Abbotsford, BC
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“What?” Retorted the big man, turning in his seat to stare at the boy sitting beside him, “You said you needed to get to Alberta to spend time with your girlfriend.”
“I did - I do, but I’m sure I mentioned at some point about not liking heights.” Cameron emphasized the heights bit, frustratedly motioning towards the airport they had just driven up to.
“You said: “Big jets have too many moving parts, if something fails up there you couldn’t do anything to keep it in the air.””
“Sure, that’s because: I, Don’t, Like, Heights. The thought of falling out of the sky gives me nightmares.”
“Yah see, that’s the beauty of my idea about flying in a small airplane, if the engines do go kaput, the wings on these babies can let it glide to the ground. No falling involved.”
“What if the wings fall off? Did you consider that?”
“Now you’re just nit-picking. Get on the silly plane. Don’t let fear control your life.”
“If it’s no big deal, why aren’t you flying to see your family?”
“Because they don’t make airplane seats to fit generously proportioned people like me. Besides, I’m claustrophobic.”
“I think you just ruined your own argument.”
“I’ve come to grips with reality,” huffed Buck. “You’re just being stubborn.”
“I’ve flown twice now, one of which crashed. Not good odds in my book.”
“Come on, you’ll be late, the plane’s loading. What will Lynn say if you don’t show up on time?”
“She’ll understand completely, and tell me to come safely.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about women my boy. Don’t keep her waiting, you never disappoint a woman on purpose.”
“That’s not fair!”
“‘Love is a Battlefield’ according to Pat Benatar. Now show a little backbone and put a smile on that face before it permanently sets into a scowl.”
“Tell me why we partnered up again?”
“Because you love me, and I push you to new heights.”
“Oh, that’s funny.”
“Cameron, just go. You’ll be fine. Enjoy Whateley and look after your friends. Text me when you can.”
“Thank you Buck, for everything.”
“Any landing you walk away from is a good one!” The pilot’s comment brought Cameron little comfort, although a cheer rose from the other passengers aboard the little turboprop puddle jumper.
The small aircraft was still bouncing, jostling everyone aboard as it wheeled along the tarmac as it slowed down from being airborne. Hard to tell if the turbulence in the air was worse than the rough airstrip surface. While the plane coasted along its propellers slowed, the engines no longer needing to strain at keeping them aloft, the noise level abated lessening the sensory overload Cameron had been fighting.
The pilot’s announcement provided upon arrival only added to Cameron’s angst over flying, was getting to their destination really that much in question? The worst part had been how the plane’s route had it stopping at every little community with an airport between Vancouver and Calgary. They’d barely gotten up into the air when the plane would begin descending again, Cameron’s obviously frayed nerves maybe played into the pilot’s levity.
Regardless, the flight was exactly as Buck had said it would be: “an experience!” By flying, it allowed Cameron to stay an extra day working with Buck, finishing up the last construction job the man had arranged that summer. Working with Buck had been a great learning opportunity, and they’d become good friends.
Cameron hated that there was nothing to be done should something go wrong up in the air, which let’s face it - something always goes wrong, if not today then for sure tomorrow. The entire flight was spent with white knuckles gripping the armrests, hoping: not today, please not today. Which is a might calloused for those flying tomorrow - let them pray tomorrow never comes.
But now that the plane landed - without incident, Cameron breathed a sigh of relief. He’d lived if just barely, his list of travel options kept getting shorter. He liked trains - nice and safe and firmly affixed to the ground. Flying was definitely to be stricken off any future plans if he had any say in it.
The plane taxied up to the terminal, what a thing to call a place to inspire confidence. The plane was directed to a spot near the large building and came to a stop, the pilot opened the door and helped all eight passengers exit. Cameron joined the other passengers grabbing whatever luggage they’d brought as it was unloaded. Cameron only had his backpack and a small wheeled suitcase, most of his belongings stashed away in his dimensional holdings.
“Head in through the doors and follow the arrows to Arrivals.” Informed the pilot, between everyone saying thanks on their way past him.
Calgary International Airport was a busy place, with the comings and goings of people traveling across Canada and around the globe, it seemed like a maze to Cameron as he entered and looked about at the hustle and bustle. It was a short walk to reach the main building, Cameron couldn’t help but notice how Security guards watched everyone’s movement.
Approaching the Arrivals area where luggage was picked-up as it splayed out on rotating conveyer belts. Cameron could see the exits and headed towards them, but was intercepted by a pair of Airport Security officers, who blocked his egress.
“Please remove your glasses. We have reason to believe you’re a mutant.”
Cameron did as asked. His shining eyes becoming a beacon drawing everyone’s attention.
“We’re taking you for an MCO screening.” At which Cameron was escorted to a highly guarded room off the main concourse. The fortified room consisted of two checkpoint stations, only one of which was manned. A line on the floor indicated a stop point to await before being called forward.
To get ahead of the invariable, Cameron took off his backpack, so it was nearby if he needed to dig out his ID, he waited in line as it moved ahead one person at a time, under the ever-watchful eye of Security.
At his turn, he was asked, “Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure, I’m visiting friends, before we travel to Quebec.”
“Your ticket says it was business class.”
“All the seats looked the same to me.”
“Don’t be funny.”
“Okay. My boss bought the ticket so it must have been a business expense, he said he owed me for keeping me late at work. But my visit is personal in nature.”
“You don’t look old enough to be a working stiff.”
“I’ve had health issues, it stunted my growth.”
“Are you a mutant?”
“No sir. I’m not a mutant.”
“Your eyes say otherwise.”
“An often made mistake. The glow isn’t due to a mutation,” advised Cameron, who held up his silver-coloured protective visor. “I wear these glasses to avoid drawing unwanted attention.”
“Uh Huh! Why don’t I believe you?”
“I have some documentation that explains everything.”
“Don’t sass me boy. I’m a professional, a mutant’s a mutant is a mutant, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, so drop that attitude.”
“I didn’t imply …”
“Your flight papers say you claimed preflight that you’re not a mutant.”
“That’s right.”
“I need to see your MID.”
“I don’t have one.”
“It’s a felony to refuse to show an MID when asked to produce it.”
“I realize, but since I’m not a mutant, I don’t carry an MID.”
The MCO agent hit an alarm under his counter, red lights began to flash and two Calgary police officers burst into the room.
Cameron put his hand into his backpack to retrieve the card Andre the MCO Director had sent. A Security guard called out, “He’s got a gun!”
From behind, Cameron was tackled, he bounced when hitting the ground striking his head on the floor. Cameron was mildly dazed before his face got sprayed with mace. He coughed at the chemical irritant as it constricted his throat, his eyes watering fiercely.
Cameron was put into restraints by one Policeman as the other checked his bag: “Nothing in here but some aluminum slabs, a banana, and a bottle of water.”
“Where did you hide it?”
“What?” sputtered Cameron.
“The gun.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“What were you reaching for?”
“My ID.”
“There isn’t any ID in this bag. You’re lying. I’m placing you under arrest.”
“Please. You’re making a mistake.”
“Shut up you stupid Mutie, if you keep ignoring instructions, I can make this much worse for you.”
Cameron sighed deeply.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear you?”
Cameron didn’t respond, just duck-walked as the police manhandled him out into the airport’s main concourse. A hush fell over the people nearby who cleared a path through the crowd, parents dragged their children away from the dangerous mutant offender. Amidst the mayhem he saw Lynn and her parents, he gave his head a small shake to warn them off.
Cameron was paraded through the airport with one officer ahead, as the other followed behind holding out his truncheon, tapping Cameron with it to correct any perceived misstep, hoping for any reason to use it on the boy to its fullest intent.
A Police car was parked nearby outside the airport, Cameron was roughly loaded into the back seat, still handcuffed making entry difficult, and still having difficulty breathing from the pepper spray. The drive to the police station took about a half hour, once there, he was unloaded at the underground parkade, then he was put into a holding cell with the handcuffs still on his wrists.
It took an hour or so before he was brought into an interview room, a small space that consisted of a table and two chairs facing each other. In one chair sat a policeman, Cameron was directed to sit in the other chair. Behind a mirrored wall was a recording device and another officer.
“Well, well, look’s like we’ve got ourselves a dumb-ass Mutie deciding to get all uppity. Only a moron would refuse to show an MID. You haven’t learned your place yet, have you dum-dum? Ya gotta learn to play by the rules ya idjit.”
In the cell, Cameron had been able to rinse his eyes in the tiny basin and drink a little water to calm his rough throat. They wanted to play hardball - so be it, he didn’t reply to the provocation.
"Nothing to say, huh?”
“Would it make any difference?” Cameron decided that he really shouldn’t antagonize them.
“Not in the least! If it was up to me mutts like you should be put down at the first sign of gene-filth. You’ve just made my life so easy by flaunting the law and not carrying an MID, it means a one-way ticket straight to the slammer.”
“This is Canada isn’t it?”
“Oh! Another one! Judge Beverage just loves your kind coming in - spouting off about all your rights, entitled little twits! Let me enlighten you - you ain't got none!”
“When do I see a judge?”
“We can hold you for forty-eight hours without charges.”
“And I suppose you’ll keep me in restraints for the duration?”
“You ain’t so dumb after all. Now, you got a name?”
“GC885472”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the number I’m to provide when interacting with police agencies.” Bossman Ray had recommended to Cameron that providing his badge number would improve interactions with other enforcement agencies, Ray had wanted a report on how his trip went. Cameron was beginning to wonder if Ray was a Precog too.
“Uh-huh. What’s your name?”
“My registered code name is Outlook.”
“Just keep digging that hole you’re in deeper dumbass. Only Mutts have code names.”
“I want the record to show I did not withhold identifying myself.”
“Too late for that.”
“Do I get a phone call?”
“No name, no phone call.”
The cell Cameron was placed into was private, since he was put into isolation it only made sense. The room had a cot and a toilet, and very little else. Sitting on the edge of the cot it was apparent that they'd spared no expense on the mattress - as in it was the cheapest thing money could buy.
From out of his Warehouse supplies Cameron selected a nice thick pillow top mattress, it had to be trimmed to fit the bed frame, but what a difference! Laying down for some rest it felt like a long warm hug that lasted all night.
Upon delivery, the prison meals left something to be desired, like food. The cook seemed to be from a school that taught everything on the plate needed to be brown - including the salad. It isn’t that Cameron was a snob, or a connoisseur of fine dining or such, but his Mom had always advocated for a balanced diet.
Weighing the plate before him, it fell on the side of starchy, bland, and gross. The biggest surprise was that it didn’t plug the toilet when he flushed it down. He was certain that would have been the result if he’d eaten it.
Out of Storage he brought some of the extra plates he’d ordered when eating at restaurants, and been put into reserve. Over the summer he’d amassed a good stock of supplies, he wouldn’t be running out again anytime soon. It had annoyed Buck at first, whenever they drove past a roadside fruit stand or farmers market Cameron would ask to stop. They found some excellent buys along the way between jobs.
His days in the cell became routine, bad food, bad company, bad attitude. The latter on the part of the guards who would bang on his door whenever passing by, waking him if he was sleeping.
On the morning of what became the third day since arriving in Calgary, fifty-six hours after his arrest, a police officer entered the prison block and unlocked Cameron’s cell. He was walked down a series of corridors to then get loaded into a van. He was driven to the Provincial Courthouse and brought into the building under guard. He was next shown into a courtroom and forcibly seated, facing the judge’s raised dais.
A man in a suit sat down next to him, his court-appointed lawyer since he wasn’t allowed to contact his own legal representative: “I recommend you plead guilty, the Judge will look favourably at that.”
“No presumption of innocence?”
"They have you lying recorded on camera, and not producing an MID when requested. There’s no denying your guilt. What were you thinking?”
“Am I required to have you represent me?”
“You should have used your phone call to contact a lawyer, if you didn’t want me.”
“I wasn’t allowed the use of a phone.”
“Of course, mutants ain’t considered people in Alberta. Can’t give human rights to animals.”
“Do you uphold the prevailing attitudes?”
“I’m only here for a pay-check. You can rot in hell for all I care.”
“Thank you, but I would like to represent myself.”
“Suit yourself,” at which he picked up some papers and his briefcase and departed.
“All rise for the honourable Judge Beverage.”
Standing up was slightly awkward with his arms confined but he managed to keep his balance and rise respectfully, the Judge took one look at Cameron’s shining eyes and shook his head in disgust.
“Proceed,” directed the Judge as he took his position.
The prosecuting attorney spoke to the Judge: “The accused refused to display his MID when requested, necessitating his arrest and incarceration. He displayed aggressive behaviour towards the arresting officers at the airport, and during processing at the Remand Centre. He was placed into solitary confinement to minimize upsetting the other prisoners in holding.”
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, your honour.”
“Son, there’s no excuse for non-compliance. The police have a recording of you refusing to provide duly requested identification. And it says here some nonsense about you giving the authorities a code name, that’s proof positive that your a mutant.”
“I use a code name to be accepted in the mutant community, and if I had an MID, I would certainly have shown it. But since I’m not a mutant - I am not required to carry an MID.”
“You expect this court to believe that your shining eyes aren’t a result of a mutation?”
“Yes your honour.”
“Oh, this is gonna be good! Why don’t you tell me how the law doesn’t apply to you?”
“I refer to the case brought before the Supreme Court of Canada; Burke versus the MCO. It was established that a non-mutant person cannot be required to obtain and carry Mutant Identification documents.”
“That makes you number three this year. Every high and mighty mutant coming in here, referencing that Burke fiasco in Ottawa, claiming they have rights and freedoms.”
“Alberta doesn’t adhere to Canadian law?”
“Until I get clear direction from the High Court of Alberta, Mutants have fewer rights here than cattle.”
“Thank you for clarifying. May I ask when we’ll go to trial?”
“What’s your hurry?”
“I’m on a timeline, I was on my way to visit friends in Southern Alberta, then we’d head to Quebec for a friends wedding, after which I’m attending school in the United States.”
“So you’re a flight risk! Thank you for clarifying that." mockingly said the Judge. "I set bail at two million dollars,” he then delightedly added, certain that such an amount would keep the delinquent incarcerated.
“Do you accept cheques?” Sought Cameron unfazed at the number.
“Bailiff?” Asked the judge, caught off guard by the turn around.
“Yes your honour, cheques are accepted once cleared by the bank.”
“Wonderful. May I have access to my backpack?”
The tagged evidence was brought out and Cameron was handed his pack, he pulled down a zipper and reached inside.
“Your honour, that evidence was thoroughly searched, there are no documents inside it - it only contained some aluminum slabs. The defendant is attempting to pull a fast one on this court.”
“Here we go,” exclaimed Cameron, pulling out and holding up his chequebook. Then retrieved a pen to write with. “Who do I make it out to?”
“Province of Alberta will suffice,” instructed the Bailiff.
It took a moment of juggling to coordinate his hand movements while in cuffs, but he wrote out a cheque, tore it out of the book, and handed it to the waiting Bailiff.
The Bailiff in turn handed the cheque over to a Court Clerk who began processing it.
Cameron recalled his accountant: Albert Miller, telling him to make a paper trail, ”I’ll require a receipt please.”
The judge saw an opportunity, asking: “Bailiff, What’s the name on that cheque?”
“Cameron Burke your honour.”
The prosecuting attorney made an audible gasp, no one else in the courtroom seemed to recognize the name at first.
“Why didn’t you identify yourself, we could have avoided this unpleasantness,” the attorney exclaimed.
“I suggest you review those tapes - I tried to prevent an escalation, but some overzealous police work forced me to shut my mouth, despite my efforts to correct the situation. Besides, it allowed me to experience your hospitality, or should I say hostility.”
“You could have revealed yourself at the Remand Centre.”
“I did! I gave my code name and RCMP badge number, I did not attempt to conceal my identity. That nobody bothered to make the effort to check; isn’t my problem.” To highlight his situation, he further asked, “ When you were assigned this case, did you check?”
“Well, no, but …” stammered the attorney.
“Wait, you’re claiming to be Cameron Burke, the one who the Supreme Court ruled in favour of against the MCO?” Sought the Judge, now wary of the implications.
“The same,” responded Cameron, holding his hands together tightly, a visible cue to the effort it was taking to keep his emotions in check.
“And you said you’re an officer with the RCMP?”
“Yes your honour. If there’s nothing else, can I have these handcuffs removed?”
“Officer, kindly remove Constable Burke’s restraints.” The policeman seated beside the prosecutor stood and started to walk towards Cameron.
“If it pleases the court, my rank at the RCMP is Inspector. It would be appreciated if my case file reflects the proper title. And I’ll thank you to please ensure a copy of that file including the video gets sent to my attorney: Mr. Emit Paulson, a partner with the law firm Montcliff and Lewis, based in Boston.”
“Surely we can come to some kind of arrangement, there’s no need for a trial.” Backtracked the Provincial Prosecutor getting a sense of the trouble he was now in.
“I beg to differ. I was forced to spend in excess of forty-eight hours in confinement without charges. That occurred, after a humiliating arrest and public shaming, all without just cause I might add. Is it within this court’s authority to roll back the clock, return to me the time that’s been wasted, and restore a reputation that’s been slighted?”
“Calm down Mr. Burke, you’re in no position to question the integrity of this court.” Demanded the Judge trying to halt a runaway train.
“So it would seem, and why a trial is my only obvious recourse. So again I ask, when can a trial be scheduled?”
“I have an opening in my calendar early December. I expect to see you here in person Mr. Burke.” the Judge’s pronouncement was bitter on his tongue but followed judicial procedure in setting a date.
“I appreciate an opportunity to have my name cleared in a court of law.”
“A trial wouldn’t be in the public interest,” lamented the Alberta Prosecutor.
“Likely not. I suggest you open a dialogue with my lawyer,” retorted Cameron. “Considering I won a settlement of a billion dollars against the MCO, I’ll let Mr. Paulson know not to even enter negotiations for anything less than that amount, plus a public proclamation granting mutants full human rights in Alberta.”
Both the Judge and prosecutor reeled at the ultimatum they’d been presented.
Cameron was shown to the courthouse exit, a guard bringing the boy’s luggage as an escort, when outside, the officer tipped his hat and left him be. Cameron looked around and broke into a smile upon seeing Lynn and her Mom waiting for him in a truck parked on the street. If he wasn’t used to it by now, Precognition could mess with a person’s mind.
“You’re having fun aren’t you?” Chastised Lynn as he climbed in.
“Fun involves happy times with friends - like you. That was purely business, the situation clearly calls for a change and I’m the catalyst to bring it about.”
“Admit it, you enjoy destroying people’s convictions,” said Lynn delighted at an opportunity to do some lite taunting.
“Only those that are going to help others,” agreed Cameron, winning a laugh from both Lynn and Terry.
“See, I told you, you had fun,” smirked Lynn at having won the argument, the usual outcome.
“Fine, but the real fun starts in court,” admitted Cameron. “Where’s Doug and Alan?”
“They had work to get done back home, it’s their kind of fun,” supplied Terry. “Where to?”
“Can we get some food? Prison rations leave something to be desired.”
“What are you interested in?” Was asked to determine the best restaurant to fill the bill.
“Breakfast.”
The Franklin’s farm was situated in the Foothills of Southern Alberta, a wide open landscape with a serious lack of trees, the ever-present wind no doubt the reason trees didn’t thrive. However, grasses grew plentiful and covered the rolling hills while the Rocky Mountains set a stunning backdrop.
It was lovely, and Lynn revelled in showing her home to Cameron. They walked and talked as she pointed out what she loved about the place. She stopped at the family garden, it was impressive and Lynn rubbed a garden gnome as they passed it. She told the story, it was left as a marker by a troupe of traveling gnomes, it says gnomes are welcome.
