Super Powereds: Year 3 (113 page)

           
      
“Do you have a minute?” Roy’s tone was subdued from what Chad was accustomed to. Bravado was Roy’s default, and deviations from it were quite rare. That probably meant this was something serious. Chad muted the news, then turned to face his dormmate.

           
      
“Is something wrong?” Chad asked. He’d worked hard on picking up social cues, and was hoping to confirm his hypothesis about Roy’s altered mood.

           
      
“On the scale we generally use to measure crazy shit? Nah, this ain’t even a blip. But I do have a problem, and you might be the only one who can help me solve it.” Roy sat down in the chair that was catty-corner to the couch, his eyes never breaking contact with Chad’s. “I need to have a match with you.”

           
      
Chad tilted his head slightly, trying to signal his confusion non-verbally. “We spar frequently in class, and occasionally at the gym. I have no issue accommodating more of that.”

           
      
“No, not sparring. A
match
match. Like the ones we did freshman year, when there was shit on the line. I need you to fight me like it matters, and I’m going to come at you the same way.”

           
      
“Roy . . .” Chad paused, wavering on how to phrase his next words. Ultimately, he realized that he had no gift for diplomacy, so the only option on the table was to come out and say the truth. “You’ve gotten much better over the last few years, you truly have; however, I’ve been improving as well. At this point, you are certainly much stronger than me, and would be superior against certain opponents. But, that said, I’m afraid I still don’t anticipate you being able to defeat me.”

           
      
Roy blinked several times, then shook his head and let out a laugh. “Damn, guess I had that coming for how I acted freshman year. Sorry, I should have explained this better. I know I’m not going to beat you, but I need to fight you seriously, twice actually, so I can test something about myself."

           
      
“A new technique?” Chad asked.

           
      
“Sort of. You know how I’ve been in Weapons and Close Combat? Well, I’ve decided to stick with whichever one makes me the strongest. Thing is, I have no idea how to test that, except to fight someone really strong: once with my bat, and once without.”

           
      
“A controlled experiment,” Chad said. Roy’s forehead scrunched up, so Chad continued. “A controlled experiment is where you test varying factors against one that is standardized. You want to measure your relative fighting strength against something constant, me in this case, so I would be the constant in the experiment.”

           
      
“Stuff like that is more Hershel’s department, but it sounds right to me,” Roy agreed. “I want to see which version of me is really the strongest: bare fists or bat-wielding. Whichever it is, that’s the major I’m going to apply for.”

           
      
“I commend you on the dedication to power, but there are some flaws in your plan.” Chad shifted in his seat, mentally calculating all the errors, and then deciding to boil it down to the big ones. Hershel could follow the minutia better, and there was always time to talk with him later. “The biggest one is that I’ve fought you unarmed dozens of times. I know your style and techniques perfectly, whereas the bat would be a total mystery to me. It would give your armed trial a slight advantage in terms of ability over me, which you would need to factor in to your decision.”

           
      
“If they’re so close that something like that can make the difference, I’ll just stick with Close Combat,” Roy said. “Saves on having to buy heavier bats in the long run.  I’m looking for a visible difference, or at least one I can feel as we fight.”

           
      
“Practical, if a bit ill-defined,” Chad replied. “Our second issue is that, while we can both heal quickly, the first bout will inherently be a more powerful one, as we’ll be uninjured and full of vigor.”

           
      
“That one, I was actually ahead of you on.” Roy grinned, clearly happy to finally have anticipated something in the conversation. “I already talked to Camille, and she’s willing to heal us between rounds. We’ve both got enough stamina that I doubt one fight is really going to wear us out beyond some bruises.”

           
      
“I suppose that’s true,” Chad conceded. “My last key concern is that we will need one of the professors to oversee our match. If this is indeed a fight where you want us to come at one another seriously, it’s a necessary safety precaution. We’ve gotten much more powerful since freshman year, and, for transparency as much as protection, it would be irresponsible to spar without an experienced eye monitoring us.”

           
      
“Damn. You’re right, and I should have thought of that.” Roy leaned back in his chair slightly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he mulled Chad’s last demand over. “I feel like there’s a pretty good chance Professor Cole will do it, if she knows the stakes. She’s been trying to talk me into going with Weapons since the year started, so if I tell her I’m on the edge, I bet she’d be willing to take the gig.”

           
      
“Should she refuse, we can both approach Professor Fletcher and ask him to undertake the role,” Chad said. “And if even that proves fruitless, I feel certain that Dean Blaine would be willing to do it, although he would be more difficult to schedule.”

           
      
Roy snorted and shook his head. “I doubt the dean has nothing better to do than come watch two juniors kick the shit out of each other.”

           
      
Chad smiled, and for once pointedly didn’t say what he was actually thinking. He and Blaine’s relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but neither was it a thing he saw any point in broadcasting to the world. “Dean Blaine is committed to helping his students choose the best paths for their abilities. If this will truly help you with your decision, then I have no doubt he would consent to oversee the match.”

