Whitehorse, Yukon Territory
August 2012
The later summer air was crisp as El Lee walked up to the raised porch in front of the home he had grown up in. The small house with its bedraggled blue siding, small windows, and the bare yard was not much to look at. While some houses stood proud on hilltops, this one hunkered down, pulled its collar close and told the world to bugger off. El stopped at the wooden steps and put the clothes on he had stacked there half an hour earlier. The front door opened as his dad stepped out.
“Go for one last run this morning?”
El nodded while pulling the white polo shirt on. “You shouldn’t have too many animals come by for a while, at least until the first rain or big snow.”
“What am I going to do without you marking the trees around here this winter, eh? I better put the bear chain on the trash again.”
Whitehorse, Yukon Territory
August 2012
A low fog clung to the ground, wrapping around the trees that El Lee ran past. The woods were a swirl of sounds and smells. The sharp odour of a raccoon that had gone through several hours ago, and the musty tang of a black bear. El would make sure to mark the territory around his father’s house before he left that morning, predators hated crossing into El’s territory. He wondered if the people of Whitehorse would think then the numbers of bears and cougars increased over the winter with him gone.
El jumped over a fallen pine tree, his paws touching briefly and springing off. Running this way was freedom, exhilaration, and peace. He would miss this. He had read that Calgary was near the mountains, perhaps he could go for runs during the weekends.
El stopped near a creek, bending his snout down to get a drink from the cold water, then stretched his muscles. If he headed back home now he would be able to have some breakfast before catching the Greyhound bus. While he was a bundle of excitement about beginning his training the prospect of living in such a large city had kept him from sleeping for the last week.
Granted spending thirty-five hours on four different buses didn’t thrill him much either.
Calgary, Alberta
Canadian Forces Base Calgary
Two days later
El stepped out of the mini-van taxi stiffly, sore muscles protesting. He reached back in to hand pass a twenty to the driver and pulled out his large duffel bag.
“Keep the change.”
“Thanks, buddy.” The driver stuck the money into his center console and pulled away from the curb.
El shouldered his bag and turned to walk to the main gate. As he neared the guard stepped up in crisply starched camouflage, pistol at his hip and assault rifle slung at an angle across his chest. El reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that was his pass onto the base, it also listed a fake job that was his cover. The instructions he had received with his acceptance to the Academy had been explicit about not alerting anyone to the true nature of his business at CFB Calgary. The guard took the paperwork and read it over.
“Photo ID please sir.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” El set his bag on the sidewalk and pulled out his wallet, handing his license to the young soldier. The soldier compared the name on both forms, then looked El over well. El was eighteen, just two inches under six feet, with a loose mane of hair to his shoulders, and a runner’s physique.
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“Another college intern...how many of you are there?” El shrugged in response. “Any way you want warehouse 141, it is down the main road, turn at the third road, and to the left about three hundred meters ahead.” El thanked the soldier, shouldered his heavy bag and set off down the road. Behind him, he could barely make out the soldier talking to someone in the small guard house at the side of the entrance. “Hey Marc, get this: a Chinese guy named Elvis.”
El stepped out of the elevator and into a long, wide hallway deep underground. In the warehouse above he had found file cabinets and boxes crammed in tightly, leaving only narrow paths snaking through the building. He had been directed into an office by an older soldier and shown a large closet that was in fact an elevator.
Along the stone walls of the hallway were large murals depicting the exploits of heroes. El recognized several events from the paintings, supers holding back the denizens of rifts until the rift collapsed upon themselves. One large mural showed the first rift that had opened in Canada two years ago when Professor Eldritch, the Constable, and Aurora held the line for almost half an hour by themselves. Other paintings and framed photographs showed the more common exploits of supers as they battled criminals and responded to disasters.
One hundred feet down the hall an official waited by an open door and waved El through it into a large lecture hall. The hall features dozens of rows of seats and a slope that led to a podium and large projection screens along the wall. At a quick count, El estimated seating for three hundred people, although most of the seats were empty. Clustered in the center of the theatre were approximately fifty people.