Mr. Franklin and Alan had constructed the foundations for three of Cameron’s designed windmills, many of the parts it would require to build had been amassed already, but it would take ages for them to be completed.
Cameron was able to assemble the new-fangled machines by engulfing the raw materials into a blue haze and then setting them into place - ready to go, one after the other. The windmills looked like giant mushrooms, the topmost portion rotating in the wind. The men stood stunned - looked at each other, then broke into surprised laughter.
“We were wondering how to build them,” admitted Doug Franklin as he patted Cameron on the back. “That’s a mighty handy little trick,” he added, getting an arm punch from Lynn - a trait learned from her Mom.
“Ow,” he complained. “At least Terry pulls her punches,” as the Shapeshifter rubbed his offended arm. “Been meaning to ask,” continued Doug. “Why the matter manipulation? I get the golden eyes and making folks spout truth an all to get to the bottom of stuff, but why the matter trick?”
“Dad!” Objected Lynn at her father’s lack of tact.
“I’m being honest, you said as much yourself at dinner the other night,” revealed Doug.
“It’s a good question,” admitted Cameron. “I’ve wondered about it myself. My guess is so I’d be accepted by mutants, be allowed into the fold as it were.”
“It’s handy as all get out, to be sure,” conceded Doug accompanied by a head bob.
The Franklin’s all piled into the family’s old pick-up; the drive to Edmonton to catch the train would take several hours. They had hardly made it to the highway when the truck gave a shudder and stalled, the old girl had seen better days. Doug called for a tow as they waited roadside.
Cameron looked at his inventory in Warehouse, selecting a big truck he’d acquired from out of the train wreckage. It took some repairs, mostly body damage, but he brought it out and set it behind them.
“Whoa!” Exclaimed Doug Franklin. “That’s one purdy set of wheels.”
“Do you have a dollar on you?” Asked Cameron of the man.
“Sure, why?” Wondered the man as he handed over the coin.
“Cause you just bought yourself a new truck,” said Cameron.
“I can’t do that. It ain’t right,” complained the rancher.
“I was paid to get rid of it in the first place. I can’t drive, so it’s better to let you have it than to let it go to waste,” said Cameron assuring that it was legit.
“We ain’t ones for charity!” Defended the man’s hurt pride.
“Then consider it a downpayment for partnering with me in an electricity generating company. My accountant keeps telling me I need to diversify my portfolio.”
“Now that’s an idea I can sink my teeth into,” admitted Doug after giving it some thought. “We should talk.”
“Will the drive to the train give us enough time?” Pondered Cameron.
“Should do,” smiled Mr Franklin, now excited about the long drive to test out the new set of wheels, as he ran his hand down the truck’s side.
“I thought Dad was going to blow a gasket.” Alan’s comment given as the three set their bags down in the private train car, once again provided for Cameron’s use as he and his companions crossed the country in a leisurely fashion.
“You insulted him,” accused Lynn. “He works hard to provide for us.”
“I never meant to. I’m sorry it came across that way. I wanted him to like me!” Explained Cameron, caught in the trap every prospective son-in-law falls into.
“You did right by offering to go into business with him,” commended Alan. “He was tickled by that, and now having access to money to expand our ranch is something he’s always wanted.”
“I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about it before,” confessed Cameron. “Considering how I absorb energy I need to secure a steady supply. I should look into other methods of generating power.”
“Can we talk about something else? I need to unwind.” Lynn’s hint was heeded, and the trio settled into a relaxed mood as the train began to roll out of the station.
“So how does this work?” Was Alan’s question after nobody had volunteered to explain the fancy accommodations provided aboard the Eastbound train.
“I helped the train company clean up after a nasty accident, part of the compensation they offered was a rail pass, which includes … this.” Detailed Cameron gesturing to the train car.
“Sweet,” summed up Alan. “When do we eat?”
“Alan’s priorities are pretty straightforward, food always tops the list.” Lynn’s expression spoke of humour and concern, she worried Cameron might be put-off by her family’s antics.
“I agree, lunch was a long time ago. Let’s head down to the dining car and stretch our legs.”
Sitting back in the reclining chair, Cameron sighed contentedly ‘This is how travel should be done’. Cameron couldn’t help from smiling at how happy he was, no stress, no worries, just sit back and let the miles pass by out the window.
Alan had been concerned at how long the trip would take, but once he settled in, he began to enjoy himself too. When Alan napped in his panther form he took up the entire couch - and snored, while his paws batted at something as he dreamed. Lynn giggled as she pointed his movements out to Cameron.
At one point, somewhere in Ontario, Lynn was dozing in a chair enjoying the sunshine. Alan took Cameron aside and asked:
“Are you aware of Lynn’s history?”
“Do you mean how you used to have a little brother?”
“Yeah,” confirmed Alan. “Are you okay with that?”
“Considering the opposite happened to me, I have no problem at all.”
“Oh! Nobody told me, makes sense.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” agreed Cameron, adding: “I think we can find a balance, I hope we can. We’re not in a hurry or rushing into anything.”
“Was marking her idea?”
“Yeah, she sprung that one on me. No clue what had happened till later.”
“It’s a commitment, a lifelong promise. I want to know …”
“If I’m the right guy for her?”
“Well, yeah. I’m still a big brother, no matter what …”
“I wish I could give you some assurance, that we’re destined to be together or such. The thing is; I don’t know what tomorrow will bring - that’s more Lynn’s thing. I only know that since meeting Lynn I feel a sense of belonging, it’s like a warm ember in my heart that’s fighting off the cold.”
“You’re not using her, for her ability to see the future?”
“No, my future already has a set course. I just hope Lynn’s path doesn’t veer off from mine.”
“Do you love her?”
“To be honest, I don’t know what love is. I thought I knew at one time, but it’s vague and hard to grab hold of. But I want to.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I wish I knew. Can I ask how you and Ella are doing?”
“She and her Dad are hunting more of the dark warriors. I was with them for a while but my family needed me back home for harvest.”
“So?”
“We’ll meet up again once I get to Montreal.”
“You don’t sound too excited about it.”
“I am, it’s just…”
“Just?”
“I want to marry her, I just don’t think I have anything to offer her - she’s an Oberon, and …”
“You doubt your love is enough?”
“Yeah.”
“Well aren’t you two a pair of lovesick puppies.” Accused Lynn, wide awake and sitting across the chair having listened in, but stood up to confront them.
“Hey!” Shouted Alan as if she’d caught him reaching into the cookie jar.
“If you love her, tell her. It’s that simple. Dancing around doesn’t solve anything. She likes you dummy, Ella’s worried that you wouldn’t want to pair up with an Oberon. And as for you Mr. Shy and Elusive” claimed Lynn, as she wrapped Cameron into a long and passionate kiss. “I’m willing to wait, ‘cause I’m worth it.”
The stunned males dealt with shock by remaining silent until dinner.
It was so easy for the hours to have turned into days. Reading, eating, naps, eating, playing games - while eating; come on you need to mix it up a little. When the announcement came that the train was pulling into Montreal, Cameron was calm which was a first in a very long time.
Upon seeing Grace and Marcus, little Mark, and the trifecta of trouble waiting for them at the station. Cameron broke into tears of joy as long hugs ensued. His friends had arrived earlier flying in from Prince George. It was a reunion that warmed the boy’s heart as smiles melted the distance between his family.
A bonus was having both the Oberon's waiting at the station as well, it was joyous to see all the gang. In a surprise move, Alan knelt before Ella, he’d spent hours coming up with the right words to say. Ella didn’t allow him the chance to say a word, she kissed him long and hard then rubbed her neck against his.
The finer details about Were marking were explained to the uninitiated. Lynn snapped photos to share with her folks, her Mom would want to know. Alan had a huge goofy grin, his fretting long forgotten.
The group exited the train station, having made a scene and blocked people’s passage. It was hard to say goodbye after seeing the Were’s for so short a time, but promises of catching up again when at Mediwhila lands were reassuring.
Travel arrangements had been made, but as they waited, Grace was acting reserved with Lynn, she’d not meet the girl who’d laid claim on Cameron. Old habits of being a protector didn’t die easily and Grace was leery about such a forward girl. Lynn garnered the situation and was on her best behaviour. It was an awkward moment when the two eventually hugged, Grace held the girl tight, whispering: “You hurt him, I hurt you.”
“Got it,” was replied by Lynn also in hushed tones, as the two engaged in a minor squeezing contest that might require some bone resetting later.
A fancy touring bus pulled up, it had been hired to transport all of them together to Trois-Rivières, it was comfortably appointed with plush leather seating and room to move about with snacks and drinks aboard. It was ideal to allow for conversations as everybody caught up, and the inevitable making of plans for the coming festivities, along with the coming year at Whateley.
Trois-Rivières, Quebec.
The wedding ceremony itself wasn’t an overly extravagant event, it was held on Veronique’s family’s property which had been decorated and laid out to accommodate all the guests. Ken had asked John Bastain to be his best man, but included his other RCMP teammates: Al Koenig and Cameron, acting as his groomsmen. All the RCMP in attendance wore the bright red dress uniforms typically set aside for formal occasions, a wedding counting among such events.
Nique’s sister and her cousins made up her honour guard and paired with the red-clad men.
Cameron’s partner during the ceremony was Nique’s fourteen-year-old cousin, she was nervous and shy and spoke little English, and seemed disappointed when meeting Lynn who absolutely rocked an emerald green dress that drew all eyes and left Cameron dazed.
Large tents covered the catered tables, both families encouraged everyone to share in the couple’s joy. A delightful spectacle was seeing Rhododendron’s aunt on Roche’s arm, evidence of a blossoming relationship.
As the evening was winding down, Ken and Veronique began accepting congratulations from wedding guests in a receiving line; they looked happy and made a good couple. By the time Cameron and Lynn approached the bride and groom, the attendees had dwindled down to close friends and family.
“Thank you for inviting us,” offered Cameron as he shook Ken’s hand, to then pass him an envelope. “I hope you don’t mind my taking the liberty of booking an Alaska cruise for you, it’s an open ticket for when you both can arrange time off.”
“That’s very generous of you,” mentioned Ken in appreciation.
“I dragged you to every conceivable nook and cranny of the country, it seemed proper to continue the trend,” joked Cameron.
Lynn leaned close to Nique, whispering: “Pick the white two-story house with the big yard, your dog will love it.”
“We haven’t decided if we want to buy a house,” puzzled Veronique.
“We don’t have a dog,” added Ken.
“You will,” confided Lynn. “A big slobbering mangy beast you’ll name ‘Ranger’.”
“You’re sure?” Exclaimed Ken. “Ranger was my family dog’s name back when I was a kid.”
“Trust me,” assured Lynn. "White two-story, big yard for a big stupid dog.”
“Okay,” stuttered Ken at the given advice, knowing Lynn didn’t impart Precognitive forbearance lightly.
Nique leaned in to kiss Cameron’s cheek, saying: “Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure,” smiled Cameron in return, happy for the couple.
Holding his arm, Nique pulled Cameron aside “Cameron, I’m sorry to mix business with pleasure,” ensuring they were a distance away - Nique continued “I was asked to gauge your availability to assist Foreign Affairs with a little problem.”
“How little?”
“One of our Consulates has been attacked, the embassy’s personnel were evacuated safely, unfortunately, staffers’ children had been attending school offsite and have been captured. Of those taken hostage, are the Ambassador’s two children plus two more, the Ambassador is a close personal friend of the Prime Minister, and every effort is needed to secure their freedom. Your name has come up as a possible resource.”
“Who attacked?”
“A group of religious zealots attempting a coup to overthrow a country.”
“What is it you want of me?”
“To help extract them.”
“Am I expected to quench the coup attempt?”
“No. It isn’t Canada’s role internationally to interfere with other nation’s politics, just protect Canada’s interests. The military has dispatched a small squad of trained operatives. It’s our desire to insert you into that team as Foreign Affairs’ representative.”
“I think it best to leave it in the military’s hands. I’m not authorized to … not supposed to interfere. I’m sympathetic to the children’s plight, but I can’t solve everybody’s problems.”
“Won’t you help? Its children, innocent young kids whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Let me ask and I’ll get back to you in a couple minutes.”
Cameron sat at an empty table and closed his eyes, not that you could tell beneath the visor. Lynn sat next to him but remained silent.
In his mind, Cameron climbed the stairs to his Sunroom, at the door he noted his power collectors still gathering energy to charge his battery. Standing in the doorway he spoke: “Do I have permission to go?”
His tutor arrived standing just inside, aglow with unmeasurable power: “Go. Do not overstep. Expect to see disturbing things - it is already under the scrutiny of another. You will meet her, she too is of the chosen. Remember to act with discretion - always.”
“Thank you. Anything else?”
“Be certain not to get delayed, your assignment awaits at Whateley.”
Raising his head Cameron looked about. Lynn had waited beside him but gazed at him with curiosity barely held in check.
“So?” She asked
“I’m sorry. I have to leave. Will you guys be okay to get to Whateley without me?”
She gave him a gentle punch on his arm, some might call it a love tap, to then say: “Don’t overestimate your importance or anything. We’ll be fine, in fact; Rho is going to take us shopping in Montreal. Anything you need?”
“A bathrobe, some socks, and maybe exercise clothes would be nice - sweatpants; that kind of stuff. I’m not sure what Physical Exercise courses Whateley has to offer but I’d better sign up for something. Should I give you some money?”
“I wouldn’t say no to some cash to help cover expenses.”
“A thousand enough?”
“If it isn’t, then you’ve got the wrong girlfriend.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“You always carry that much money around with you?”
“My Cupboard is the safest bank going. Nobody can access it but me.”
“Good to know. When do you leave?”
“Soon as possible I expect, time is always of the essence. Any insights you care to share?”
“Your trust issues aren’t going to improve.”
“Thanks, I guess, I’ll be careful. Call you soon, see you at Whateley within a week.”
Returning to Nique when she had a moment to spare, Cameron asked: “How will this work?”
“You’ll do it? Great! As I understand it, Foreign Affairs has sweeping powers, like how we’ve assigned you to the States.” At seeing Cameron’s hesitance, she added: “RCMP are often deployed as Peacekeepers, there shouldn’t be any issue - especially with your Foreign Affairs posting.”
“I’m troubled by the possibility that people will think I’m here to fix all this world’s ails, I have a set course and parameters to live within. But this I can do, don’t count on a next time.”
Nique handed him a business card for Ron DeVouge, a Navy Commander working with Foreign Affairs. Calling the provided number the man answered on the first ring.
“DeVouge.”
“Hello, This is Ca - Outlook. Veronique Gosselin … Tallman now, has asked me to assist with extracting some children in harm’s way.”
“Excellent. We hoped you’d be able to help us. Canadian Forces has an extraction team en route. If we hurry we can rendezvous with them at Camp Nimpkish, before they deploy at sunset local time. I can get us onto a Hercules transport plane within an hour.”
“If you have the Camps co-ordinates, I can arrange to be Teleported. I’m not fond of flying - or teleporting if I’m being honest, but it’s the lesser of the two evils.”
“Foreign Affairs will cover any costs. How long will teleporting take, I’ve never done it before, sounds exciting.”
“You’re coming with?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to go if I’m not willing to be exposed to the same danger.”
“That’s encouraging. I’ll contact a Teleporting service I’ve used before. Please text me your location, I shouldn’t be long. By the way: Teleporting happens quickly and can be disorienting. If you’re susceptible to motion sickness - be forewarned.”
Canada’s Camp Nimpkish (location withheld)
It’s one of those knacks that’s peculiar to Teleporters, stepping out of the void and not finding oneself stuck inside something at the other end, like buried up to your waist in the ground, or halfway within a wall, or heavens forbid inside another person.
Cameron had asked Leap about it and didn’t get a satisfactory answer, not that Leap didn’t wonder the same thing, but he’d never figured it out himself. For John, it was like he could see where he was going when close and could shift for a safe arrival. But that wasn’t true of all Teleporters because Cameron made sure to ask them ever since his bad experience.
It turns out that each Teleporter Cameron talked to described a different experience of how teleportation worked. It didn’t reassure Cameron from his trepidation, but there wasn’t much objection to getting tethered together for safety.
The hired Teleporter: a young woman, had them arrive in an unoccupied space near to the camp’s main entrance. Certainly behind the camp’s closed gates, but in clear view of the posted guards. The reaction upon their arrival was shock at having three people instantly appear.
Ron DeVouge directed his party to raise their arms in the universal indicator of surrender, so the guards didn’t shoot them on sight. DeVouge provided an explanation and proof of his identity, asking to see the camp commander.
“DeVouge you old sea dog; Welcome to Nimpkish.” A handshake was shared between what appeared to be two longtime friends. DeVouge wasn’t clad in a uniform just some rough duty tactical clothes, whereas the other man was adorned in camouflage fatigues sporting a Captain’s insignia.
“Gareth Patel you scoundrel. They didn’t tell me you’d be here.”
“Would you have come if they did? Don’t answer that. How did you get here so fast, the extraction team isn’t due for an hour yet?”
“This young lady is a Teleporter,” he directed attention to the third person in the newly arrived group. “If I hadn’t spent all those years on rough seas in the navy, I’d be barfing my guts all over this lovely sand of yours right now.”
“I appreciate your consideration in minimizing our environmental impact,” noted Patel with a smirk. “Who’s the kid?”
“Let me introduce you to Outlook. He’ll be joining the rescue mission.”
“This is a military operation, Foreign Affairs ‘assistance’,” said the Captain with gestured air quotes, “isn’t required, he’ll just be added baggage.”
“If I’m not needed any further, I should leave,” interjected the female Teleporter.
"Can you hold on a minute? It seems my presence here is not welcome,” instructed Outlook.
“This isn’t open for debate, orders came from the highest level,” cautioned DeVouge.
“The Military doesn’t answer to the Minister of Foreign Affairs,” defended Patel not giving way to the challenge to his authority.
“I meant ‘the Top!’” Responded DeVouge, again with air quotes. “The Prime Minister’s Office, it’s a personal favour to a close friend.”
“Can’t trump that,” yielded the Captain. “So what’s his story?”
Cameron stepped up: “I’m an RCMP officer, on loan to Foreign Affairs and was asked to provide assistance. If there’s nothing else, I should send our ride on her way.”
“Oh great, just what we need, a policeman,” blurted out Patel. “This is an incursion into unfriendly territory, not some shoplifter with sticky fingers.”
“I’m also an Envoy with Foreign Affairs,” reassured Cameron, thinking it would sway the man.
“Even worse! Just the person those fanatics would love to get their hands on,” rebuffed the Captain at the perceived lunacy of the situation. “What were you thinking DeVouge? We want to get those kids out of there - not hand more over to them.”
“He’s … special.” Was all DeVouge was willing to reveal about Outlook at present.
“A Mutant?” Gleaned Patel. “Hasn’t anybody back home read the briefing notes? Those wacko’s hate mutants with an unholy passion - apparently mutations are an affront to all their overzealous beliefs. They’d just as likely let their hostages go in exchange for getting their hands on a bonafide mutant.” Raged Patel letting it all hang loose. “Is that why you’re here? A bargaining chip in exchange for the release of the hostages?”
“No. He’ll be helping with the extraction.” Said DeVouge; without the proper conviction to Cameron’s thinking. “I’m told he’s resourceful.”
“I don’t care about resourceful,” recoiled Patel at the suggestion. “I deal in men with solid - dependable experience, trained to handle themselves under fire. Not some runny-nosed kid that will cost me lives when push comes to shove.”