           
      
“Guess we’ll find out, if Cole and Fletcher both say no.” Roy stood from his chair, and stuck a hand out to Chad. “Thanks for agreeing to do this. I know a lot of things have been cutting into your training time lately, and you damn sure don’t owe it to me.”

           
      
Chad stood as well, and accepted the handshake. “You’re mistaken, Roy. I’m not doing this just for you. Fighting a high-level combatant, especially with two different arsenals of techniques, is the best training I can ask for. I expect I’ll gain as much insight from our bout as you will, even if it is in different areas.”

           
      
The two men shook, and with that, the battle was on.

210.

               Nick heard the door open, but made no motion to reach for one of the several guns stashed nearby. Two minutes earlier or later, and he certainly would have. This time, however, was perfectly in the window expected for Eliza to check in as she did her rounds, and therefore, no cause for concern. He did still bristle a bit, but then forced himself to calm down. The situation with Nathaniel was making him tense, and that was a mistake. Tension was the enemy in long, protracted battles like these. If he started seeing threats everywhere, he’d become blind to the real ones as they crept up on him. Part of him wanted to believe that trying to stay relaxed was the reason he’d finally let things progress to this point with Alice, but not even Nick was skilled enough to sell that lie, especially to himself.

           
      
“Everything is clear on the—oh ho ho! What’s this now?” Eliza stepped into Nick’s bedroom as she spoke and found him looking at three button-down shirts paired with different slacks that had been laid on the bed. “I thought your date wasn’t until Saturday?”

           
      
“It’s not, but time and temperature have wilted the crispness from these, so I’m going to get my outfit pressed before the big night.”

           
      
“You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life, most of it since starting to work for your Family, but I
never
would have believed that I would live to see Nicholas Campbell actually care about one of his dates.”

           
      
“Then that shows a lack of perceptiveness on your part,” Nick replied. “I’ve cared about every date I’ve ever gone on, and every lady who has given me the pleasure of her company.”

           
      
“Fair enough. But what about after things are done?” Eliza said.

           
      
“There, you may have something of a point.” Nick picked up the blue shirt, along with the gray slacks beneath it, and set them aside. It was a classic color combination, but it was better suited to someone with Vince’s striking eyes and hair. On him, it would seem a touch garish, and while Nick had no objections to garishness on occasion, he was cultivating a different aura for his first date with Alice.

           
      
“Seriously though, you can’t tell me you put this much effort into choosing your clothes every time you take a girl out. We’d never see you on the casino floor if that were the case.”

           
      
“No, I’ll admit that I don’t usually try quite so hard. But Alice Adair is not a simple woman, and I would put myself at a disadvantage if I treated her as one.”

           
      
“It’s okay to be nervous.” Eliza leaned over and touched Nick lightly on the shoulder, drawing his gaze from the clothes to her. “I mean it.”

           
      
“I’ve committed more crimes in my life than most police officers will ever see. I’ve squared off against Supers, criminals, and thugs on a near daily basis since I was a child. I am Nicholas Campbell; I do not get nervous about dates.”

           
      
“Except when you actually care about the girl, of which, I’m guessing this is the first time.” Eliza met his eyes head on and for once, Nick found himself wondering if he’d stepped out of his depth. These were emotional complications he was accustomed to using on others, not getting tangled in himself.

           
      
“You said we were clear,” Nick said at last.

           
      
“All quiet on the western, eastern, northern, and southern fronts.” Eliza let him change the subject without objection, mostly because she wasn’t sure what to say if he tried to turn it into a genuine discussion. After all, she’d left the only man she’d loved abandoned in a shack, what did she know about healthy love?

           
      
“Good. At least Nathaniel seems to have retreated for the moment. I don’t need to tell you that we’ll be on high alert when I take Alice out though, do I?”

           
      
“He caught us off guard once. It’s not happening again,” Eliza assured him. “Also, I’d wear the green shirt with the dark pants. Just my two-cents, but I think you look good in green.”

           
      
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nick turned back to choosing his outfit in an effort to calm his nerves, as Eliza headed out the door to continue making sure their homes were secure.

           
      
Of the two, she had the far easier job that night.

*          
      
*          
      
*

           
      
“Sure, I can ref for you.” Professor Cole pulled a thick binder out from her desk drawer and set it down with an audible thud. Her gloved hands rifled through the pages until she came across the one she was looking for, at which point, she turned back up to the two young men standing in her office. “How’s Saturday work?”

           
      
“I have no prior commitments,” Chad told her.

           
      
“Yeah, I’m good too.” Unlike Chad, Roy seemed a bit frazzled by the unexpectedly easy answer his teacher had given. “Don’t you even want to know why we’re going to have a match though?”

           
      
“Because you’re deciding between Weapons and Close Combat, and you think fighting the class’s top-ranked student will give you some perspective on which you’re better suited for.” Professor Cole snatched a pen up off her desk and began scribbling in the binder. “How about we do it around one? Eat an early lunch, and you’ll have time to digest before the action.”