the screen, but most turn back to their conversations or phones quickly. Dr. Hawk is still cursing the remote control as I inch toward him and the screen.

The sound is a faint mix of all the channels. They're almost completely indistinguishable from one another. All I can make out are one- or two-word snippets, completely out of context. But there's no doubt about the words I'm reading on the screen splashed across Meta News 1: "Reports of Suspected Silver Island Terrorist 'Iris' Spotted in Colbytown."

"Quiet," I say almost under my breath at first. There's no response from the rest of the classroom, so I quickly find myself suddenly yelling it instead. This works, although I can still hear a few quietly laughing at me, the crazy new kid who just yelled at a class of peers to be quiet.

"Mister Connolly, can I help you?" Dr. Hawk asks in a way that's meant to snap me out of whatever it is I think I'm doing.

It doesn't work since I still can't hear what they're saying on the channel. Without a second thought, and barely moving my attention from the screen, I yank the remote control out of Dr. Hawk's hand and quickly find the button to bring this channel up front while muting all of the others.