“Gareth, he’s standing right here,” remarked DeVouge at the man’s harsh words.
“Better I hurt his feelings here, then have him dead out there!” rebuked Captain Patel.
“I’m aware of the danger, I won’t be a burden,” promised Cameron.
“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” responded Patel dismissively, to then add, “Talk to the quartermaster, you might as well get some shuteye before nightfall.”
Conference Room, Schuster Hall, Whateley Academy
Michiko Shugendo addressed the room’s attendees; “Thank you all for taking time out of your busy days and making yourselves available,” she had been tasked directly by the Headmistress to deal with a problem student.
The Dean of Students glanced around the room purposely catching the eye of everyone. Mr. Duncan the school’s Maintenance Supervisor, Franklin Delarose Whateley’s Chief of Security, representing Doyle Medical Centre was Doctor Ophelia Tenant, then Ms. Henderson the Academy’s Head Librarian.
To begin, Mrs. Shugendo informed her audience: “Mr. Gentz let me know he’s running a couple minutes late, but said we should proceed without him. It goes without saying that preparing for the start of a new school year is hectic for all concerned, so I hope you’re able to assist me with a sensitive matter.”
The meeting request had puzzled Chief Delarose, so he naturally had concerns: “Has something happened that you’ve needed to bring so many department heads together, instead of waiting for our regular weekly meeting?”
Mrs. Shugendo had to get ahead of the cart, lead the discussion to the results she needed. “Nothing serious - at least not like you might imagine. I find I’m needing to speak with all of you, since you’ve each built constructive relationships with Cameron Burke. Admittedly, Administration rather much dropped the ball with him last term. If you’re not aware, Whateley Academy is facing legal challenges from Outlook.”
“Cameron’s coming back, bloody hell!” Exclaimed Mr. Duncan, it was an opportunity his department couldn’t pass on. “I call dibs on him you lot, Maintenance gets first crack at him.”
His enthusiasm brought a smile to Mrs. Shugendo lips, it bode well: “No, no. That’s not what I need from you. I mean to say, your excitement about the boy is encouraging and all. But I would like to understand Outlook better, get a feel for his personality, his wants and needs.”
Ever the insightful one, Mrs. Henderson made the connection: “So Admin is looking to butter him up.”
Mrs. Shugendo winced at the implication, even if it was true: “The Board of Trustee’s provided explicit direction that Outlook is to receive every courtesy, in hopes it garners us favour and lessens the impact of an adverse court decision. As it stands, I’m planning to put him into a penthouse suite at Melville.”
That surprised Franklin Delarose, of all the things Cameron had presented, a rich boy wasn’t one of them: “Those usually only go to the wealthiest of students. It could target the boy with attention he might not appreciate.”
Mrs. Shugendo pondered the tidbit she’d gleaned: “You feel he’ll desire a more discrete billet?”
It was Mrs. Henderson who filled in the blank: “Cameron never gave the impression he was wealthy, it could be counter-productive if he’s desiring to fit in.”
The student's file provided to Mrs. Shugendo told another story: “Let me assure you, Cameron has rather deep pockets. In fact, he’s paid his tuition in full, along with that of five other students. Not to mention his expense account is linked to a platinum credit card.”
Mr. Duncan mumbled at the revelation: “So you're telling us, he’ll not be needing a job then.”
It wasn’t Mrs. Shugendo’s intent to disappoint the man, but the school’s wellbeing came first: “Likely not. But back to the matter at hand, does anyone have any recommendations about a cottage assignment?”
“He seemed favourably disposed to the residents at Hawthorne,” announced FUBAR as he rezzed into the room and took a seat at the table.
“Nice you could join us Louis,” acknowledged Mrs. Shugendo.
“Sorry to be late; you’re asking where to put Outlook?” Assessed Louis Gentz of the conversation he’d missed so far.
To get everyone up to speed Mrs. Shugendo explained: “I opened it to the room for discussion. Poe had been considered - but necessity dictated otherwise. Melville was chosen for its creature comforts.”
“Is it true the boy lived in a tent … before?” Sought Dr. Tenant mystified by the possibility.
Mrs. Shugendo hadn’t wanted to hash out old news, but those present deserved to know: “Yes, it's been corroborated from outside accounts.”
A thought occurred to Mrs. Henderson: “Opulent accommodations may not hold sway with the boy. You mentioned he was sponsoring other students, wouldn’t placing them all into the same cottage with shared dormitories be more practical?”
Mrs. Shugendo gave up the facade, time to clear the slate: “I’m afraid not, Outlook’s psychiatrist diagnosed him as an extreme level introvert, and recommended he have a single room to give him space, his tuition reflects that additional expense. Also, four of his friends are female, so unless we put them all into a co-ed dorm like Hawthorne or Poe - but again, there’s a conflict we need to avoid at Poe with another student.”
To her credit Mrs. Henderson didn’t ask for details, instead, she focused on finding a solution: “Are we aware of any conflicts with residents at either Melville or Hawthorne?”
Mrs. Shugendo gave the Librarian a nod of thanks: “Not that I know of. Does anyone have anything to add?”
As Chief of Security, Delarose felt obliged to pass along pertinent information: “There might be a potential issue with Avatars in general. Some of the police reports I’ve been privy to have sketchy details regarding Outlook’s … activities off campus.”
Mrs. Henderson couldn’t let that morsel slide, it fell outside her sphere: “Can you be more specific?”
The Chief weighed what he should divulge: “It appears he’s able to separate a host from the inhabiting spirit. It leaves the host unharmed from all accounts, but no precise details on what becomes of the spirit.”
It was uncharacteristic for Ophelia Tenant to interrupt: “Should we even allow Outlook to attend Whateley? Isn’t that like letting the fox run amok in the henhouse?” Her comment stunned her friends, it wasn’t like the doctor at all.
Everybody at the table thought it, but it fell to Mr. Duncan to ask, “Do we know how many Avatars attend Whateley?”
FUBAR had investigated that very question and been chastised by Administration for it: “Avatars account for approximately one-quarter of the student body.” Sometimes being Psychic forced you to be nosey.
Mr. Duncan's reaction was shared, “I didn’t realize there were so many Avatars. How does that number compare to all the different types of mutations in the world?”
No point getting sidetracked, so Mrs. Shugendo reined it in: “A good question, I imagine Dr. Hewley or one of the other scientists over in the labs are better suited to provide an answer. But in regards to his attending, the Trustees have no objection. Whateley doesn’t discriminate, our neutrality has villains mixing with heroes, as long as everyone plays together nicely.”
Dr. Tenant had a burr under her saddle and didn’t drop the topic: “That’s just it! By having Outlook here, aren’t we bringing a pre-existing war onto campus.”
Louis Gentz sensed something was eating away at his dear friend, so he opened the door to bring out her concern: “Look at your argument from another perspective: we’re already housing Avatars at Whateley, can we really call ourselves neutral - if we don’t let … anyone from the other side attend? We don’t even know what Outlook is to classify him.”
Ophelia Tenant wasn’t swayed, she remained unconvinced: “So we must endanger ourselves, just to prove we’re open-minded?”
Franklin Delarose needed to point out a relevant fact that nobody else outside Security would know about: “Outlook made a promise last year that he wouldn’t instigate any trouble, and I believe he kept his word. He gave us a vow to conduct himself peacefully, something that no other student has provided us.”
It was so obvious, the Doctor couldn’t understand why nobody hadn’t mentioned it: “You forget, he fought a war at Whateley. Mrs. Carson was so livid she was ready to nail his hide to the wall.”
The Security Chief might not have had all the details, but his investigation had been rigorous, even Admiral Everhart agreed with his conclusions: “Outlook and his friends sought to protect Whateley. The events of the day show that Outlook’s tactics, although unconventional, resulted in negligible damage to the school.”
The information coming out wasn’t shared to the people over in Maintenance, so Mr. Duncan was catching up here, “Your point?”
Delarose wasn’t purposely taking sides, but spoke from his experience: “Everyone can be dangerous, particularly when backed into a corner. Outlook demonstrated considerable restraint and a keenness to be helpful from all accounts. Can you honestly say that about the majority of the students coming here?”
“I’m afraid the issue we face is that we don’t trust Cameron,” conceded Mrs. Shugendo. “And for that matter - how do we have him trust us?”
It was something Mrs. Henderson could speak about: “I found that Cameron highly values honesty. I treated him fairly, and he returned it by being open and truthful. I could tell he withheld certain information - secrets if you will, but he wasn’t deceitful, more cautious than anything.”
Mrs. Shugendo couldn’t defend their actions: “Whateley has many skeletons in our closets, we can’t reveal every misdeed, students don’t need to know all that history.”
Dr. Tenant felt obliged to explain herself: “I agree, we don’t need a witch-hunt … especially not when Mystic Arts is turning out witches left, right, and center. I myself am concerned that Outlook is coming to expose our faults. Find a reason to judge us - and our students, to condemn us.”
Louis saw the conflict within her, so said: “I might point out, every student coming to Whateley will develop an opinion about this school, based upon their time here. Our hope as educators is that we’ve provided sound direction to young minds. Part of what we give them is by our example as a guide in life, but at the end of the day, a student takes away what they want to learn.”
Ophelia took the olive branch offered by asking: “How do you mean?”
Foob brought to the table hope: “We have an opportunity to show Outlook the good we have to offer. I feel his coming back is to give us a second chance, let’s not blow it.”
This is what Mrs. Shugendo needed to hear about the boy, “How do you suggest we do that?”
Without hesitation Mrs. Henderson spoke her mind, “That’s easy, we live up to our word. If we make a rule - we abide by it.”
Dr. Tenant almost laughed aloud, “Isn’t it the role of every teenager to test the rules, push the boundaries, see how far they can stretch the limits before …?”
Louis Gentz wasn’t a parent, but as a teacher he’d seen how to discipline unruly students: “All the more reason to set rules based upon sound principles, let the kids know why a rule has been made, then communicate a suitable punishment for breaking it. It’s a test of us and them, it’s all part of growing up.”
It made Mrs. Henderson think back of her time with Cameron: “I’ve noticed Cameron is honourable, and he does everything possible to adhere to direction given, if not to the letter of the law certainly to the intent for which it was given.”
Chief Delarose nodded in agreement, and volunteered: “I would hazard to say that Cameron isn’t looking to be a problem for us. He had no issue earlier when I asked him to curtail being a policeman while on campus.”
“I agree with Frank’s assessment,” added Fubar. “ Cameron told me before that his interests are to observe the goings on at Whateley, not to interfere.”
“I don’t know if that’s enough for us to give him free range on campus,” reasoned Dr. Tenant. “He’s able to cure most ailments, but he withheld treatment from those he deemed unworthy. What’s to say he wouldn’t turn on those students who don’t measure up?”
Fubar found the hurdle facing Ophelia. Being a doctor was her life’s calling, that Outlook didn’t share her passion was incomprehensible, there was no higher goal in her mind. Louis made the effort to reason it out: “So he holds people to a standard, isn’t that the same for everyone - relationships are built upon foundations, you check and see what qualities a person has. When trust is damaged, walls go up and getting close may never happen again.”
It tore at Ophelia’s heart, wasted potential that would rather judge a person: “I guess what I’m worried about is that he’s here to expose people’s faults.”
Franklin gave a hint regarding what he harboured inside: “I don’t see that as a problem. We each make judgements on others all the time, some people will become friends, others not so much. We can’t control the future, we can only ride the waves as they come.”
It was the doctor inside that spoke: “I’m speaking about condemning somebody. I for one don’t understand what kind of authority Outlook has.”
Louis pondered the problem, he’d spoken with Cameron about this: “He only ever said he was an observer. Wait, there was something else, he mentioned he was also a catalyst, like an ingredient used to make bread rise.”
To his credit Mr. Duncan asked the pertinent question: “To what end? Is he looking to start a war?”
“I don’t know.” Was Foob’s honest reply.
Mrs. Shugendo glanced around the table: “Anyone?”
It might not address the issue, but Chief Delarose’s focus wasn’t on the hypothetical why as much as on the who and where: “I suppose it’s to see how a person reacts, to bring out their true selves.”
When Dr. Tenant said: “Have them shoot themselves in the foot?” It was almost sarcastic but held validity.
Mrs. Henderson shook her head to emphasize her reply: “I don’t believe so. Really, how different is it from us testing a student? We assign them grades, pass or fail them depending upon the results. Overall it’s to make them better, give them some direction, isn’t that our goal?”
Mrs. Shugendo’s comment was rhetorical: “But is it his?” It made her table-mates consider her reasoning.
Mr. Duncan broke the silence that had befallen them: “That is the question, isn’t it? All I can add is: Cameron’s coming back, that says the door is still open. We should use that opportunity to the fullest.”
Picking up the torch Mrs. Shugendo directed the discussion into: “All right, I think we all agree with that sentiment. So, we should get a commitment from Outlook to the effect that he won’t attack any of our Avatar students.”
As Chief of Security, Franklin Delarose couldn’t let that slide: “You’re forgetting, Cameron was killed on his first day at Whateley. He was the victim of an unprovoked assault. What makes you feel he’s the threat?”
That it wasn’t a foregone consensus surprised Mrs. Shugendo: “It’s more a matter of managing risk. Until now, bonded Avatars couldn’t be separated; Outlook could upset that apple cart, alter what’s been the norm.”
To try and prevent a prolonged argument Mr. Gentz reminded folks: “We’ve already hashed this out. His previous agreement with us stated he would not be the one to instigate or provoke hostilities.”
It fell upon Franklin to defend his position, a long-standing concern of his: “It feels like we’re getting bogged down on a single issue; consequences, that actions bear consequences. We don’t like that we might be held responsible, and we’re looking for an out.”
Mrs. Shugendo hadn’t been aware of the Chief’s issues, so she didn’t want to dismiss him: “A fair assessment. Many at Whateley don’t want Outlook attending, saying it weakens our legal position. The Board of Trustees’ direction has us damned if we do and damned if we don’t. I simply don’t know what I’m supposed to do?”
Louis took the bull by the horns by asking: “Isn’t it the same situation for Cameron? It appears to me that he’s come to Whateley to learn - to grow as a person. Just because we don’t exactly understand who or what he is, that doesn’t excuse our responsibility - our opportunity, to give him an education.”
Mrs. Shugendo considered his point before saying: “You’re right Louis, and I believe it falls into the reasonings of the Trustees and Mrs. Carson’s approach. I didn’t know anything about an ongoing war between spirits on another astral plane - or however you care to explain it. And honestly, my head hurts just thinking about it. But if Outlook leaves because we failed him, how can we claim neutrality?”
To illustrate his reasonings Chief Delarose added: “It’s not like we’ve never had a student come to us with an agenda before, any kid who has an inkling of who they’ll become is working toward that goal. It’s disconcerting that we are talking about coercing him to our will. Isn’t that displaying a lack of neutrality on our part?”
It was distressing to be fighting over a single student, but when Ophelia said: “It’s not like we’re attempting to change his religion,” it shocked all involved.
Louis took advantage of the situation: “Aren’t we? We’re suggesting he’s not even allowed to protect himself from an antagonizing enemy who’s willing to kill him. Whateley is as much as saying it’s open season on him, I think we need to alter our thinking, let Avatars know we will tolerate no attacks upon Cameron.”
Time was slipping away so Mrs. Shugendo wrapped it up: “Well said. I will bring that forward to Administration for consideration. Now, if no one objects, I think we can put that topic to rest. Let’s move on to other business regarding Outlook, like assigning him a Student Advisor.”
Camp Nimpkish
“Hey, come on, wake up! Captain Patel wants to see you before it’s wheels up.”
Cameron stirred, it felt like he’d just fallen asleep, but duty calls, “Yeah, okay, thanks.”
“How did you rate an air-conditioned tent? Ours is like 120 degree’s inside.”
“Not AC, I just like it cool to sleep.” He’d laid on the cot sweating for a while before taking the heat out of the air so he could sleep.
“Sure, whatever. Up an at-em, if you hurry you might have time for some chow before we leave.”
“You're part of the extraction team?” Deduced Cameron.
“And you’re the dead weight we’ve been saddled with,” an accurate statement from the soldier’s perspective, if not a little unfair.
“Afraid so. My name’s Outlook.”
“I heard, how’d you get that nickname?” Genuine curiosity, a good start.
“I have enhanced vision.”
“Everybody calls me Boot. We’re on the clock here, best get moving.” Getting a good look at the man, he wasn’t all that old, not even twenty yet. But something made Cameron take another look at him, a signature - very minor, hardly noticeable. An Exemplar maybe a level one in comparison to others.
“Right. Can you direct me to where the Captain is?”
“Follow me,” offered Boot.
Boot stepped quickly, at a pace that Cameron needed to jog in order to keep up. He stopped beside a large tent and pulled back a flap beckoning Cameron to enter. Once inside Boot stiffened and saluted: “Guest retrieved as ordered, sir.”
“Thank you corporal, you are dismissed,” ordered Captain Patel. “Young man, take a seat, we’ll be with you in a minute.”
Captain Patel and Commander DeVouge continued on with their discussion, referencing maps and satellite photo’s that Cameron scanned in a glance. Cameron took a seat and sat quietly, hoping it wasn’t considered inappropriate to be checking his phone for messages. Three texts from Lynn, one saying her father’s electricity production had doubled, the others asking how he was. He sent short replies saying he’d arrived and was okay so far.
The two men’s attention slowly drifted over to Cameron, with the Captain addressing the elephant in the room
“Why you? What makes you an ace up Foreign Affairs’ sleeve?” questioned Captain Patel, not wanting to hear any politically filtered jargon.
“I work for the RCMP in Special Investigations as an Inspector.” It was the truth, Cameron had told him such before.
“What good is that, we don’t plan on arresting anyone. This whole area is on the verge of an all-out war. What we need is to get our people to safety.” Patel wasn’t buying it, he wanted more.
“I’m gifted with enhanced sight, I can also harness energy and alter matter.” If brief, it was to the point; Cameron didn’t like to say even that much about himself.
“Okay, that might be useful,” the Captain’s mental gears could be seen turning by the tick on his face. “What about you DeVouge?”
“I’m to be your liaison with Foreign Affairs, supporting Outlook’s efforts.” So the Commander won’t be joining them in the field after all, nice to know.
“You know I can’t just add some noob to a trained team of highly skilled soldiers. They work as a unit, have a defined command structure. You’d be upsetting their finely honed balance. Does anyone know what rank an RCMP Inspector translates to?” Patel wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t disobey an order, but it didn’t stop him from expressing his displeasure.
“I’m not here to take over, nor is it my intent to step on anyone’s toes.” Cameron figured the best way to handle this was to be peaceable, not ruffle feathers.
“If that’s the case, I’ve been advised from up above that you need to be inducted into the military. You need to sign recruitment papers before we go any further.” Patel had drawn his line in the sand, there sure was enough of it around.
“Is that necessary? RCMP are often sent on Peacekeeping missions.” Cameron’s danger sense flared, not really, Cameron didn’t have a danger sense - more a familiarity with what drives people, that of itself warranted caution.
“This ain’t no minor skirmish. We’re talking about a clandestine incursion into hostile territory. If you don’t agree to our terms, you’ll be left sitting on the sidelines, no matter what anybody else says.” The Captain threw out his ultimatum like he’d practised it, he was playing at something, but what?
Cameron countered: “I don’t have a stake in the game. If it’s too much bother, I’ll just make a call for a ride home and leave you to it,” no point stepping into an obvious trap.
DeVouge jumped at that revelation, his operation was coming apart. “Outlook! Think about the kids. Their chances are slim to none without your help.”
