Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity (7 page)

"Wow, that's still pretty cool, but it's also hardcore."  Well, at least now Hector knew what his power was.  Determination.  That time freezing thing might be useful too.  "Makes you wonder.  If that's what the trainees are like, what about the actual operatives?"

They both turned to watch Coach Achala.  He was eating alone, calmly and methodically.  Each piece of chicken was sliced to the same size, chewed the same number of times, and followed with a sip of water.  It should have looked mechanical, instead, it was serene.

Private Residence

Hector had spent the day doing research.  Okay, he'd also attended Ethics and Physical Conditioning, gotten certified in pistols, gone to college level courses in mathematics, computer science, sociology and recent history.  Multitasking was easier when you could be in more than one place at once.

This Hector had assigned himself two tasks for the day.  First, learn as much about his instructors and classmates as possible.  The incident with Isaac had shown him that what he didn't know, could hurt others.  The incident with Duncan had shown him that if he did hurt others, he wanted it to be on purpose.  His second task was both simpler and grander, maximize himself.

Hector had been able to certify with a pistol because there was a shooting range near his house that was sloppy about checking IDs.  He'd spent at least three days there every week for the last year.  That hadn't been because he'd known the skill would be valuable, it was just fun.  Now he had to figure out every possible advantage he could.

The most important thing he'd thought of was also the simplest to accomplish: research everything.  One of him was enrolled at UCLA. That one had split into three, and now at least one would always be in the school library.  Student's access may not sound like much of a resource, but that was literally hundreds of specialized databases at his fingertips.  He could find out any fact he might need to know with a little research.

Some goals were obvious.  Increasing his proficiency with a pistol, adding larger firearms like shotguns and rifles, martial arts, knives, clubs, basically anything to do with fighting, there was training available to Citadel members that cost nothing but time.  He had plenty of that.

Other goals were more subtle.  Carrying a double course load was trivial for him, but the cost would add up.  Auditing additional courses was a good option.  He'd already laid out bare bones degree plans for himself that included psychology, applied chemistry, languages and health sciences.  There had to be more that would be useful to him.

Hector was just a regular human.  Okay, he was effectively a small army of regular humans.  However, if there was one reason for the Citadel to exist, it was that regular people couldn't effectively control the actions of the Empowered. 

If he was going to do his part, Hector had to find a way to push himself higher up the power scale.  Becoming a small army of humans at peak physical conditioning, trained to the limit of the human mind, would be a small step in the right direction.

CHAPTER 4:  PERSONAL TIME

Private Residence, Oceanside

The Director looked up from the evaluation results in her hands to consider the young man before her.  They were seated at his family’s kitchen table.  He wore his blond hair slicked back and a dark brown button-down shirt with black slacks. 

There was enough wear on the clothes to indicate that they were in regular use, rather than only for special occasions.  His posture was upright and alert, the very model of an upper-middle class, eager young student.  The only contrast with this image were the dark sunglasses he was wearing indoors.

“Mr. Reed, why should I even consider allowing you to enter my program?”

The boy rocked back slightly, his eyebrows raised and his mouth opened in surprise.  After a momentary pause, he leaned forward, his face and voice firm with determination.

“Ma’am, my academic history is well above average and my parents gave you a list of my extracurricular activities.  I feel I should be well within the criteria of admittance.” There was a hint of anger in his otherwise controlled voice.

“Young man, your parents are no longer in the room.  Anything disclosed during the course of these interviews is considered confidential.  You and I both know that my concerns have nothing to do with your grades.  You will cease this act and tell me why you wish to be a Citadel operative, or your application will be denied here and now.”

The resulting change was subtle, but unmistakable to the Director.  The boy still sat upright, but with a loose, relaxed manner rather than his previous pose of controlled eagerness.  His face was smooth and she was sure it would have seemed unemotional even without the glasses.  The most pronounced change was in the tone of his voice.

“There is no simple answer to that, Director Shift.”  It was utterly monotone.  “You know my family history.  I desire to show that I can rise above it.  Obviously, I also desire success and reward.  Operatives earn both in sufficient quantity. 

“I think, most of all, that my ability is the primary drive.  There is no other socially acceptable avenue within which I can make full use of it.  I realize restraint is necessary, but I have considered this for most of my life and I believe this is the best path for me.”

“The best path for you, perhaps.  What about my other trainees?”  Another woman might have been disconcerted, knowing the potential danger she was in.  Melody Shift was not.

“I am not my mother, ma’am.  I can control myself.” He answered.

She regarded him in silence, considering both his words and the change in persona.

