CHAPTER 9
IRIDIUM
I never met a supervillain who wouldn’t be better off with a superhero’s boot planted on his neck.
Road Rage, in an interview given after his defeat of Lava Man to Channel 1 in New Chicago
Iridium knew she had a problem when their self-defense instructor paired them off and she found herself face-to-face with Hornblower. Or, as Iridium and Jet had privately come to call him in the weeks since the Academy had been in session, the Boy Moron.
From the other end of the line, Jet gave her a sympathetic glance. She’d gotten the skinny kid who controlled plants and sort of looked like a spindly tree himself. “Lucky,” Iridium muttered to herself.
“Listen up!” their defense instructor bellowed. He was the size of a small mountain, but Iridium decided he would have been a lot scarier without the cyber leg and a metal pin in the arm on the same side. “My name is Erik Taft, but you will call me Lancer! I am here to teach you that all of your powers and your so-called skills are nothing next to a gangster with a plasgun. Or a junkfreak with a Talon cutter. Or anyone, anywhere, who takes advantage of a moment of inattention from you!”
Iridium saw Jet wince. She wanted to tell her that Lancer was just trying to scare them, that her dad said he was a washout who’d gotten dropped by a gangbanger because he was busy posing for a reporter. But she couldn’t, so she stuck her tongue out at Hornblower instead.
“I’m gonna rip you apart,” he hissed.
“I’m soooo scared,” Iridium responded, flipping a finger at him.
“Two volunteers!” Lancer bellowed. “My nephew and his skinny partner. Front and center!”
Iridium was genuinely startled when Hornblower grabbed her by the sleeve of her uniform and jerked her to the mat at the head of the class. “You’re the coach’s nephew?” she said.
“The three Taft brothers are the triple terror of criminals everywhere,” Lancer rumbled, like two avalanches colliding.
“I heard one of you was a dud,” said Iridium. “No powers,” she elucidated, when Lancer turned the color of tomato sauce.
“Little lady,” he said, “assume the defensive position.” He clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Hornblower, why don’t you demonstrate that move we practiced at home for the class?”
“Sir?” Jet stuck up her hand. “Shouldn’t the partners be equal in size for an effective demonstration of the technique?”
“What’s your name?” Lancer snapped.
“Jet, sir.”
“Jet, shut your Shadow mouth and let the class move along,” Lancer bellowed. “When I want any of your snot-nosed opinions, I’ll ask for them! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Lancer, sir,” the class chorused.
Then, without waiting for a signal, Hornblower lunged at Iridium. He was twice her size, and he moved fast for a stocky kid.
Iridium didn’t bother trying to use any of the physical techniques she and Abbie had practiced. She stuck out her hand, called her power, and strobed Hornblower in the face.
He fell to the ground, screaming and clawing at his skin as he rolled back and forth.
Lancer grabbed Iridium by the back of her collar. “What in Christo’s name was that?”
“He attacked me,” said Iridium calmly. “I defended myself. Was that not the point of this lesson?”
“You take a good look at this girl,” Lancer said loudly. “She is not a team player. The hero in this room who gets paired with her come Third Year is as unfortunate as my poor … underpowered … brother, Boxer. You mark my words.”
To Iridium he hissed, “Get your ass moving. You’re going to the Superintendent’s office.”
As she was dragged off the mat by her uniform, Hornblower moaned, “I’m gonna get you back for this, Iridium! I swear.” His face was lobster-colored from sunburn, and his eyes were watering.
“Next time you try and threaten me, don’t cry like a little girl,” said Iridium. “It cheapens the moment.”
“Move!” Lancer shouted, dragging her out of the classroom. Iridium saluted to the students at large and was gratified when she saw Jet smile.