“Let me see your papers.” Was Outlook’s olive branch, in order to win you have to play the game, just what game they were playing wasn’t certain.
The pages handed to him - in triplicate, consisted of a standard government-issued document, much like the construction contracts Buck entered into. Each item was filled with clauses and conditions, laid out in exacting details, much of which didn’t fit within Cameron’s ideals or timeline, so he made appropriate adjustments - to each copy, striking red ink through the contentious requirements, substituting those with more suitable terms.
Considering his sight and ability to manipulate matter, it took far less time to finish making the changes than it might have taken someone to actually read the first paragraph of the document. A detail noticed by the men who shared a knowing glance between them.
Outlook grabbed a pen from off the Captain’s desk, asking: “Where do I sign?”
“You should read it first,” suggested the Commander, an almost considerate thing to say, given the situation.
“I’m good. What’s this world coming too, if you can’t trust the government?” Quipped Cameron, only too aware of the chicanery involved. Buck had complained often about what people tried to weedel while negotiating a contract, to extort extras - at no cost. “Do you guys want to read it?” Asked Cameron, holding the pages out to them.
“Not my first rodeo,” rebuffed Patel, trying not to show his hand.
Cameron signed the papers, in triplicate. Witnessed by Commander DeVouge, and attested to by Captain Patel. Signed, dated, and stamped the Captain handed the documents to his company Clerk.
“Good, now down to business. This aerial photo shows the city where the abductions took place. Circled in red is our embassy, the plume of smoke says it has been razed. In blue is the school the children had been attending, we believe the kids will have been moved to another more secure location. We have identified three possible locations the zealots could be using to hold captives: a police station, a prison, and a church.” The photo was a series of aerial photos patched together, once Cameron determined North he got a good lay of the land.
“I would guess the church as the most likely place,” surmised Cameron.
“Why?” wondered DeVouge, Patel was also taken aback at the boy’s assessment.
“People feel justified in committing the worst atrocities if they do it in God’s name,” explained Cameron.
“That’s a jaded opinion.” Patel’s comment spoke to his religious background.
“Yet it holds true. I didn’t say it was right, just that it releases people’s restraint for heinous acts, by saying God sanctioned it.” Cameron didn’t feel the need to make a federal case over it.
Patel made it brief: “The mission is to insert a team of men into the city, determine the hostage’s location by scouting the sites identified, and extract them in the most expeditious manner possible.”
“You make it sound like a cakewalk.” spouted DeVouge at the simplicity of direction given.
Patel didn’t flinch, “Just stating the obvious, no plan lasts long when boots hit the ground, so I want Outlook to understand what our objective is. If he can provide assistance, I expect him to step up and help the team succeed, I won’t tolerate grandstanding.”
“Ideally nobody will even know I’m there,” assured Cameron to solidify his place.
“Good, I leave it to the Lieutenant to assign roles as he sees fit. I expect you to follow his lead without question,” the Captain didn’t leave any room for questions.
Cameron confirmed, “I’ll do my part.”
DeVouge took his cue, and brought Cameron out of the Captain’s tent. ”The Lieutenant and his men are in the Mess grabbing dinner. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
The mess tent smelled of macaroni and cheese and a mildly burnt meatloaf, as last meals go - it could be worse, if being completely honest.
Why did it have to be an airplane? Cameron sat facing the rear of the plane, just so he didn’t have to watch the rotating propellers, as the engines thrummed keeping them aloft. Not that seeing the ground far below didn’t make him want to hurl, nobody would enjoy seeing him regurgitate dinner.
The extraction team consisted of eight men, headed up by Lieutenant Tarnowski, his second being Sergeant Meikle. He’d received a cool welcome by the two in command, an understandable reaction to having someone forced upon them, much like when he joined the RCMP at first.
The rest of the crew had been more receptive, although he’d been told their real names, they each used nicknames rather than given names. Of them, the most friendly was Boot, the man he’d met previously in camp. Boot was the most junior team member of the team, still the new man and he seemed pleased that Cameron now held that lowly position.
Nicknames apparently originated from where someone lived: Loopy for example called Kamloops, BC home. Flip Flop hailed from Flin Flon, Manitoba. Freddy from Fredricton, New Brunswick. Chuck from Edmonton, Alberta … or Edmonchuk as it is known. Then there was Git, or Gitty, at first Cameron thought it was Giddy - like giddy as a school girl, but no. Git belonged to a native band named the Gitnadoiks.
To be social, Cameron asked Boot - "Why Boot?” Harlan explained he lived in a town in Saskatchewan so small it consisted of only three houses, in jest people called it ‘Left Rubber Boot’. So Boot it was.
The men were kitted out in desert camouflage, each loaded down with packs front and rear and held rifles. Lieutenant Tarnowski carried a longer rifle with a scope mounted on it. Most of the men also had pistols and knives. Cameron looked out of place, he had fashioned some clothes pre-flight that matched the ever-present sands colour, but he didn’t fit in with the soldiers geared out in military fatigues - not in the slightest.
Tarnowski handed him a parachute, his grunt indicating he should put it on.
“When do we land?” asked Cameron as he climbed into the chute.
“The Herc will return to camp after a reconnaissance sweep, we jump on the first pass. You have a problem with that?” Tarnowski’s brisk response wasn’t reassuring, and it was the first time Cameron heard about having to jump.
“No, not really. I mean, I’ve always worried about the plane falling out of the sky, it seems only natural to bail out mid-flight, vertigo notwithstanding,” expressed Cameron.
“I don’t need to know your history, do you have a problem?” snapped the lieutenant, he was seething already so Cameron held back his concerns about never having parachuted before.
“No sir,” was the only reply Tarnowski would tolerate, and he got what he expected from Cameron.
“Good, when the lights green, we jump.” At that, Tarnowski secured a tether onto Cameron's parachute to open it upon jumping out, then he left Outlook alone.
The Hercule's rear gate lowered, the wind it created meant voices couldn’t be heard. The red light switched to green and the first man jumped out, signalled by Sergeant Meikle to go. As the second in line, Cameron was pushed out jointly by the Lieutenant and Sergeant.
The black of night provided cover for the parachutists by obscuring their approach, although the plane’s engines attracted some attention from those below, resulting in searchlights seeking the aircraft. The City’s lights ahead helped pinpoint their destination, they had bailed to land outside the populated area.
The rush of air was equal to the surge of adrenaline he felt. When the drop line went taunt it jerked him backwards as the cord was pulled to release the parachute, except it didn’t. Cameron’s parachute remained closed, staying neatly tucked within the pack strapped to his torso.
Fear is an all-encompassing emotion, reason and logic take a vacation when your life is on the line. One shouldn’t try it for kicks and giggles.
Cameron had to quell the scream of abject terror that wanted to control his being, his life depended on it. He didn’t have time to delve into the non-functioning chute, he didn’t know how to fix it anyway, so he shucked it - letting it fall, it kept pace with his free-fall decent.
His sight was layered such that it provided panic-inducing details: a speedometer told him how fast he was moving while it increased with every passing second, another gauge measured his elevation ticking downward rapidly as the ground approached.
End Part One
The Desert
The impact was so much worse than Cameron could have ever imagined.
Montreal, Quebec
Lynn stopped mid-stride, the plethora of shopping bags held in her arms continued to swing, though she froze to the spot. Timothy bounced off the halted girl who had suddenly stood still in the middle of the crosswalk, offering an apology for running into her - such a Canadian thing to do.
Rachel sensed something was amiss with the Were as a wave of fright came off the girl. The psychic gave Lynn a gentle shake, waiting until her eyes focused back on the here and now before asking: “What’s wrong?”
“Cameron, he’s…” uttered the stunned Precog, as if her mind was someplace else completely different from the time and place her body stood.
“What?” Sought the now wary Psychic, filling in the only detail that added up: “Dead?”
In a burst of tears, Lynn could only whisper: “I don’t know, his thread disappeared, I don’t see him anymore.”
Lynn wasn’t in any condition to fend off the bombardment of questions unleashed from her companions that her distressed comment elicited furthered by Rachel’s conclusion.. Her friends didn’t understand, she didn’t know what to tell them since she couldn’t say what she couldn’t see. The world spun out of control around the baffled girl, due to the onslaught of information - or the lack thereof. Either way, Lynn fainted, caught in Rho’s outstretched arms.
Lynn stirred hearing birdsong, it created a mental image of all those cartoons when someone gets bonked on the head. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to, but opened her eyes anyway’s, finding herself reclined on a park bench in the shade of a large tree. All her friends, including Grace and Marcus Johnson sat in the grass nearby drinking from large cups, entertaining little Mark and in turn being entertained by him, cute kid.
Upon seeing Lynn’s recovery, Rachel handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her when Lynn slowly sat upright with a slight sway.
“Are you okay? We were so worried,” spoke Rachel, attempting to not overwhelm her friend again.
Gauging how best to respond, Lynn nodded her head in the affirmative, and gladly took a sip of water before asking: “What happened?”
“You passed out,” claimed Rachel.
“Were don’t pass out,” refuted Lynn, it was absurd to suggest such a thing - the embarrassment it brought if news got out.
“Okay. So you momentarily slipped into an unintentional unconscious state due to sensory overload. Is that better?” Comforted Rachel with a huge heaping of sarcasm.
“Much. I’ll never live this down will I,” realized Lynn at her show of weakness.
“We’ve got your back. If anyone asks - we’ll say you had a bad reaction to the maple syrup-coated beaver tail you ate.”
“But I enjoyed that,” moaned Lynn, still tasting the sweetness on her lips and the doughy goodness of the deep-fried treat.
“I know. But it’s the only excuse I could come up with on short notice,” Psychics might know everybody else’s secrets, but that doesn’t mean they can keep them - very well that is. Rachel was at least trying her hand at subterfuge.
“Thanks,” offered Lynn with her head held low, perhaps it was a display of shame to the untrained eye, but her mind was racing as it was searching far and wide.
“So, what happened?” Sought Rachel, she didn’t usually need to pry information from people but Precognition created a barrier that threw Psychics off - too much interference from too many possibilities all at once.
After a second of soul searching, she begrudgingly confessed: “I don’t see Cameron.”
“As in; he’s hiding?”
“No, I don’t see any future that includes him. It’s like he’s been erased, but that can’t be, he was my tomorrow … I’m lost - without Cameron anchoring me, I don’t …” Lynn shuddered and leaned back to rest her head since she felt woozy again.
Rachel slid close and hugged her. “I get it, don’t get worked up just yet, maybe we just need to give it time. We should head back to the hotel and let you rest. We’ve only got a few more items left on our Whateley shopping list.”
The Desert
The only thing Cameron knew for absolute certainty was, he hurt. In fact, he hurt so much he wished he was dead.
How come he didn’t splat like a ripe melon when he hit the ground was a question that simply had to wait. It took all the concentration he could muster to narrow down the impulses from his blaring nerve endings to even begin to tell how bad his injuries were.
Cameron lay in a heap at the bottom of a valley between sand dunes. He’d landed on the side of a steep slope, his initial impact had made a crater in the sand, after which he’d rolled down the hill, flailing about like a limp rag doll until ending up as the broken mess he’d woken up as.
It felt like his ankles had been pushed up to his knees, his knees into his hips, and his hips up into his shoulder blades, which is very likely just exactly what happened. Coughing up blood, Cameron took shallow breaths and began to scan his pains, from the outset he knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. Few bones came away unscathed, and his internal organs looked to have gone through a meat grinder, it wasn’t a question of where to start, it was more a matter of why try?
Cameron’s sight began to progressively diminish until it was like looking down a long tunnel, he was sleepy - so sleepy. He offered a prayer of apology for his failures, then, after drawing in one last haggard breath he slowly released it, and was ready to let himself go. It was peaceful.
A voice called to him: “Cameron, come on son, there’s work to be done.”
What was it Dad always used to say? ‘No rest for the wicked.’ I suppose I better re-evaluate my life ‘cause I could really go for some rest right now.
“Up and at-em. I know you can hear me.”
“Leave me alone, I’m dead,” rebuked Cameron at being interrupted.
“No you’re not.”
“Dead tired then,” negotiated Cameron.
“I grant you that. I’ve let you rest for as long as possible.”
“I should be dead,” realized Cameron, a little slow on the uptake - not altogether unexpected given the circumstances.
“True. As landings go, you really botched that one.”
“Not helping,” he didn’t need to be reminded, the memory was too fresh.
“I’ve been nothing but helpful, your healthy - aren’t you?”
“Thanks for … “ It was true, he wasn’t in agony anymore. Cameron flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes - all present and accounted for, still, it’s just that he was really sore - all over. He’d been smiling up at his mentor to show his appreciation - but it rather suddenly turned sour: “Wait a minute, are you implying I should be able to fly?” Sometimes the hits just keep coming, the boy’s mind wasn’t ready for that tidbit.
“Fly? No. More like ignore the Earth’s pull in favour of other forces.”
“Like my levitation belt?” Cameron was looking for an excuse, anything other than …
“That toy of yours didn’t save you now, did it? You can do much better.”
“I hate heights, they freak me out,” affirmed Cameron, accompanied by a fervent head shake. "Feet! Firmly on the ground - from now on,” call it petulance, but there needs to be ground rules, and Cameron’s rule was: being on the ground.
“If you must.”
“I’m really sorry, I wasn’t ready for getting tossed out of an airplane. Or for dying - again,” explained Cameron.
“You didn’t die. You were on the verge, but we couldn’t let you go. There’s still too much work to be done.”
“Yes, yes, keep an eye on Whateley Academy, I know,” acquiesced Cameron, feeling chastised for failing in his duty.
“Actually, there’s been a development. Conditions have deteriorated to the degree that honest-hearted people are in danger. A Truth Speaker had been trying to maintain calm, she was directed to have those who’d listen flee.”
“If you already had somebody there, what am I supposed to do?” If ever in doubt - ask questions, the only stupid question is the one left unasked, or so Cameron’s Mom used to say.
“You’re to gather evidence.”
“I see,” garnered Cameron.
“Precisely. Head towards the rising moon, she awaits your arrival.”
Cameron received his marching orders, he opened his eyes to see a blaze of colour stretching across the horizon as the sun began to set. After quickly gathering up his widely strewn belongings along with the defunct parachute, Cameron started walking. Every joint and muscle hurt at first, eliciting grunts and groans from the hurting boy, but after a while, the motion eased his body’s aches, and he maintained a steady pace.
Walking alone in the desert gave Cameron time to reflect on recent events, the often-heard expression is that hindsight is twenty/twenty, Cameron took it to mean that looking back provides clarity. In the heat of the moment, clarity is not a person’s foremost concern, it’s only afterwards that you can reason on what happened. Only then, when panic has faded, can the mind harp upon the shoulda - coulda - woulda, like why didn’t I say … instead of …, missed opportunities that always come to you later on.
As Cameron fell, with the ground rushing up at him, he couldn’t think straight, he froze, his fear hindering his reactions and preventing him from taking action. Now, however, after the fact, he thought of things he might have done to prevent … a rather nasty owwie, one he still hurt from. Cameron was confident he hadn’t resorted to flapping his arms like a plucked chicken, that would have looked darned silly.
How did Grandma put it: ‘If God meant for men to fly he’d have given us wings.’ Oddly, of all the people Cameron had seen who could fly, only a couple actually had wings, and of those wings, most were more decorative in nature than truly capable of sustaining flight. So, how do they do it?
He was perplexed, maybe if he’d made a big kite, like those hang gliders, no, he’d never paid much attention to them, he didn’t know how they worked, too much like flying to be of interest. How about a balloon, or what if he’d made a whole bunch of small balloons and filled them with helium, that might have worked. It’s just how many balloons would it take, and he didn’t have any helium in Warehouse, thinking about it, he didn’t have any place to store gases - that could be useful.
Since there was time aplenty as he trudged along, Cameron checked his battery, he recalled having his energy gathering cranked up in hopes … sure enough, it must have done some good in the end because his stored energy level had increased considerably. He was alive - well, lived, which is a good thing, but credit must go where it’s due, for his part he blew it big time.
The recent conversation with his mentor nagged upon Cameron; meeting a Truth Speaker. Could someone else pull out truth from a person like his glowing eyes did? How many others like him were there? Did they each have an assignment like his? Was there a club, with semi-annual meetings? Nobody ever said anything to him about it so this was going to be a first.
The night air was crisp, Camron had to guess that he’d been laying in the sand for a while, since the moon had already been up when they’d left Camp Nimpkish, how long had he been out of it?
He checked his satellite phone, he’d lost a day. Nothing he could do about that now, just keep walking and allow events to unfurl according to plan. He chuckled at that, Captain Patel’s plan hadn’t even lasted a second - at least not for Cameron, nobody’s boots had even hit the ground - unless you counted Cameron landing feet first.
He couldn’t help but wonder what became of the extraction team, Boot was okay, the others - not so much, but he’d not had much interaction to support that assessment. Boot, did he know he was a mutant? That low a level manifestation, barely even a level one Exemplar, had it even been noticed?
Cameron stopped walking, thinking about Boot made him realize his own boots were full of sand and had begun irritating his feet. He took off his boots and emptied them - knocking out copious amounts of sand, after taking off his socks to clean them, he decided that walking in sand took lots and lots of effort, and was slow going.
Removing his levitation belt from his Cupboard, he strapped it on - raising himself up so that his feet barely touched the ground, it had the effect of letting him skim over the sand at a much faster pace. This he could do - flying? NO, no way! In consideration, it would have been pointless to have tried using the belt to break his fall, since the levitation effect needed to start from something solid to then build upwards.
Cameron picked out a route between the dunes to provide the most protection, and began making a skating movement to increase his speed. It occurred to him that the wind would drift sand to cover over his tracks from before, now however he left nothing to follow. He wondered if anyone from the extraction team had bothered to find him, with a day’s delay they must be long gone, the captives already freed and heading back to Canada.
The desert was surprisingly cold at night, he always thought it would be blistering hot - night or day, he huddled into his light jacket lifting the lapel and putting his hands into the pockets, then cranked up the heat to keep warm.
He watched the moon rise higher in the night sky, it was just a sliver but it was comforting nonetheless. It reminded him of Billie, and Jade, and the rest of the Kimbas for that matter, odd to consider that he missed them - missed Whateley. As much as he’d deny it, he was looking forward to returning there. Was it because he’d be with his friends? Be with Lynn? He was comforted by that thought.
A din ahead alerted Cameron, it sounded like a large number of vehicles’ engines running. Coming around a dune he saw them, layering his sight Outlook gazed upon a long convoy of assorted vehicles parked alongside a road. He watched as more vehicles joined up with them, all having come from the City, still a distance away. It was a muster point for people fleeing from the unrest, following the Truth Speaker’s admonition.
The gathering of people puzzled the boy, amidst all the confusion and turmoil, there was an old person sitting on a blanket away from the hustle and bustle. She sat facing Cameron, sipping on tea, waiting, like she knew he was there. An attendant would come every so often to see to her needs, but otherwise, it was just her and an old worn stick laid out beside her.
It was the energy signature that convinced Cameron to approach.
“Peace be with you!” Called out a voice, carried across the sand with surprising clarity.
“May light guide your path,” responded Cameron.
A weathered arm beckoned him closer, and a hand patted the rug in front of her. Cameron sat down with a huff of relief, a rest was welcome.
“You sound like I feel,” claimed the elderly woman. “At eighty-three I’ve earned my aches and pains. You’re too young yet.”
“Gravity isn’t concerned with a person’s age, we all hit the ground with the same results.”