“Fine.  There may be a place for you in the Citadel, conditionally.  You will not use your gift on any trainee, or staff member, without specific permission.  Do otherwise and I’ll see you not only expelled, but executed.  Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”  Despite the threat, his posture and tone remained unchanged.

“Then here’s your acceptance packet.  Welcome to the Citadel, Jason.”  The latter sentence was clearly delivered out of habit, but she handed over the thick manila envelope she’d brought with her anyway.  She gave the odd young man a polite, if distant, smile and left.  The Director’s mind was already on her next appointment.

Training Area, Citadel Hub

Jason struck his victim again.  He fell, and Jason moved in to kick at him.  There was a crunching noise from his knee.  He gagged and choked when Jason managed to get him in the groin.  The young man stepped back, signaling for a healer.  Once the grey clad woman was done, Jason moved in and resumed.

This was a good training exercise.  Killing would never be difficult, not for Jason, but now he was learning to disable.  A blow to the throat that was too strong could kill, crushing the wind pipe.  Do it softer and the victim would be unable to breathe, the muscles seized up.  He attempted to demonstrate this, a light jab.  He missed, tried again.

Blows to the joints left the limb nearly useless.  He kicked out at the other's knee, catching the cap at just the right angle.  His opponent staggered back, unable to put weight on the leg.  At his current level, Jason was not strong enough to do significant damage with a single punch to the chest. 

He aimed a bit lower, catching his victim just below the rib cage.  This was sufficient to cause him to double over and fall to the ground once more.  Jason went for the head this time.  He was careful to hold back, too hard and the other would die. 

A few light kicks, the motions more like a stomp, and his victim's struggles grew disoriented.  He had already observed that head blows had this effect.  However, the head was hard enough that a blow with his hand was as likely to hurt himself as his target.  Kicking was more effective.

He signaled the healer, again.  She had been waiting nearby and stared at him, rather than her patient.  Jason knew little of healing, but it seemed unlikely that this was normal procedure.  She finished and stepped away, still staring at Jason.  He stepped forward and raised his leg, intent on stomping his victim's foot.  It was possible he could break a bone there, if he hit hard enough with his heel.

Coach Achala called an end to the exercise.

Jason moved forward, removed the covering from Hector's head then circled around to release his hands.  His roommate, still naked, stared at him for a moment.  After a short time, he turned and retrieved his clothing.  As he dressed, Jason took note of the firearm that Hector had begun wearing recently.  He made a note to ask him about it.  Jason had little use for a pistol, but a taser or some sort of stun gun would be another matter.

"We're done for the day, class.  However, I do have something to go over with you, before you leave."  Coach Achala left the center of the room, walking towards the exit.  "Your combat rankings have been sent to your Citadel accounts.  This will be done every Friday.  They will also be on display here, at all times."

The portion of the wall nearest the exit lit up, showing a list of names.  Each one was accompanied by a number, from one to fifty seven.  Automatically, Jason searched for his own name, number twenty nine.  Isaac was higher, nineteen.  Kelly and Hector had come in at forty three and forty seven, respectively.

"As I said before, these rankings won't directly affect your graduation status.  Those who complete this program at first, and those at the bottom, will both be Citadel operatives."  The physical instructor stopped speaking for a moment.  He turned his head from side to side.  Gauging the class's reaction? 

"However, your performance gives us information that we can use to determine your eventual assignment.  They're also a valuable training opportunity.

"Those of you dissatisfied with your current ranking will be glad to hear, you can challenge your classmates to move up."  A new name appeared on the wall, to the left of the rankings.  Achala Juggernaut.  "While here, you may register a challenge like this."  Jason watched as the man reached up to touch his own name, then the number one rank, Gregory Warp.  To the right of the ranking list, a new line appeared.

AJ vs GW 

"You can cancel them like this."  He reached up, touching the new line.  It vanished.  "You may also place a challenge by mailing myself, or whomever takes my place as your combat instructor.  Challenges must be registered before Friday at midnight.  They will take place each weekend at the Sparring Field, beginning at seven in the morning.

“Each of you will receive a list of scheduled challenges, no later than six AM Saturday morning.  Today, you may challenge anyone.  After this weekend, you may challenge within five ranks.  The only exceptions are the top ten. You must be within three ranks to challenge them."

"What about you?  Your name's up there, too."

"Yes, Duncan.  You can challenge your combat instructor, if you wish, but it won't affect your standing.  Also, if you lose a match, you can't challenge again for another week.

“Are there any other questions?"  The Coach's question passed in silence.  "Very well, you're dismissed for the day.  Enjoy your weekend."