“The seats all have a number, you are in seat 32.” The attendant’s voice was calm obviously meant to be reassuring, though it did little to calm El’s nerves or bounding heart. El made his way to his assigned seat and sat, watching the people around him. Almost universally they were his age, eighteen, and very fit. Sitting two seats to El’s right was a girl who seemed very out of place as she was no older than fifteen.
Over the next few minutes, the last of the students entered the theatre and sat. When the last of them were sitting a short, muscular man made his way to the podium pressing a button on a laptop computer there, starting a slide show on the screens behind him. With a slight start, El realized he had met the man, a year ago he had come to Whitehorse to interview El about his application to the Academy.
“Welcome to the Academy ladies and gentlemen. My name is Instructor MacDonald and I will be your class proctor for the first year of your training. That means I will be a mentor, teacher, guide, and counsellor...it also means I will personally expel you from this program if you prove to be unsuitable.” As he talked MacDonald strode back and forth before the fifty students, making contact with as many eyes as he could.
“On that happy note, there are several items I want to go over before we move on. First, your identities are to be kept secret while you are here. There are some supers who do not hide their identities, but most do in order to protect their families. I am sure we all know what happened in Montreal in 1997.” All of the students knew of the events MacDonald mentioned, when a chapter of the Hell’s Angels began murdering the children of superheroes in an effort to destabilize crime-fighting efforts in the city. The effect backfired as few of the perpetrators lived to face trial. While MacDonald spoke the image on the screens changed, showing images of car bombs and the shattered remains of a daycare.
“Second, there are few heroes who operate solo. The reason is simple, a lone hero is often a dead hero. With that reality in mind, you will notice you are sitting in fours. As some of you have already met in housing you will also see that these four are the ones you will be living with. They are your team, you will live with them, train with them, and fight alongside them.” Again the images changed, this time showing teams of Canadian superheroes: Northern Lights from Edmonton, Nîswapisowak from Toronto, and others El did not recognize.
“Third, commit completely to this training. I know most of you feel as though you have trained your entire lives to become heroes but trust me you have not trained as rigorously as you will starting today. Hold nothing back or you will not be successful here as we will not send any of you out there not as prepared as possible.” MacDonald tapped another key and a door, previously hidden, slid into the wall revealing a dark chamber beyond.
“Fourth, you must always be ready. Beyond this door is one of our training rooms, in it awaits a lone adversary. The person who finds them and vanquishes them will gain a significant advantage over their classmates. Go, now.”
As one most of the students broke and quickly passed through the doorway, some changing physically as they did so. One boy turned to metal, a girl became wreathed in flames, and another girl disappeared, perhaps turning invisible.
El glanced at the three students near him, his team. The young girl, another girl tall and fit with intense eyes, and a rather plain boy with a shaved head and a face that was making a valiant yet futile attempt to grow a beard. Each of them were starting to stand up.
“Wait,” El surprised himself by speaking up,” wait, we are stronger as a pack.”
The tall girl, black hair pulled into a tight ponytail down her back, nodded. “He is right, we are stronger as a team. My name is Sharon.”
The young girl next to her spoke next,” Looks like some of the others listened to the instructor also.” Around them five other groups were clustered together, rapidly talking. “I’m Laura.”
“Je suis Drew,” the other boy in their group spoke as he pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes, a series of gears shifting along the lenses with soft metallic sounds. “Oh sorry, my name is Drew.”
“And my name is El, um Elvis actually.”
Laura gave a light laugh, “Ok before Elvis leaves the building, how are we going to win in there?”
Instructor MacDonald checked the time on his computer, then addressed his charges. “Ladies and gentlemen, congratulations on getting the first lesson: start thinking as teams. Now that being said, get off your butts you have thirty seconds till I close that door.”