“A bad day?” She asked, motioning for her helper to come closer.
“Not the worst, not the best,” admitted Cameron.
“I hear you monitor mutants, no small task. I’m too old for such excitement,” her laugh was endearing, grandmotherly. “Tea?” She asked.
“Please,” he hoped it would warm up his insides. “It would appear you have enough excitement for us both,” gesturing to the amassed crowd. “You’re taking them to safety?”
“A UN refugee camp across the border,” she pointed South toward the intended destination. “These people had the good sense to escape the coming storm.”
“I came to free some children being held hostage,” this conversation intrigued Cameron, how much would she have been told about him, he’d received little regarding her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are being kept?”
“I doubt you need even ask that question, we both know what motives lie in the hearts of men,” a truer statement had never been said, but the elderly lady said it nonetheless.
“A church,” surmised Cameron, his original inclination bearing up under scrutiny.
“Indeed,” nodded the lady in agreement. “Before I forget, I have something for you,” waving her arm an attendant brought forward a parcel. “It’s a prophet’s cloak, with it - people will see you as a holy man, so no one will question you.”
“I don’t think I can wear it,” wavered Cameron at the implication such a garment represented. Sure, the rough-sewn camel hair looked itchy, but more importantly, it was a symbol - a token of a position Cameron didn’t feel entitled to.
“You aren’t a Truth Speaker, are you?” Gleaned the lady from his hesitance to accept the garment. “What role do you play?”
“A spy, I’m only to observe - and stir the pot as needed,” her question was enlightening, Cameron pondered how many spies there were and where they were, for that matter how many Truth Speakers were out there? Maybe his mentor knew; if he would divulge such information.
“I’ve never met a spy before, although you do look like a young James Bond,” the lady smirked while teasing the boy.
“The first rule of spying is not looking like you're a spy,” proclaimed Cameron.
“Then consider the prophet’s cloak as another disguise. Just like those glasses you wear to hide your eyes behind, this cloak will grant you passage through the City,” she could see right through Cameron’s doubts.
“Okay, thank you,” bowing his head in gratitude.
“There is more,” informed the woman, beckoning him to move a little closer. “My gift allows me to speak a person’s truth.”
“I don’t understand,” said a baffled Cameron.
“You will. I need to hold your hands.” She gently took Cameron’s hands in hers and held them for a moment.
“Alright,” was Cameron’s response, uncertain if he was ready or not for what she might say.
“Hmmm. You needn’t be afraid of loving others,” she spoke softly, like it was a secret.
Cameron sat unmoving, as if in shock, he’d kept that notion buried deep. He stayed stationary for a long time, his thoughts running wild until his eyes couldn’t hold back the floodgates and tears began to track down his cheeks.
“I’m cursed, or damned, or worse. Everyone whom I’ve ever loved - really deeply completely loved, all my family, they're all dead. I can’t let people get close to me, not like that, never again.” The boy’s heart rent in two from saying the words aloud.
“It isn’t true. You didn’t cause anyone’s death,” the Truth Speaker empathized.
“Then, why?” Begged Cameron at the question he'd carried around ever since the accident stole her family.
“Perhaps you feel they needed to be sacrificed? The price to pay for you to be of service to the Creator. If that’s the case, do you place the blame on God for their deaths?” Revealed the woman about the reasonings in Cameron’s heart.
“No.” Cameron’s response lacked true conviction, he was on virgin territory emotionally, he didn’t feel prepared to deal with the loss yet, there was too much pain attached. However, it was wrong to imagine God took her family, it had been an accident - a terrible damned accident that destroyed all she held dear. With nothing left to live for, Cameron had given herself to do God’s will, that’s when Grace showed up and promised her that she’d be okay.
“Good, because God doesn’t work that way, he doesn’t ask such sacrifices of us. Our service shouldn’t be given begrudgingly, nor from compulsion or what we might gain. Foremost, God lets us retain our free will in all things, and we can be blessed to lead long - fulfilling - happy lives. Look at me, I’ve been at this for over sixty years.”
“Did you marry?” It just popped up - coming out of Cameron’s mouth without thinking, some might call it a Freudian slip.
“Yes, twice as a matter of fact. But I feel your concern has more to do with opening your heart up and actually trusting somebody.”
“I don’t feel I can trust anyone, I don’t know how, not when you can’t depend on people.”
“That’s the whole point! You give of yourself despite the other person’s faults and failings. It requires forgiveness, and long-suffering - it’s the cost of caring and sharing, but love - real love is worth any price. Remember, nobody’s perfect, not yet, so you need to make allowances for yourself and others.”
“I don’t know if I can. I’m not ready,” moaned a grieved Cameron.
“With maturity comes a better relationship with yourself. It’ll come, in time, you’re still young,” was said as she patted the back of his one hand in consolation.
“Until then?” Cameron raised his eyes to look directly at the lady, her smile widened at having touched his heart.
“Don’t put too high an expectation upon yourself and those close to you,” she advised, grandmotherly counsel always sounded so sweet.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all we can do, give our best, let God bless the effort we show.”
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you.”
“It was your truth. I’m glad I could help.”
“What may I do for you?” Cameron felt obliged to give something in return.
“I have a simple life, with few needs or wants.”
“Your staff looks a might worn, perhaps I could provide you with a new one?”
“I can always find another stick to lean on.”
“Then please, let me give you one,” Cameron manufactured a staff from his energy-absorbing material, roughly the same length as her old one, and handed it to her.
“This isn’t wood,” she observed hefting the staff up.
“No, it has special properties, it absorbs energy and retains it like a battery. Black is empty - white is full. I’ve made it so one end draws in, the other pushes out. You can stun or daze accordingly by touching someone with it.”
“Non lethal?”
“Of course.”
Looking admiringly at her new staff the woman provided more detail: “Inside the city, look for an empty riverbed, follow the well-worn trail in the river bottom until the fifth bridge, the building you seek is built on the riverbank.”
As a parting gesture of goodwill from the Truth Speaker, a thoroughly abused old motorbike was gifted to Cameron. The bike ran, just barely, Cameron could have attempted a restoration, but it might have defeated the whole purpose of not drawing attention to himself. It was a good thing her brother James had a little dirt bike back home so Cameron knew how to drive it - sort of.
It was still dark out in the early morning hours, the few people he came across had been fleeing the City with whatever conveyance they could muster. Upon seeing his cloak they bowed in reverence - taking delight in receiving a gesture to proceed with haste.
The beat-up old motorbike got Cameron to his destination, his cloak flapping in the wind, or so he imagined. It was difficult to keep his vision narrowed down to permit driving, it required going slowly, still, Cameron hit every pothole, bump, and rut along the way, it was like he aimed for them on purpose - which he hadn’t. Stopping under the fifth bridge, he was torn at leaving the bike behind, but decided to tuck it into Warehouse, he might need it again.
The fifth bridge spanned the dry river bed, well it would have, if somebody hadn’t blown the middle section up leaving a massive gap, evidence that the coup wasn’t all that popular. In the distance flashes of light and the sound of gunfire punctuated the night’s stillness. It was eerie to walk into the centre of a centuries-old civilization, and witness it crumbling from within, eroded by conflict. Climbing up the river’s embankment, Cameron exited onto an almost entirely deserted street.
The religious edifice before him was massive, the structure was comprised of multiple buildings supporting tall spires standing overtop open-air gathering spaces, the dominating feature was a huge bowl-like amphitheatre that allowed seating almost the entire way around. The space was built to maximize acoustics, so that all present could see and hear what transpired on the central raised platform.
The place of worship was closed up tight, all nice and secure behind a high fence - with few gates, there was little activity going on inside at this hour, with guards protecting each gate. Cameron counted fifty men within, some walking patrols, others engaged in meetings, most rested in rooms with blankets spread out on the floor.
For his disguise to be convincing, he fashioned a staff for himself to look the part. He didn’t wish to sully the prophetess’ name, but he walked with a stoop to mimic her movements. Cameron wandered around the perimeter of the huge complex to get a good look inside. It had a confusing underground, tunnels going every which way, creating a maze which needed much study to make sense of the warren.
In a deep section - almost dead center, and under heavy guard, he found what he suspected, a cluster of children sealed up in a room. The extraction team hadn’t succeeded, too bad, it left the onus upon Cameron to free them. The prison room held no conveniences like running water, just a couple of chamber pots set down leaving no privacy. All told he counted eighteen present, ranging from kindergarten age to pubescent teens, that would have been good intel to have been provided in the first place.
It soon became apparent that there would be no easy escape route, every possible exit would require passing guards down in that rats’ nest. ‘If you build a better mouse trap, the world will beat a path to your door.’ He wasn’t certain who had told him that nugget, maybe Ray, anyway - the lesson he’d taken was that you can succeed at nearly anything, if you put your mind to it, at least that’s what Cameron got from it.
Cameron mentally ran potential scenarios, trying different approaches and routes to take. When an idea held merit, something would prevent that possibility - like a sentry patrol, or guard post, or a dead-end tunnel. Getting himself in wasn’t the problem so much, it was making sure the kids got out safely that made it challenging.
This church was a beast, and the children were in the belly of it; physically and metaphorically. Outlook took heart from knowing that: if it was easy, they could have sent anyone. Yay me!
Yes, getting the kids out - all the kids, was going to be tough. He couldn’t just go in, ask for the Canadians, then go, leaving the rest behind. No. That wasn’t even remotely an option, if you rescue one - you rescue them all. But once out, then what? He needed to find a means to aid in making the escape a success: some transportation.
Outlook scanned the church’s surroundings, at one time it would have been a prosperous neighbourhood, but now it was in shambles. The buildings nearby were ravaged by fighting, resulting in collapsed walls and burned-out structures, destroyed lives left desolate and barren by a violent bid to seize power.
If he was to find anything, he’d need to head to another part of town. The sun would rise soon, the sky had brightened, it only felt like midday to Cameron, which is likely what it was back home. He’d never experienced jet-`lag before, cause, well, it required flying. Was teleporter-`lag a thing? He’d have to ask.
Cameron’s feet complained about more walking, he debated bringing the busted-up old motorbike out from Warehouse, but decided it might draw more attention than he wanted to deal with. The thing about being in disguise was to not be noticed, so walking it was.
A common thread shared between equatorial communities is that the busiest time of day is the mornings, before the heat becomes intolerable. That wasn’t the case here, not that Cameron had noticed, the streets remained empty, hardly a soul left the safety of their homes. Cameron came upon an area that showed evidence of being a market square, wooden stalls stood empty, void of wares and abandoned by the vendors who’d hawk goods and services.
The buildings here showed little sign of the ongoing conflict, still, windows and doors were tightly closed. Now and again a curious face would look out at the disguised boy, clad in his camel hair prophet’s cloak, only to have the people within hide away in case he noticed them.
In the market’s courtyard stood a large water fountain, a simple basin with a standpipe. However the fountain was bone dry, from the standpipe came a single drip every couple of seconds, below the standpipe was stationed a bucket to catch the drips, it only held an inch worth of water, hardly even a mouthful all-told.
From out of his Reservoirs holdings Cameron brought forth enough water to fill the fountain’s basin, then from beneath the folds of his cloak, Cameron withdrew a tin cup - it had been in his Cupboard, but those watching didn’t know that. Cameron dipped his cup into the now overflowing fountain basin - drinking deeply with satisfaction, wiping his mouth on a sleeve.
It was as if a dam burst, people suddenly clamoured around him, bringing buckets and pots, anything that would hold water. Soon Cameron was squeezed out by the crowd in the mad rush to get at the water. Cameron didn’t blame them for their obsession to obtain life’s necessity, but a little gratitude or some simple courtesy would have been appreciated.
Turning away from the bustle, Cameron chose a new direction and headed off. He approached a street, no different from any of the others at this civic hub, but his way was blocked by a young boy holding a pail in one hand and the rope lead for a donkey in the other. As Cameron tried to walk around the obstruction, the boy would sidestep preventing his departure, this happened thrice before Cameron stopped trying.
Cameron looked at the boy closely, young, maybe nine or ten, big brown eyes that never looked away. Cameron reached out his hand to which the boy didn’t react, Cameron gestured with his hand to pass it to him.
The boy was confused, holding up both the donkey’s rope and the pail. Cameron took the pail and filled it to the brim with water, setting it down for the donkey to drink. Outlook then withdrew his canteen from his belt, handing it to the young boy. The boy’s reach was unsteady at first, but he raised the canteen up and pulled a long drink from it, after which he briefly came up for air, he took another long drink before returning the empty container.
The donkey had drained his pail so Cameron refilled it, giving the animal’s neck a stroke which loosed dust and a few flies. Once satiated the donkey gave a snort and stamped a foot upon the cobblestones. Perhaps a cue between the two, but the boy grabbed Cameron’s hand and began to drag him along, the boy walked backwards at first, tugging to ensure Cameron came along, soon, since Cameron hadn’t objected, the boy walked beside Cameron but never did the boy let go of Cameron’s hand.
As they walked, occasionally the donkey bumped into Cameron, the first time it happened Cameron nearly lost his balance, for such a small critter it was solid as all get out, the boy gave out a restrained, but silent laugh, it was his unrelenting grip that helped keep Cameron upright. The second donkey bump wasn’t as severe, but made Cameron misstep slightly, the third time followed, and this time, Cameron was ready for and pushed back against the rub.
By this time the hand grip had changed from a pulling affair to a friendly gesture with some swing in it. The distance travelled had been many city blocks after which the boy halted, offering by gestures for Cameron to ride on the donkey. Instead, Cameron picked the boy up and set him upon the donkey’s back, the hand holding resumed as they continued along, as did an occasional donkey bump, it had become a game.
The donkey stopped at a gate in a stone wall, at which the boy swung his feet off the animal’s back, opening the gate. The donkey was put into a pen, at which Cameron filled the water trough and placed some vegetables from Storage into his feed bin. The food became the donkey’s sole focus as the boy brought Cameron into the house.
The activity within the house came to a sudden stop when a stranger entered, Cameron bowed deeply with arms outstretched, little of his person could be seen beneath the camel cloak’s folds.
“Prophetess, you honour our humble home,” was offered by a man who stood as a wall in front of his family.
What struck Cameron most was the greeting being said in English, not the common tongue. “You’ve already deduced that I’m not her.”
“In truth, I couldn’t be sure. She was leaving yesterday,” the man admitted, gathering the young boy into a one-handed hold near to his body. Cameron couldn’t fail to notice he only had one hand: his left, he had no right hand.
“I met her on the road, she lent me this cloak,” confessed Cameron, giving the borrowed garment a flourish.
“We meant to evacuate the city with her, but during the unrest, my vehicle was damaged, so we couldn’t leave.” The man was deeply troubled by his admission, his heart was heavy due to the situation that endangered his family.
If precognition wasn’t a hard enough pill to swallow, to put this encounter down as coincidence defied reason, all you can do is roll with the punches ‘cause they’re just gonna keep coming. Cameron had learned that lesson already, how the plans of men might fall apart in mere seconds, but the grand scheme always finds a way.
“How many people could you take, if your vehicle ran?”
“I’m a bus driver, I have … had my own bus. I could carry up to eighty people on busy days, but it only has fifty seats. But it’s pointless, it’s damaged beyond repair. We’ve looked for another way to flee, but with the war - you can’t even get fuel.”
“Say for a moment your bus could run, and we had fuel. Would you be willing to help me take somewhere around twenty people to safety?”
“Twenty! So many, you are alone. Who - where are they?”
“Children, being held captive.”
“Ahy - yihy, the Brotherhood no doubt.”
“You know them?”
“It was they who took my hand, just over two years ago now. I was a teacher before … before the brotherhood changed from a peaceable faith, to embracing fear and hatred. I spoke out against them, it cost me my hand. Now, without my right hand, I am ostracized, I must wear a false hand when I drive or else nobody would ride my bus.”
“It has that much significance?”
“In my society, the right hand is only used for honourable purposes: eating, greeting, and giving your bond. Without it, I am seen as dishonourable and an outcast.”
“I’m sorry, that’s horrible.”
“You can see why I wish to leave, under the Brotherhood, it is no life for my family.”
“My name is Cameron.”
“I am Ahmed, and my son - also Ahmed.”
“Does he speak?”
“No, he used to. But he has become withdrawn ever since the Brotherhood’s campaign of terror began and won’t talk anymore.”
“I’m doubly sorry, he brought me here, he was insistent.”
Little Ahmed made the universal indication of putting food into one’s mouth.
“Do you need food?” Clued in Cameron.
“There’s no food in the city, supplies ran out days ago. We had some staples set aside for the trip, but with so many mouths, we have nothing left.”
“How many are you caring for?” There was a large number of people watching them, peeking around corners, curious but cautious of the stranger.
“My family is large, with my wife’s parents, our aunts, uncles, and cousins. All told, we are thirty-three under this roof, we gathered here to leave with the Prophetess, but …” Ahmed shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that belied the futility of the situation he faced.
“You got trapped,” an easy enough conclusion to deduce. “Perhaps we can assist each other, I am in need of a ride out of the city, you have a vehicle capable of carrying us all - but it requires repairs. Are you willing to help me in exchange?”
“I believed the Prophetess, I extend that belief to you.” Ahmed held out his left hand - Cameron gladly took it and they shook in agreement.
“Thank you. First up, let’s see about some food for your family, then we can take a look at your bus.”
The bus was very colourfully painted, Ahmed explained that it helped passengers determine which one to catch, instead of relying on numbers or scheduled routes. At a glance, the obvious issues were that on one side the rear tires had been burned up, a large scorch mark told of a fire engulfing the busses rear, resulting in the set of rear rubber having been completely consumed with only the burnt rims remaining. Bullet holes riddled that side of the bus, leaving most of those windows broken with shattered glass strewn everywhere.
From appearances, the engine looked to be in working order, good thing, Cameron didn’t have a decent knowledge of mechanical systems to attempt rebuilding it. Perhaps that was a course he should take at Whateley.
He undertook the obvious repairs, like the damaged radiator which had leaked all its fluids, the twisted front bumper and smashed windshield. He had plenty of rubber held in Warehouse from his visits to landfills, it required forming tires to match those on the other side, then mounting them upon the existing rims.
He replenished the charge within the bus’s batteries and ensured the electrical system was intact. After repairing the bullet holes in the gas tank, Cameron filled it with fuel - another resource he’d acquired from the train wreck. Wanting to keep the bus discrete, he didn’t renew the burnt area, instead, he just put a primer coat on to cover it, besides he couldn’t match the colour scheme. Outlook closed up all the bullet holes, but left them looking as though the metal was still damaged.
The bus’s insides were in complete disarray, what seats remained were either burned, dismembered, or torn up beyond recognition, its deplorable condition saddened Ahmed who’d taken pride in his family’s conveyance. After making the bus interior presentable, much like his Mom’s school bus had been, he received approval from Ahmed.
Montreal, Quebec
Lynn sat in the hotel room’s chair with her legs tucked up underneath her, although the TV was on she wasn’t watching it, it provided background noise as she searched for some indicator of Cameron. She’d been at it for a day now and was worse for wear.
Rhododendron volunteered to find them some ice cream, and had left Lynn alone in the room, not Rho’s first choice, but she would have done anything to cheer the demoralized girl up. Lynn had sunken into a depression that had sucked the life out of her former vibrant self.
The day’s shopping had been called off in favour of bringing Lynn back to her healthy - hearty self. None of her friends would come right out and call what had happened as fainting, doing so put them at risk of having a snarling snout with exposed fangs … but these friends had already learned she was a pussycat at heart, the gruff exterior hid a tenderness that the Were girl stowed away deep down.