Two of Hector's duplicates were waiting, just outside the exercise room.  As soon as the trainees were dismissed, one moved quickly to the duplicate that Jason had been practicing on.  The other waited for the majority of the class to disperse, then moved to stand before Jason.  His hands were at his sides, clenched in fists.

Jason waited for the other to speak, careful to keep a polite expression of greeting on his face.

"What the Hell man?  Are you pissed at me?" he said, voice louder than normal.

"I am not.  May I ask, why did you think I might be?"

The version of Hector speaking to Jason turned his head, looking at the two other Hectors in the room.  Jason's sparring partner seemed to be having difficulty walking.  The other was supporting him. 

"Cause of that." again, his voice was too loud.

"I do not understand.  We had a training exercise."  Jason was confused.  He tried to show it with his face and voice.  "We were partners.  Did I do something wrong?"

"Did you-?  You weren't fighting, man!  That was fucking torture!"

Jason understood.  Hector was angry.  He stepped back, keeping all three of Hector's bodies in view.  He had enough, at the moment, that a single gunshot wound was no threat.  As long as all three were in his field of view, there would not be a second.  He just had to make sure that Hector was unable to get his hands on Jason.  Multiple blows could burn through his reserve rapidly, and a strike to the face could obscure his vision.

"You think just because there's a bunch of me, it doesn't matter what you do to one?  I still feel it, Jason.  It still hurts."  His voice was closer to normal in volume.  He was also speaking more slowly.  Was Hector less angry, or more?

"No Hector, I had assumed you feel pain in the normal fashion."  Give an example, show he understood.  "I saw you stub your toe, the morning before last.  You cursed."

"Then why?  What'd I do to you?  You were trying to hurt me, not fight."  Oh.  That explained the difficulty.

"Hector, I think you misunderstood the exercise.  Coach Achala explained it on the first day.  Today, you were meant to learn what it was like to be hurt.  I was meant to learn how to hurt you.  I am sorry that your portion of the lesson was unpleasant."

"You're sorry?  You-" Hector stopped talking.  He stood there for a moment, not moving.  Jason was unsure what it meant.  "Take off your glasses.  I wanna see your face."

"Very well."  He changed his expression to the one his mother had said was 'earnest,' then removed his glasses.  He placed them in his breast pocket.  Hector looked at him, then stepped back, quickly.  Jason was not certain, but he believed his friend's new expression was 'fear.'  He needed to practice 'earnest' better.  It was supposed to be reassuring.

"What, uh, what's your power, Jason?  Grim doesn't really tell me much.  I looked, but I couldn't find anything on you."  Good.  If Hector was still willing to talk, then Jason must be getting better at reassuring people.  He put his glasses back on, just in case.

"My father suggested the name.  He said it fit, since I drink life with my eyes."

"What?"

"It is a poetic description, but accurate."  He watched, carefully.  If Hector went for his gun, he would need to drop all three quickly.  "If a living thing is within my field of vision, I can take its life.  I seem to store those lives.  They make me stronger, heal my injuries."  This was the point where many had a negative reaction.

"That's... well, honestly, that's creepy as fuck."  Jason was relieved.  In his experience, if violence was to occur, it would have begun by now.  "Are you, um, do you have any lives stored, right now?"

"Yes, I have three left.  I try not to hold many, not during Coach Achala's combat training.  He has instructed us not to use powers, if possible.  I realize that coming without any would be more in the spirit of his request.  However, I feel that would be needlessly dangerous."

"Yeah, I guess... I guess that makes sense."  Jason no longer recognized Hector's expression.  However, his voice was no longer loud and he was speaking with his normal speed.  Jason was relieved.  He was careful not to show this.  It might reveal weakness.

"Can I ask, do you know what your trigger was?"

"I was too young to remember.  My parents told me that they bought me a dog, as a gift."  The two duplicates of Hector that were not speaking to him had left.  The threat was reduced, easily manageable, now. 

"They said that I was very happy with it.  I played with it often.  Shortly after I received the dog, it bit me.  My father was out, working.  My mother heard me crying and came to investigate.  She found no sign of injury on me, however, the dog was dead."

Was that sufficient?  Jason could give more detail, but it might compromise his mother's privacy.  Hector was, potentially, a valuable asset.  Keeping his friendship might be worth it.

"Oh.  How... how old were you?"

"I received the dog on my second birthday."

"Yeah.  That explains a lot."  Hector's face changed again, back to something more normal.  "I'll walk home with you.  I think there's some stuff you might not understand too well.  About other people, I mean."  Excellent. 

Father had never seemed to grasp how different his son was.  Mother had helped him conceal it, but her own difficulties had left her unable to instruct Jason.  Hector might prove to be an even more useful friend than he had thought.