Friendship broke down barriers, even the ones Lynn had built up from necessity. Cameron was a bad influence, or perhaps the best kind … Lynn was in such turmoil she couldn’t have told you which it was. She was worried, and that was something new for her, Precognition excluded fretting over the unknown.
“Lynn Franklin.”
She jumped, almost out of her skin. Nobody should be able to sneak up on the heightened senses of a Werecat, it had happened only once before.
“Please pardon my unannounced entrance.”
Lynn spun round to see a man standing just inside the room’s locked doorway. “How…?” Lynn caught herself before saying the wrong thing, exposing her true nature. “Who are you?”
“We met before, we share a common interest in young Cameron.”
“You’re Cameron’s …” clued in Lynn, she should have known - but if Cameron wasn’t here; Oh No!
“Yes, let’s leave it at that. I have come to make you aware of recent events.”
“Is Cameron alright?” Sought Lynn near to hysteria.
“I haven’t the context to convey ‘all-right’. He sustained life-endangering injuries but has been rejuvenated, does this satisfy the question?”
“I can’t see him,” bemoaned Lynn.
“Yes, about that. Cameron’s mission has become critical, extra measures have been taken for his safety. It included placing a block around him to prevent foreign interference.”
“But, why? I can’t see him at all, it’s like he doesn’t exist,” described Lynn about the empty feeling she was experiencing.
“An unfortunate occurrence, but necessary for his continued protection.”
“Is he in danger?” The girl’s curiosity was piqued.
“Yes, he is. I came to tell you this because the two of you have developed feelings for each other. Your distress speaks to that growing bond, you deserve to know.”
“I don’t understand, what do you need Cameron for?”
“For any matter to be established effectively four things must happen before a resolution is undertaken: a warning is given to avoid escalation, irrefutable proof is collected of wrongdoing, a judgement is rendered by reviewing all evidence, then that judgement is enacted. Cameron’s role is to collect proof, he is an observer - a spy if you prefer, his task is to uncover truth.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself very well,” corrected Lynn. “You’ve answered a concern of mine thou. But, why did Cameron have to go so far away?”
“A valid question. Cameron’s dealings with the Were’s fight against the corrupting effects of the dark Blade makes him the best suited to face the current situation’s potential difficulties.”
“Are the Bastard’s forces making another stand? Is that what Cameron’s up against? All alone?” Lynn was becoming frantic at the very thought of what another attack could mean.
“Do you know the history behind the Blade?”
“No. Only that it would overwhelm an infected Were, make them do terrible things.”
“Ages ago, a collective of queens sought to subjugate the world by wielding unlimited power. Three artifacts were commissioned: the mind Amulet, the body Blade, and the heart Bracelet. With these three tokens, a person could be controlled entirely. The enslaved Artificer died while making them due to the absolute evil these objects represented. Only two were ever finished, the Amulet and the Blade.”
“The Bastard has the Blade, what became of the Amulet?”
“It was used to unleash a war that threatened to consume the entire globe. It resulted in the Cleansing, the removal of all traces of that evil, at that the Amulet was destroyed.”
“How about the Blade?”
“The Bastard stole it from the queens, and used it to build an army for himself prior to the Cleansing, and now again he attempts to wield its corrupting influence.”
“The Were.”
“Indeed. It was fortuitous that you and Cameron halted the dark’s most recent advance, but the thirst for power cannot be satiated, he will undoubtedly push forward again.”
“So, if it isn’t the Bastard. Why is Cameron at risk?” Puzzled the Precog at the mystery.
“That needs to be seen, evidence must be collected.”
“That explains his eyes, he’s like a camera, all he has to do is watch,” gleaned Lynn deducing something that had nagged at her. “But, how come you need him in the first place?”
“Because man buries truth under many layers of lies. Men will even resort to murder to prevent getting exposed. But man will act without restraint if nobody’s watching.”
“Okay, so why Cameron?” Curiosity can be deadly if left unchecked, and unfulfilled. It was Lynn’s greatest fault.
“Cameron volunteered, rare for one so young to be so selfless. There is a strong desire to help and much love in that one’s heart, as you have seen.”
“Will he come back?” It was asked in hope, desire, and desperation by Lynn, she was coming undone.
“It is not my place to decide. While it’s true Cameron has an assignment to fulfill at Whateley Academy, with his youth making him ideal to attend and not draw attention, another could be arranged to take his place, but it is not preferred.”
“So he’s important to you,” assessed Lynn of the motivations at play.
“It is his exercise of freewill in helping others that makes him important - to man, even if man doesn’t recognize it.”
“Will you protect him?” Sought Lynn, press any advantage, it’s how battles are won - according to Ella.
“You mistake my role, I am not a guardian, only a teacher and guide. Your questions reveal the depth of fondness you have for Cameron, let the answers provided soothe your mind and build within you faith and trust. Farewell Lynn Franklin, till we meet again.”
Cameron was drowsy - again, the side effect of matter manipulation he’d discovered. The energy transfer left a toll on his body much like running a marathon might, plus he hadn’t shaken his overall fatigue since arriving. So Cameron laid down in a quiet corner of Ahmed’s house and slept.
When he awoke, Cameron noticed the number of people in the house had grown. Nothing spreads faster in dire times than good news - although bad news spreads like gangrene, so maybe not a worthwhile analogy.
Regardless, Cameron had work to do. Finding Ahmed directing the loading of supplies onto the bus, they sat to plan what came next. Bossman Ray was a firm believer in ‘knowing your enemy’, the more you knew the better equipped you were to deal with surprises, plus, it was his job to uncover truth. So recognizance of the church was a priority, if anything, he needed to find a way to rescue the children being held hostage.
Ahmed explained that he couldn’t go, not without a right hand, without it he couldn’t enter the church. As an outcast, he was banished from much of society, so it puzzled Cameron how he could drive a bus and not offend the passengers. Ahmed showed Cameron his prosthetic hand, a plaster fake, a poor copy but it gave Cameron an idea.
Ahmed further explained that it was his uncle who gathered the bus fare, it had been his bus to begin with but the man’s eyesight was failing, so both he and Ahmed worked together. Meeting Akbar: Ahmed’s uncle, set the wheels in motion for Cameron.
Cameron asked Akbar if he could borrow his face, he made a latex copy - mimicking the facial hair, bald head and features, further he added whited-out eyes much like the man’s cataracts had done - but more to hide his own golden glow. Donning some of Akbar’s clothes Cameron looked the part.
Cameron put a cast over the top of Ahmed’s prosthetic right hand and fashioned a sling for him to wear. Satisfied with the subterfuge, they set off with a measure of trepidation. Cameron manifested his motorbike with Ahmed letting the boy drive - a mistake. Ahmed commented that Cameron was easily the worst driver he’d ever seen, how he didn’t crash and kill them both was a miracle.
After many a frayed nerve, they arrived at the religious edifice. What a difference a day makes, the site was awash with people, everyone clamouring to enter, something big was going down. The rush of people seeking entrance allowed Cameron and Ahmed to blend in, but leaving would be a chore, especially with a bunch of children in tow.
At the gate, they were stopped by a guard asking to see their right hands. Being blind wasn’t a crime so little attention was paid to Cameron’s disguise, with only Ahmed’s fingertips exposed Cameron could quickly alter the man’s false fingers to point - or curl, it was enough to convince the guard and they were let in.
Inside it was a massive gathering, Ahmed described the goings on, as he might have done for his blind uncle, but he translated for Cameron. It seems the Brotherhood claimed victory, having won the coup, the faithful had been called to revel in the win, and begin the next step in their grand scheme.
The focal point of the assembly was a huge amphitheatre, a quick scan said two and half thousand were present. Cameron and Ahmed stood near the back to avoid detection. Down on the raised platform were thirteen men who had formed a circle, when a gong rang the men sat in seats facing the crowd. One of the thirteen - the designated speaker stood, calling the gathering to quiet, once settled he motioned for guards to bring out prisoners.
Three men were brought onto the stage, stripped down to their pants, with sacks covering their heads. The raw skin on these men’s upper torsos spoke of torture, they were pushed forward to then be chained to rings set into the floor. The beaten men faced the audience, allowing Cameron to get a good look at them: Boot and Git, he didn’t know the third man.
The speaker commenced: “We present to you the infidels who attacked our lands without provocation, people from afar whose despicable nations deride our beliefs and seek our defeat. For this reason, we have declared war upon those nations: Canada, and the so-called Great Briton. They sought to slap us in the face, deny us our rights - ignore our might. But we bested them, we caught these invaders in the act of espionage.”
Letting his words soak in, the speaker paused, to then firmly announce: “So it shall be Brothers, just as we’ve bested those who’ve stood against us these last weeks, we shall prevail against any who deny the superiority of the Shard’s might.”
Cameron asked Ahmed to clarify that last statement - the shard? What the heck is that?
The speaker moved to stand between two of the chained captives and pointed accusingly at them: “These foolish Canadians sought to desecrate our holy temple, rob us, and dishonour the Brotherhood.”
The speaker relished in the show, and his audience lapped it up: “Death is what they deserve, representatives of a desolate and frozen wasteland - devoid of dignity, worst of all - lovers of forsaken mutants.”
Cameron only knew of the army’s extraction team to free the hostages, had something else transpired, or had everything gone entirely wrong? Git and Boot looked to be scapegoats offered up on an alter to a bigger issue.
The speaker drew in his noose to capture his audience’s full attention: “They threw down the gauntlet, slapped our faces, if Canada wants war - war it is. The Shard prevails - always! None can stand against us! Nothing in heaven or on earth can defeat us - we who've been blessed by God to bear the Shard’s gifts.”
Again with the Shard! It perplexed Cameron, it made no sense. What gifts? He layered his sight, checking over the men standing nearby. Physically there was nothing untoward to speak of about them, heightened adrenaline was odd but not all that unusual.
Adjusting his vision to read energy signatures his sight revealed nothing, they were men, nothing more. Granted, they didn’t act like normal people, more like agitated - aggressive - unhinged mad-men, but there was no underlying cause. Of course, Cameron couldn’t look inside a person, not like a Psychic or Empath to see emotions or thoughts.
The speaker quelled the audience’s uproar by holding up his arms, “You ask, how can we defeat a whole nation? I’ll show you how easy it will be! Bring them out!”
From the sidelines another three men were shown onto the platform, these were not in chains, nor had they been beaten, rather they were being paraded before the crowd in a glorious triumphant procession.
“I present you proof positive that our enemies will fall at our very feet, no power will be found in their hands.” Rallied the speaker holding his fisted right arm high to signify the might readily at their disposal: “Three of Canada’s own, soldiers who’ve seen the righteousness of our cause.”
The mass of gathered men, almost as one, gave off a delighted ‘whoop’.
“Step forward Eric Bartlett and state your worth.”
Cameron watched as Chuck / Eric from Edmonton, approached the speaker to be handed a microphone, everyone listening intently for the promised evidence that their cause was well founded.
“My name is Eric, I was born and raised in Canada, but I have sworn to follow the Brotherhood of the Shard, my heart is joined with yours.”
“What makes you worthy of the gift?”
“For three generations my family have been active members of Humanity First - fighting against the scourge that mutants and their supporters bring. I am a chapter leader in my community and have given chase to known mutants, beating them and those who would hide them. I have personally aided in killing a mutant, hanging them. I was the one who informed the Brotherhood of Canada’s betrayal, and told you where to find these two cowards, with the Lieutenant’s blessing.”
“Tell me, Eric of Canada, is Humanity First prevalent in Canada? Will they align themselves to the Brotherhood?”
“Humanity First is a grassroots organization, every town and village has adherents sworn to preserving man’s inherent dominance. All it needs, all we ask for, is a reason to rise up, a cause to get behind. Once people back home hear what you have to offer - see the Shard’s power, and your intolerance of mutants, they will flock to your door.”
“We welcome you Eric. Now, I call forward Wayne Meikle, what makes you think you’re worthy?”
“I am Wayne Meikle, a sergeant in Canada’s Armed Forces. As a child I was a juvenile delinquent - instead of prison, I was sent to military school, where my violent behaviour was put to good use. As a soldier I’m expected to kill, having done so many times - not always in combat, and received honours for doing it. I am a pagan, each Halloween I light a candle to mourn the Nephilim. Recently, I rigged a parachute so it wouldn’t open, thereby killing a mutant.”
“Excellent, you’ll do nicely. Now I call forth Gary Tarnowski, What makes you worthy of the Shard’s blessing?”
“I am a lieutenant in Canada’s elite forces, I know of many others who also detest mutants within the ranks. Throughout my life, I have been a bully, tormenting society’s misfits. I, together with my brother Trevor: an MCO agent, captured and tortured three mutants. We killed two of them and mutilated the third. With Sergeant Meikle’s help, I killed another mutant by pushing him out of an airplane.”
“You all are worthy of bearing the Shard’s blessing. We welcome three new adherents, let the ceremony commence.”
A cloth-covered box on a wheeled stand was brought onto the platform, followed by an ornately dressed priest. When the box’s lid was opened, it astonished Cameron how all light was dimmed around the opening, in his sight, energy was pulled in like a magnet grabbing nearby metal.
The priest dipped a broad-tipped pen inside the box, Cameron wasn’t able to see into the box, whatever it was - plus the box itself, was made from something impossible to look through. When the priest withdrew the pen, its tip was pitch black, acting like a black hole drawing light into itself, to Cameron: it defied analysis. It was revolting and made him nauseous to be close to, yet a barrier prevented the energy drain from affecting Cameron.
Each of the three men rolled up their sleeves, exposing their right biceps. The Priest in a display of pomp drew identical symbols upon each man, they looking like small case t tattoos.
On the exterior, the tattoos looked very much like a normal inking. Inside was a different story, darkness crept along the veins and arteries towards the heart, where it began to wrap around the pump’s muscles. It may only be a figurative expression that a person’s heart is the seat of emotion, whether it be true or not, these men’s hearts had been corrupted. They smiled wickedly, like they’d been granted insight into a great secret.
Scanning the audience around him, Cameron noticed that nearly everyone present had an identical tattoo, it had no significance before so it hadn’t meant anything to him. Delving deeper, Cameron noticed how the ‘ink’ wormed its way into the men’s hearts, embedding itself into the flesh.
No matter how hard Cameron tried to see with his eyes, whichever layering he chose, he couldn’t find what he sought. That corrupting cancer-like infection - that black filth that consumed Were’s upon contact. Cameron was certain he’d find something similar, a cancerous growth imparting some kind of dark hue, there was nothing of the sort, only the initial tattoo inking.
After the darkness had taken hold within the three soldiers on stage, they all stood with arms stretched outward, fists clenched tight, all in attendance followed harmoniously in suit. It was a stance of defiance, a stance of might, a display of unbridled power, a unified brotherhood - hence the imagery imparted by the t tattoo.
The gathered throng erupted into applause and cheered loudly as this new chapter unfolded before them; world conquest was within their grasp, a powerful right hand with which to rule mankind. After the ceremony was concluded, the priest and the box left center stage to then stand back, yielding to let the speaker continue. Cameron reeled at the revelation, dumbfounded at the perversity and utter disregard of how this religious whitewash entirely obscured the sanctity of life.
How dare they paint God as cruel and spiteful! How could they be so stupid!
His mentor’s lesson snuck into the back of his mind: the account of the Amulet and the Blade. An Artificer died in the process of making them, how that using the Amulet led to unleashing the Cleansing. Did these crackpots somehow get their hands on the Amulet? No, it had been destroyed according to his mentor. The blade? No, it always twisted any human body it touched - killing them almost immediately, it was a horrendous death too. So what is this Shard?
If Cameron remembered the story correctly, after the enslaved Artificer died from the strain of making the body Blade and mind Amulet, there was some material left over, it looked like nothing more than a lump of coal, what remained to make the third artifact - the heart Bracelet. Unlimited power over someone comes from controlling the mind, the body, and the heart. This was bad on so many levels, the heart of men was being defiled.
The Speaker called for silence once more, ending Cameron’s memory trip.
“Before your final acceptance into the Brotherhood of the Shard, we require a small demonstration of your loyalty. Bring them out!”
Surrounded by armed guards, a huddled cluster of children entered, hands bound with heads covered by sacks. It was the captured school kids, all eighteen of them. The children were pushed out into the platform’s center and shoved to the ground, so they might cower on their knees before their superiors.
In expectation the crowd went into a hush of anticipation, knowing what entertainment the spectacle offered.
The scared group of children panicked when three of the youngest among them were forcibly grabbed and dragged away from their midst, these were brought forward to then be held in place below looming guards.
Cameron was aghast, he looked about trying to figure out how to stop this travesty. He and Ahmed were thirty rows away from the platform having chosen to stay distant, worse yet was that the closest aisle was quite a distance away. As a quick estimate he put at least a hundred men between him and the stage. More than he’d ever tried to subdue at one time, even so, how to overcome a swarm of thousands? His intervention would undoubtedly incite the entire gathering against him.
Each of the three men on stage was handed wicked-looking curved knives, with Lieutenant Tarnowski ushered forward first, he stood behind one of the hooded children, the smallest of the group. The mask was taken off to reveal a sweet little blonde-haired girl, she had pretty blue eyes but the terror in them tore into Cameron’s very fabric, he sobbed audibly.
In a swift, merciless move, Tarnowski without hesitation cut across her throat, blood splattered out coating the stage and soaked through her dress. She slumped to the ground in a puddle of her own blood.
The amassed men went into a frenzy, the gore of the blood-letting drove them wild with ecstasy.
Then all hell broke loose.
Cameron allowed the energy stored in his battery to surge, every hair on his body stood on end as the static charge built up exponentially in mere milliseconds. Outlook grabbed Ahmed, pulling him into the boy’s arms, ensuring Ahmed’s eyes were covered, he told him: “Don't look, on your life - keep your eyes closed.”
Suddenly, the entire assembly was bathed in a brilliant golden light that seared any eyes that looked upon it, staring at the sun was merciful in comparison. From within the blinding light came a booming voice as unmistakable as thunder:
“ENOUGH!”
End Part 2
“ENOUGH!”
The searing light had such intensity it burned retinas in a single glance, it even forced Cameron to look away and cover his eyes. Even with his enhanced vision Cameron couldn’t endure keeping his eyes open, he needed to blink several times in order to clear the penetrating glare.
Cameron had been convinced beyond a doubt that this travesty couldn’t be allowed to continue, he’d been preparing to generate an electrical shock wave that would impede mental activity, hopefully incapacitating the crowd. How far he could have reached would’ve been guess work. The solution at hand was far superior to anything Cameron could muster.
Checking on Ahmed, the man was trembling as he pressed his face hard against Cameron’s shoulder, ensuring he didn’t look at the blinding light. Cameron quickly glanced to the side, seeing people begin dropping to the ground, fainting from fear.
The incredible display of raw power had welded everyone present to the exact spot they occupied, rendering them unable to move, unable to escape the impending judgement. Cameron lifted his foot to see if he too was grounded, both he and Ahmed could move so he guided Ahmed outside the amphitheatre. Getting removed from proximity to the intense brilliance lessened the feeling of static electricity in the air, although it wasn’t until they’d stepped outside the church that Cameron allowed Ahmed to open his eyes.
Once Ahmed calmed down enough to stop shaking, Cameron asked Ahmed to go get the bus with all haste, giving him the old motorcycle to quicken him on his way. Removing his disguise and tucking it away in his Cupboard, Cameron pulled out his silver visor and donned the clothes he’d started the mission with.
Cameron attempted to return into the grand arena, but his access was barred, a glowing presence prevented his entrance. An outstretched hand stopped Cameron in his tracks, at which he was told: “Your work here is done.”
The youth was taken aback, being told ‘no’ is hard to contend with when you’ve tried so hard. It was not so much a matter of being disappointed. It was more an issue that he’d not completed his assignment and he didn’t want to let those kids down. He felt like he’d been going a hundred miles an hour, and now, suddenly, he was supposed to come to a complete stop. It was tough to wrap his head around, he now appreciated how Swift must feel every time he put on the brakes.
But still, Cameron needed to know. He was torn up inside, so asked: “What’s going to happen?”
“It is not your concern, your services are no longer required.”
Was he really expected to just walk away? To forget about it? It didn’t sit well, too many loose ends left over, besides - it had become personal. He’d suffered because of this. The willpower it was taking to not press forward and stay involved, it was like trying to put a plug on a volcano. Yet, he took a deep breath, cooled his heals as it were. Letting his emotions settle caused his demeanour to slacken, reflecting a submission to authority.
“Your desire to help speaks well of you. But know this, had you interfered, it would have tainted the evidence you gathered and corrupted the rendering of judgement, making everything that’s happened this day invalid.”
It was a reprimand. It was true - he’d nearly taken matters into his own hands. Seeing what they did to that poor little girl had pushed Cameron into hysteria. The cruelty and hatred had almost consumed him. He’d been ready to step beyond his role, despite all the warning provided against letting such happen.
“I apologize for letting myself get too involved,” confessed Cameron, admitting he was in the wrong. “I won’t get attached again.”
“It is not a crime to care. Take heart, these will be judged, the evidence you uncovered leaves no doubt regarding guilt. Remember that no man who values hatred and violence greater than compassion shall go unpunished. If they act like wild beasts then they shall be treated as beasts.”
“It’s the Shard’s doing, it corrupts the heart,” recounted Cameron. He wondered aloud: “Could the Shard be the Artificer’s Amulet?”
“No, the Amulet was destroyed at the Cleansing, besides, it affected the mind - not the heart. We shall investigate this Shard further, your contribution is appreciated.”
Cameron nodded at the compliment, but he needed to ask: “What of the innocent, the children held against their will?”
“They are given into your hand, take them far away from here.”
“The little girl,” he mentioned remorsefully, “her throat was slit.” The memory hurt to even mention it. Cameron hadn’t been near enough to be able to do anything to help her and she had undoubtedly died.
“She too is given to you.”
Cameron gasped in amazement, it was a kindness rarely granted, but since they served the God of life, death wasn’t much of a hurdle. Cameron was directed to stand aside so that a line of people could approach. Walking in single file were all the hostages, not only the children - including the little blonde girl, but also the three captured soldiers. Additionally, there were an assortment of other captured people, some youths along with a few adults. Cameron noted that three mutants walked in their midst.
The entire ensemble were being herded out, in a daze of sorts, but nobody was hooded or bound in any way. As they neared Cameron, he determined that they weren’t fully cognizant of the events transpiring around them. Their eyes were open but didn’t focus on anything or anyone. Cameron guessed it was a protection so as not to be overwhelmed.
“Thank you,” said Cameron with a slight bow to express his gratitude. He approached the freed captives and took charge of directing them. He led them through the church’s vast halls to bring them out through the main gates.
Much like how little Ahmed had led him by the hand, the hostages walked with one arm touching the person ahead. No-one stopped them and nobody noticed their departure. The Brotherhood of the Shard had more pressing matters to contend with at the moment.
Once outside Cameron gently touched each person’s face with both hands, it allowed them to open their eyes fully, it also ensured they saw his smiling face as assurance that they really were okay. Cameron greeted each of them in turn, saying with a calm and delicate tone: “My name is Outlook, I’m here to take you to safety.” When asking their names, the completely baffled looks upon some of the youth’s faces gave Cameron pause, so he asked: “How many of you speak English?”
Of the newly freed children a dozen held up their hands, three from the group containing the mutants, plus each of the soldiers. A pregnant lady who’d been with the mutants spoke up saying: “I’m a translator, perhaps I can help.” At that, the third soldier rushed up to her, embracing her, and they engaged in a long passionate kiss. They must know each other gathered Cameron, either that or local customs were perhaps a touch too affectionate for his comfort.
Upon closer inspection the woman wore garb akin to the ladies in Ahmed’s family, and she was - six months pregnant according to Cameron’s detailed sight, however, she was not a mutant. She and the soldier wore matching rings, so their reunion was warranted and heartfelt, both a relief and heart warming.
Once his lips weren’t under assault the soldier addressed Cameron: “My name is John, I was posted at the British consulate, this is my wife Cassandra. We were captured at the airport trying to get a flight out. What happened back there?”
A worthwhile question, one that Cameron was uncertain about how much to tell, how much they already knew, how much they would believe. So he needed to deflect the topic for the time being.
“Can we return to that later, once we get further away from here?” Cameron asked, hoping it wouldn’t become confrontational. Thankfully he received a nod of acceptance from John.
Having the group walk a couple blocks away from the religious edifice, which sang out with sounds of anguish, Cameron set up a table with food and drink upon it. Why it is that captors always felt justified denying life’s necessities was beyond the boy, but these people would need some nourishment if they were to travel.
“There is food and drink available. Please help yourselves,” invited Outlook, motioning them to partake of what was on the table. The lady translated for the benefit of those who didn’t understand. A few simply followed what the others did without further prompts, sometimes the language of an empty stomach overrides the spoken word.
Cameron took Boot and Git aside, asking how they felt, determining if they could act as guards for the rescued group to which they agreed. In particular, they introduced themselves to the four Canadian children to let them know to stay close and that they’d be reunited with their parents soon.
The group heard the bus before seeing it. Cameron hadn’t fixed the muffler, another reminder that he needed mechanical training. The bus rolled around the corner and halted beside them. When the door opened Ahmed greeted them warmly. The bus was already almost full, his ‘family’ had grown closer to fifty from Ahmed’s initial estimate of thirty three. To be fair, Cameron’s twenty was now thirty one - thirty two including Outlook. It was going to be standing room only on the bus.
Cameron couldn’t help but notice that slung across the bus’s rear was the battered old motorbike, it had more lives than … him. Interestingly, one of the bus’s rear bench seats had been removed to make space for the donkey - Cameron was delighted to see it, and it was happy to see Cameron, giving out a loud bray when he stepped aboard.
With a roar, Ahmed got the bus underway. It was deafening inside so Cameron quickly repaired the noisy muffler, much to the passengers relief which included some quizzical looks at the sudden change. People adjusted their seating to make room. Fortunately, with so many children passengers, each bench seat could accommodate several without too much discomfort.
Cameron was offered an entire bench, it might have been a display of honour, perhaps fear. However, little Ahmed had kept the seat vacant. Once Cameron came close the boy latched onto Cameron’s hand once again, Cameron patted the seat beside him which brought a huge smile to the silent boys face. Seeing a dilemma brewing Cameron offered for Cassandra to join them.
Boot and Git positioned themselves close to the Canadian children as protectors, but stayed alert to guard the entire ensemble within the bus. John for his part stayed close to Cassandra and kept an eye on the two children from the English embassy. Cameron’s seat was in-between those two groups.
Looking down the aisle Cameron couldn’t help but notice the little blond girl, she stood in confusion, looking around still in shock - unsure about what to do. She had a bright smile on her little face, but it was a fake. She was afraid and it made Cameron shift gears mentally.
She was a pretty little thing, blue eyes with tussled long blond curls and cute as can be. In fact, the image reminded him of photos kept in his family album. It was almost exactly how he looked at that age. The pull on his heartstrings almost made him cry. Cameron motioned for her to come closer and tentatively she approached so Cameron could ask: “Are you okay?”
“I think I died. Is this heaven?”
“No sweetie, not heaven.”
“Oh. Good! Too much sand without any beach,” she admitted. “Momma said heaven would be nice.”
“What do you remember?”
“Do I hav-ta?”
“Only if you want to,” comforted Cameron.
The little girls bottom lip must have grown threefold, stuck outward in concentration as she contemplated. “I was made to look up at big scary man and he dragged something across my neck. Then … you walked us outside. It’s kinda fuzzy.”
“That’s alright, fuzzy is good. What’s your name?”
“Lucy, I’m seven.”
“It’s nice to meet you Lucy Seven.”
“That’s not my name! It’s Lucy Scott.”
“My mistake,” he teased, placing his unencumbered hand over his mouth in mock surprise. “My name is Cameron Burke.”
“You called yourself Outlook before, you spoofing me?”
“No, I use the name Outlook when I need to keep my identity secret, but you seem like the trustworthy sort. You won’t tell anyone - will you?”
The little darling made the motion of closing a zipper over her mouth.
“Would you like to sit down?”
She hesitated before saying: “I’m scared.”
“Of sitting down beside me?”
“Of dying,” she said with a shudder that made its way to her extremities.
“How about I hold onto you, would that be okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded meekly.
The little girl climbed up onto Cameron’s lap and snuggled into his arms, within minutes her head slumped onto his shoulder as she fell asleep, a condition Cameron nudged her into. Boot caught Cameron’s eye, nodding at the girl and boy, then giving him a smile, Boot had remained standing - keeping on watch as the bus manoeuvred down the war ravaged streets.
Ahmed had been negotiating a difficult route through the city. Few people ventured out to expose themselves to the turmoil that embroiled the community. That said, the streets weren’t exactly empty, although no traffic hindered their departure, and rarely was anyone brave enough to even look at the bus. Bomb craters and abandoned vehicles littered the roads.
They drove past much devastation, whole city blocks burnt to the ground with rubble still smouldering. There was no water available to extinguish the flames, or firefighters left either. The abandoned cars in the streets made it difficult for the bus to worm its way past, torched husks was all that remained of some cars. Nobody said much at the scenery, some sobs could be heard from the people whose lives had been shattered by the conflict, but words fail to convey a hearts tears.
Ahmed had been eking out the best route through the city he could, avoiding some of the worst sections of the city. Even so, the deserted buildings told a gruesome tale. Shortly after turning a corner Ahmed stopped the bus, this street was different. The vehicles had been purposely set to create a funnel, which now made reversing difficult, especially for something as large as this bus.
They were caught in the throat of a choke point.
As if in unison, from the nearby buildings, out poured masked ne’er-do-wells, Boot and Git warned everyone to shut the windows and stay away from the glass. These assailants looked to be youths as they rushed up to the bus and began banging on the sides, shouting and cursing, throwing rocks and bricks, smashing many of the windows.
The soldiers and other adults tried using whatever they could find to beat back those who attempted to climb in. Ahmed and Akbar kept the buses door closed and pushed away any who tried prying it open. Unfortunately, a locked door and closed windows only provides so much deterrence against those motivated by mischief.
Vermin always answer when opportunity knocks, and war provides an ideal time for lawlessness to flourish. Riots and looting occur whenever society falters, how true it is that even the most law abiding citizen will speed when a policeman isn’t watching. How many times has the news reported on the madness that overcomes normally behaved people when restraint is loosened, like during a power outage. Man’s savage nature comes to the fore at the very time when the qualities of love and compassion are most needed and the underlying beast becomes evident.
The soldiers present cursed the peaceful nature of Ahmed’s family, they carried no guns - choosing instead to flee hostilities. It left the bus without defences to fend off these attackers. When no retaliatory action was encountered it emboldened the advancing swarm to overwhelm the bus.
The younger of the children aboard began to cry as the adults tried to calm them. Ahmed called out loudly: “They’re after the fuel!” Cameron looked out the window as three people approached the bus carrying jerry cans and syphon hoses. Cameron wasn’t impressed. Had they asked for help he’d have gladly given them gas, or food, or water, but resorting to theft and intimidation, that was low.
The three thieves set to work stealing fuel as others climbed on top of the bus and began rifling through the items tied down on the roof, seeking to rob the passengers of the few possessions they had with them.
Cameron was deeply offended so he put a halt to it. He collapsed the syphon hoses and filled the jerry cans with sawdust. Cameron counted some twenty miscreants in the vicinity, and deadened the nerves in all their arms. Each one of them immediately lost use of both their arms. The result was that arms hung uselessly at their sides.
If having no right hand was deemed suitable punishment in this community, having no working arms would be shocking, and a humiliation - at least until the numbing effect wore off, in a couple days … maybe.
The troublemakers ran off unable to continue, or carry away the old motorcycle which they’d stripped off from the bus’s back. Cameron put the dilapidated old thing into his Warehouse. It was damaged even worse now, but he couldn’t in fair conscience leave it behind.
Ahmed inched the bus forward until it bumped up against a car that had been used to block the road. It was put sideways to prevent passage and the bus pushed upon it roughly, nudging it down the street until there was room to drive around it.
When they finally left the city, a collective sigh of relief could be heard. The landscape turned to wide open desert, without any vegetation to speak of. Sand swept across the road in whorls, drifts accumulated on the asphalt making bumps that shook the entire bus as it drove over them. A cloud of dust kicked up behind them in a plume to be carried off by the wind.
After one particular harsh bump little Lucy stirred. She snuggled in closer but didn’t go back to sleep. Instead, she stared up curiously at Cameron’s glasses, Cameron smiled at her.
“Are you magic?” she asked, not taking her eyes off him.
“That would be the easiest answer I suppose, but isn’t true,” softly replied Cameron. “I’m what you’d call gifted. God has granted me special abilities to help people.”
“Like rescue me?” Lucy surmised.
“Yes, just like that. To help return little girls to their parents.” Cameron said giving her a squeeze.
“What does God look like?”
Lucy’s question took Cameron aback: “I don’t know, I’ve never met him.”
“How do you know he’s a he?”
“I don’t, it’s just how everyone refers to him as.”
“I think I must have seen an angel then.”
“Oh?”
"There was somebody standing in a bright light, I thought it might have been God.”
“Were you scared?” worried Cameron, it could be a terrifying experience.
“No. It was kinda peaceful, like when I look at your eyes.”
“That’s good, God doesn’t want people to be afraid of him.”
“What do I do now?” asked Lucy.
“How do you mean?” replied a puzzled Cameron.
“I died, but I’m not dead. What am I supposed to do?”
“What is it that you want to do?”
“Go home,” admitted Lucy.
“Then that’s what you should do.”
“But …”
“God’s greatest gift is free will, he doesn’t expect more of you - than for you to be the best you you can be.”
“What’s free will?”
“It’s getting to decide for yourself who you’re going to be and what you’ll do. The worst kind of evil is somebody taking that freedom from you.”
“Like Mom saying it’s bedtime?” sounded out Lucy, trying to understand.
“No, she’s got your best interests at heart. It’s like with those bad men who captured you back there, putting you in prison.”
“They were mean.”
“They wanted to force their will onto you, make you do what they wanted.”
“Like eating porridge. I hate porridge, it’s gross and slimy.”
“But it’s good for you, at least that’s what my Mom always said.”
“You can have it. Bleah!”
“Are you feeling hungry?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m sure we’ll stop soon, think you can wait?”
“Nu-uh. I gotta pee.”
From those nearby came voices in agreement, full bladders and near empty stomachs, a bad combination. It was obvious from the soldier’s looks of concern that they didn’t think it safe to stop, but children have different priorities. Cameron asked for the bus to stop and Ahmed complied.
Git took point, the first to exit the bus, followed by Cameron who had his hands full. Little Ahmed held onto one hand and Lucy attached to the other. Git quickly set about climbing the nearest sand dune to scout for danger, while Cameron asked if Lucy and Ahmed could hold each others hands for a moment. They looked warily at each other, but, did eventually take up the offer.
Cameron found some level ground and set out a row of porte-potties. Having worked construction with Buck over the summer he’d become familiar with the worksite lavatories. As the passengers disembarked for a break Cameron ensured there was bottled water and snacks for everyone.
On top of the sand dune Git whistled to get attention, John and Boot raced to join him and Cameron and Ahmed climbed up a little slower. In the distance could be seen clouds of dust. Cameron used his telescopic sight to glean details. A convoy of speeding military vehicles carrying the Brotherhood’s flag were attempting to overtake the escapees.
The convoy consisted of a column of fast moving light trucks following the exact Southerly route the bus had taken. Taking a look around Cameron noticed that to the East was another dust cloud kicked up by a larger contingent of army vehicles. Armoured trucks bounced violently over the sand - trying to block them off from their escape route. To the West was a third advance, more army trucks and two tanks plowing through the deep sand, but they had a greater distance to cover than the other two. Apparently, they wanted to prevent them crossing the border into another country.
Something caught Cameron’s attention. Looking further to the West, far beyond and into neutral territory, Cameron spotted Canada’s encampment, Camp Nimpkish was under fire. The Brotherhood was living up to its declaration of war and bombarding the Canadians stationed there, cutting off any hopes of escaping in that direction. Again it held true, the plans of men always fall apart at the seams, especially when you begin to believe that things are going your way.
Scanning for another possibility, Cameron looked towards the UN refugee camp which was roughly ten miles away, South-East across the border. It was the destination Ahmed would take his family after dropping off Cameron’s group. From appearances, the border was still letting people cross, still held by the forces loyal to the old regime. A hasty explanation from Cameron to the men resulted in an agreement, they ran back to the bus. They needed to get moving - fast.
Ahmed did the best he could, pushing his bus to travel as fast as possible, but it was a bus after-all, loaded down and full to capacity. The army was quickly closing the distance between them and they would soon be overtaken.
Cassandra was conversing with a young girl, she’d introduced herself earlier as Gale. Gale could make wind, hence her name - she was an air manipulator. Gale explained that she could kick up a dust storm. Cameron concurred to her plan and he focused upon the surrounding terrain, beginning to throw sand up into the air, since there was ever so much sand laying all around them and not much else. Working together the two created an impromptu sand storm.
The swept up sand obscured the bus from view as it rumbled along down the road. The wind made a wall that the army couldn’t penetrate and they needed to slow down so as not to be swallowed up into the storm. The storm kept pace with the bus holding the army at bay.
The impenetrable wall of windswept sand was as tall as it was wide. Nobody was willing to risk entering the swirling maelstrom. The sand storm barrier was a scant hundred feet thick, yet it was enough to confound the brotherhood’s forces.
The military’s other front, the Eastern push, was still ten minutes away from overtaking them when the bus arrived at the border. As a grand finale, Gale pushed her wall of sand full blast into the army, halting them in their tracks. One and all of the military men ducked for cover to avoid being blasted by sand.
The men manning the border stood agog watching as the sandstorm approached.
It was too localized to be an actual storm as it chased a bus across the desert. Now, it suddenly reversed and dissipated. It was a secondary realization that a heavily laden bus was waiting at the gate. The guards quickly waved the bus through the border stop without delaying it. In fact, many of the outpost’s guards climbed aboard the bus when the delayed army began to dig themselves out - only seconds away from the border.
Crossing the short distance to the other side to the border, the neighbouring guards welcomed them, waving them through. Once the last refugees had passed this nation’s guards lowered the barricades into place, as two tanks rolled in to block the roadway. It was a visible discouragement to the opposing army which had overtaken the recently evacuated border station.
Even if the brotherhood had still wanted to capture them, Cameron had ensured sand had crippled the vehicles and jammed up their guns. Weaponless and immobile the Brotherhood’s army didn’t pursue them any further. A cheer rose up from everyone aboard the bus as it rumbled away.
The UN refugee camp was a vast collection of tents and some quickly erected structures, supported by a temporary landing strip. The UN’s blue helmeted personal and flags were on display and the mixture of languages being used showed the multinational effort underway.
The bus was directed to a check-in point where everyone needed to disembark and get sorted. Cameron asked for his group to hold back and let Ahmed’s family leave first. It also allowed Cameron to do a quick change of clothes so he looked to be nothing more than one of the rescued children.
Cameron wasn’t seeking recognition, he didn’t want anyone to know who he was. So he allowed Boot, Git, and John to take the lead and the credit for the rescue. It also meant they would face the brunt of any questions over the rescue and escape. Had Cameron showed his diplomatic passport and told them he was with Foreign Affairs, it would create unwanted attention. That was not what he’d come here to deal with.
When the UN determined that they were children of foreign nationals, the group was taken for medical assessment. Then, notifying the various countries and the concerned parents was a task the camp authorities had to contend with. After everyone was sorted, all the Canadians were set aside in a Doctor’s Without Borders tent for some rest.
Cameron checked his phone, the poor thing was dead, again. He’d needed to make some repairs earlier after the bad landing. Now, it must have been totally fried in the aftermath of the amphitheatre. It would take time to make repairs to the burned out circuitry and resurrect the battery. Cameron dug into Smith’s devise, it required an almost complete rebuild.
Checking the phone over, Cameron rewound the playback to find it had definitely died with the power surge back at the Brotherhood’s compound. To test its operation Cameron called for a Teleporter. His lift would arrive later that evening so Cameron had time to say goodbye to those he’d rescued, and offer thanks to Ahmed for his help.
Ahmed’s family was in the process of being admitted into the refugee camp and Cameron took him aside. Clearing up Uncle Akbar’s cataracts was simple enough, but a missing hand was something else completely. Cameron couldn’t make something from nothing, he could only build upon existing materials. If it was a matter of repairing a hand - okay, replacing one? Not so okay.
Cameron had Ahmed sit down and he placed a covering overtop them so he could focus. Cameron robbed bone from elsewhere in Ahmed’s anatomy so it wouldn’t be rejected, He used it to form the skeletal basis, adding calcium to increase the mass. He then needed to take muscle tissue to layer up over the bone, not taking too much from one place to minimize damage. He scraped up layers of skin from across parts of the man’s body.
Once blood could circulate, Cameron watched its flow, ensuring there was no blockages. Attaching nerve endings took so much attention due to the complexity involved, Cameron was getting dizzy from the minute details. But he didn’t stop. Ahmed had stayed still, as requested. When Cameron squeezed a finger the man startled and yelped, he’d felt that. He held up the new hand near his face and Ahmed turned it slowly, bending the fingers one digit at a time, the man was speechless.
Cameron hugged him as Ahmed cried. Cameron put a single finger to his lips, the universal indicator to not say anything. Ahmed nodded and gave the youth a hug kissing his cheeks. After telling the man to slowly build up strength in his hand, Cameron left after hugging Little Ahmed, telling him to grow up and be just like his father.
Stopping by the tent given to the group from England, John and Cassandra asked what they should say. Cameron advised them to tell the truth. Lucy cried and wouldn’t let Cameron go, he kissed her forehead, saying he was needed elsewhere now. There were other people who needed rescuing. She relented, but her sniffles didn’t.
When the Teleporter arrived at dusk Boot and Git gave him a farewell salute, then Cameron was whisked away.
Arriving at the offices of Foreign Affairs in Ottawa just before noon Cameron asked to speak with whomever was Veronique’s supervisor since she was still on her honeymoon. The suited man whose office he was ushered into was beyond surprised by the unexpected visitor. The man stood to greet Cameron attired in his work-day RCMP uniform, asking what this was about.
“Sorry to intrude unannounced. My name is Outlook, I’m an Inspector with the RCMP on assignment to your office and posted to the American Embassy. I was recently asked by Veronique Tallman to assist with rescuing several captured children. I’ve just returned and felt someone should be made aware.”
“Oh my! There hasn’t been any recent updates. What happened?” the man said, nearly falling into his chair at the news.
“The children are fine. They’re in good hands at a UN refugee camp waiting to be reunited with their families.”
“Are they with Commander DeVouge?”
“No, I believe he’s still at the Canadian Forces base which was under attack when I left, so it wasn’t an option to return there. The children are under the care of two members of the extraction team, along with some asylum seekers wishing to immigrate to Canada.”
“That’s incredible! Congratulations on a successful mission. I’ll let our people on this end know. Is there something else I can do for you?”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. If I’m not mistaken, It’s likely that I'm required to undergo a mission debrief. The problem is, I don’t know who I’m to report to. I wasn’t given alternate contact information.”
“I can ask my counterparts in National Defence. Would you like anything in the meantime?”
“It was terribly dry and dusty over there. I’ve been craving a root beer for days, with ice - lots of ice please. And, if I can make use of a desk to compile my report?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Cameron was shown to a conference room and provided a tall mug loaded with ice and a couple bottles of chilled root beer. He’d downed two drinks in short order before he could truly focus on writing anything. After an hour he’d finished his account of events and sent a completely detailed copy over to Ray Martin at RCMP Special Investigations headquarters.
His other, abbreviated report, minus details about using his abilities, were made out in triplicate, which seemed to be a government prerequisite. It was worse than being in school if Cameron was being honest. However, a set was provided to Foreign Affairs which he left with the lady he’d met at reception. Cameron held onto another set, the one he’d prepared for the military. He was certain he’d get the most grief from that group.
Having received directions of where he needed to go to make his report to the military, Cameron walked the distance over to the offices of National Defence. His wanderings had him go past a food stand at which he bought lunch. His internal clock was so messed up - if it hadn’t been for the sun up at the peak of day it could have been midnight. But, he was hungry so that counted for something.
Stepping into the military’s Ottawa offices, he provided his codename and was asked to take a seat in the reception area. He sat for a long time, waiting. Long enough to eat his sandwich, after which the teleporter-lag started to make him drowsy, his head dropping onto his chest when it became too heavy to hold up any longer.
A uniformed lady interrupted his sleep. She stood beside him, then coughed loudly to get his attention and directed him into a meeting room, closing the door after they both entered. Three officers in crisp looking uniforms sat behind a table speaking with each other and ignored the boy as he entered. The lady sat in a chair off to the side. She had some kind of typewriter and a recorder at her desk.
Cameron was pointed to a spot front and center in front of the three officers, the disdain upon the officers’ faces at his RCMP clothes spoke volumes.
“State your name and rank for the record,” barked the officer seated in the middle.
“My name is Outlook, I’m an Inspector with RCMP Special Investigations.”
The officers bristled at that, it mustn’t have been the answer they sought.
“Continue,” was sourly directed.
Cameron took off his backpack and pulled out his mission report. He quickly added a fourth copy, one for himself, just in case. He held the documents out, asking: “To whom do I give my mission report?”
The uniformed lady asked for them, she in turn stamped each of them as being received before distributing them to the three officers at the table and gave one back to Cameron. Cameron had only supplied the top most paper copy with a data storage device affixed. It contained the audio and video recordings he’d pieced together from his rebuilt phone.
Cameron had expected a debrief like what Ray always did after any field activity, a discussion of what happened and what could be done better next time. It was apparent that the military had a different management style which left Cameron feeling uncomfortable - likely what was intended. So far, Cameron had no inkling as to what kind of information they’d like, how much detail they wanted - within reason that is.
Cameron spoke: “I can report that the four Canadian embassy staff’s children have been successfully retrieved, as per my mission parameters.”
“Why isn’t the Officer in charge submitting this report?”
“I don’t know his whereabouts or current situation. My last direct contact with Lieutenant Tarnowski and Sergeant Meikle had them throwing me out of an aircraft, without a functioning parachute I might add. You’ll find that account on the second page of my report.”
A derisive scoff was heard, followed by the question: “What about the other members of the extraction team?”
“I am only aware of two members: Harlan Walker, aka Boot, and Randy Galbraith, aka Git. I left them with the rescued children almost four hours ago at a United Nations refugee camp, as per page eleven.”
“Why did you abandon them?”
“My services were no longer required.”
“Who relieved you?”
“I left of my own accord. The men - who I already mentioned - had the situation well in hand, the children were safe.”
“You admit to leaving without permission.”
“Yes, in consideration that I had fulfilled my obligation. My only outstanding responsibility was to provide a mission debrief, which for obvious reasons couldn’t be done in the field.”
“And why is that?”
“Commander DeVouge, my liaison with Foreign Affairs, and Captain Patel were under fire from the Brotherhood’s hostile bid to overtake Camp Nimpkish. Page ten of the report describes the decision made to go to the UN camp, rather than jeopardize the children’s safety any further.”
“Are you aware that war was declared against Canada by these religious fanatics, the Brotherhood as you call them?”
“Yes, I heard about that, an unfortunate development to be certain. Please refer to page eight where that is mentioned.”
“What did you do to provoke this escalation?”
“Again, page eight addresses that issue,” deflected Cameron at the accusation. “The question that should be asked is why attack embassies in the first place? Canada’s wasn’t the only one targeted. What was the Brotherhood’s motive? Had they sought a ransom?”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So, why was Canada’s embassy attacked? Why were we at war?”
“I am but a simple policeman, I’m only accustomed to dealing with shoplifters and jaywalkers. I must defer to experts such as yourselves to explain these events. But it sounds like the war has ended.”
“That is not your concern.”
“May I ask what my concern is?”
“You may not. We’re going to need time to review this report in full.”
“I’ll leave you to it then,” commented Cameron as he turned to go. Halting after taking a couple steps he turned to add: “If you have any questions, I can be reached through the RCMP.”
“You haven’t been dismissed.”
“Haven’t I?” quizzically asked Cameron. “My obligations have been fulfilled once I submitted my report.”
“You’re in the army, you don’t leave until we tell you to leave.”
“I don’t understand your assessment of the situation.”
“You signed recruitment papers, we own you.”
“You are very much mistaken, you cannot own me - because I already belong to God. So, I suggest you take another look at those papers of yours.”
“Until we receive inbound mail from Nimpkish, you’ll be held in the brig under charges of dereliction of duty, insubordination, and being absent without leave.”
“Oh! Can I get put into solitary confinement? I’ve been looking forward to getting some sleep, it’s been a tough couple days,” mentioned Cameron as he held out his arms in full expectation of handcuffs. Instead he had zip-ties put around his wrists and secured behind his back.
He was taken into custody by a couple of military police. The stern looking men placed him into a truck with solid panelled walls without windows. Cameron was chained to the wall and floor before the door was bolted and locked on the outside. As the vehicle began to move, Cameron had second thoughts saying to himself: “Nuts to this.”
He was done playing peoples’ games. All anybody ever seemed to do was to send him to his room, or whatever room they had available. No more, he had places to be and things to do. Besides, he had no interest in being cooped up in prison again, the food was terrible and the decor was lousy.
Getting rid of his bonds in a blue flash, he then make a quick change of clothes into a pair of faded jeans and a grey hoodie. Cameron waited until the truck stopped at a traffic light. He made an opening in the vehicle’s side and stepped out onto the street, restoring the hole he’d made - let them figure that one out.
He patiently stood on the sidewalk until the truck drove off, then he casually walked into the business hub of Ottawa. Finding a post office he sent a priority letter to Ray Martin at the RCMP. It contained an explanation that he was skipping town, but not his destination.
Cameron detailed how he was at odds with the military and could the RCMP investigate the Department of National Defence for attempting to entrap him. He included a copy of his modified employment contract. He also promised he wouldn’t dishonour the RCMP by acting as an officer of the law until the dispute was settled.
Thinking about it a little more, Cameron also sent a parcel to Emit Paulson his lawyer, again providing a copy of the contract. And finally, he posted a letter to Veronique at Foreign Affairs, making her aware of the situation once she returned to work. He had no intention of getting wrangled into further government entanglements for the foreseeable future.
At that point Cameron placed his satellite phone and laptop into Storage, if anybody could find his location by tracking items in another dimension - one without time, then kudos’ to them.
He was about to enter a hotel to get a room when he saw a transport truck across the street unloading its cargo at a retail store.
Cameron listened in to the delivery men’s conversation as they moved boxes, they would be heading back to the States today. When the men took a load inside leaving the truck unattended, Cameron snuck into the back, forming a false wall behind which he could hide. The men didn’t notice anything amiss and finished their job. By the time the truck began to move Cameron had fashioned a nice comfortable hideout replete with a bed.
The trucks motion lulled Cameron to sleep, like rocking a baby, so when the truck stopped at the border crossing into the United States, Cameron woke up to watch the goings on. A border guard had the driver open the rear, which was empty to all appearances. That the inside was smaller than the outside wasn’t observed, and for some reason the x-ray unit didn’t work for a second when the truck passed over it - Cameron might be to blame for that.
The trip to Schenectady took several hours, which suited Cameron fine, he managed to get more than forty winks, more like sixty. Arriving at the trucks depot, the men parked the vehicle in a compound and left. Ensuring the coast was clear, Cameron exited the truck, erasing any evidence of his presence. The depot had security cameras, which had a small glitch on their recordings as Cameron left.
It was night, and the industrial park was dimly lit, towards the highway was a 24 hour truck stop with a restaurant. Cameron entered the establishment to find the patrons consisted entirely of truckers - which kinda made sense since the business catered to the long haul transport workers. Cameron grabbed a booth and scanned the menu, selecting the Salisbury steak special.
Cameron was halfway through his dinner when a woman entered, he’d watched as she pulled up in a big pink semi truck. The men in the restaurant eyed her up with predatory looks, the curse of being an attractive woman. She made a disgusted face as she scanned the place for an empty seat. Being a single woman amidst a rough crowd meant she needed to be leery of where to sit. Cameron assessed the situation calling to her: “Aunt Peggy! I was worried you’d got lost,” and waved her to come over.
She hesitated a minute, but the testosterone fuelled interest in her had faded quickly with Cameron’s comment, so she joined the youth at the table.
“What’s your story kid?” she asked as she sat.
“Why do I have to have a story?”
“Nobody sticks their neck out unless they want something.”
“Turtles are some of the longest lived animals, because they’re good at avoiding danger.”
“Thick shells help too,” she added. “So which are you, too thick or too young to know any better?”
Cameron choked on his food and coughed, she was smart and funny, a dangerous combination. “Let’s go with a little of both. I’m Cameron.”
“Peggy, but you knew that already, I’d like to know how?”
“It’s written on the door of your truck.”
“It’s parked, like - two hundred feet away, how did you see that far?” She dropped close to the table and whispered, “are you a mutant?”
“And if I was?”
“It would explain a lot.”
Reaching into a pocket, Cameron withdrew his wallet - from out of his Cupboard, and pulled out his MCO card identifying him as not being a mutant, handing it over for Peggy to read.
“Well, don’t that just beat all!” Peggy exclaimed, taking another look at him. “But you ain’t normal, are you?”
“Normal is highly over rated. Besides, what is normal nowadays anyway? Everybody strives to stand out from the crowd, unless they’re purposely hiding something.”
“Now, that just proves you’re in trouble - right there. What is it? You a runaway or something?”
“I’m hiding from the army, they’re being less than forthcoming with their intentions. I’m not certain if they want to experiment on me or just kill me and be done with it.”
“That’s some serious s**t!”
“Ain’t it just,” remarked Cameron. “Story of my life … I guess you’re right, I do have a story,” he mused over another bite of food.
“We all do hon, trust me,” said Peggy as she perused the menu.
“I’d like to, but you haven’t told me your story yet.”
“Me? What’s to tell? Down on my luck, piling up the miles, working to pay the bills.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Could be worse, I’d prefer otherwise, but hey, what can you do. How’s the steak by the way?”
“Pretty good, I like the gravy, and it’s real potato too.”
“Good to hear, I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.” Peggy placed her order with the waitress.
“I hope that’s just a figure of speech,” mused Cameron as he pushed the meat around his plate.
Peggy laughed out loud, she even had a tear run down her face. “Oh golly, I didn’t mean to …”
“Not a worry, it’s beef, I checked the DNA.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure, although it takes the mystery out of mystery meat.”
“I gotta ask, what’s in spam?”
“Some secrets are better left unanswered. G. I. Joe lied: ‘knowing isn’t half the battle,’ there are things that should just be left alone.”
“Right… So, you heading North? Leaving the country to get away from the army? I hear Canada’s taking in mutant refugees now.”
“Nope, other way around, I just left Canada.”
“No fooling? I had a friend run folks up to the border.”
“More proof that I don’t fit the mold of normal.”
“So, where are you going?”
“I shouldn’t tell you, in case - you know.”
“Gotcha. I’m going East. I’ve got a load of tires I’m taking to Bangor.”
“If you’re willing to take a passenger part of the way, I can pay.”
“I wouldn’t charge a kid for giving them a lift.”
“That’s very kind, but really, I have enough money and I want to help out.”
“You really aren’t normal, are you!”
“Nope, it’s one of my best qualities too.”
She laughed easily, she drank three cups of coffee over dinner as they ate, Peggy even convinced Cameron to try a piece of cherry pie for desert. It was worthwhile enough to buy the two entire pies on display and tuck them into Storage.
Peggy asked for a huge thermos full of coffee to go when getting ready to leave, Cameron paid the bill and left a big tip.
Peggy’s truck was pink, the cab anyway, the trailer was your typical white. She did a circle check around her rig with Cameron tagging along, she said they’d need to gas up before hitting the road, Cameron told her to check her fuel gauge, he’d filled the tank from his dimensional stash. She wouldn’t budge until he spilled the beans on how he did that. He didn’t mention how he’d built up the rubber treads and brake pads on her truck.
Life on the highway can be a solitary existence, so Peggy was happy to have company. They talked long into the evening, with Cameron providing some more details about his abilities. Finding out Cameron was gifted by God subsided any worry she might have had, in fact she was in awe.
It was long past dark when Peggy pulled off the road into a rest stop. There was a couple other trucks and campers already parked, but she selected a quiet place and shut her rig down. Her sleeper cab had bunk beds, and Cameron was offered the upper berth.
Cameron was stirred awake, Peggy had heard something outside. Cameron looked around and determined that some drunken nerfherders were vandalizing the rest stops amenities. Cameron disabled their get away vehicle, and put so much alcohol into their blood stream that they passed out in mere seconds. Peggy called for the police on her CB radio and they showed up to arrest the vandals without incident. Peggy gave her statement, without mentioning Cameron’s involvement.
Peggy and Cameron made use of the newly refreshed rest area’s showers in the morning, and grabbed some breakfast sandwiches to eat on the road, along with another big thermos full of coffee. At some point Peggy asked what music Cameron liked, he handed her one of the CD’s he’d made. They both sang along to the mix, she even enjoyed the Canadian artists like April Wine and Prism whom she’d never heard before.
Peggy knew by heart the best roads to take, the best places to stop and eat, and she pointed out the most interesting sights along the way, Cameron was having a great time. To avoid heavy traffic, Peggy chose to take a secondary route through New Hampshire, which suited Cameron perfectly.
An alert on the CB radio warned of an accident ahead, a truck driver had witnesses the whole thing. A car had struck something crossing the road and was badly damaged. Police and ambulance had been called and were on the way. Peggy rounded a corner and slowed when passing the accident scene, glass and car parts were strewn everywhere.
Three people sat roadside, no apparent injuries thanks to automobile safety devices, with other motorists having stopped to render aid. Cameron took in the details, but considered the risks and held his inclination to help at bay. However, something didn’t add up. His first impression of his recent dream was that it was only another nightmare about the accident that had killed her family.
It wasn’t until actually seeing this car wreck that he was irked by the huge differences in the details. For a car to be that badly messed up - it must have hit something really big, but what? That was the problem, whatever had been hit didn’t stick around, he couldn’t ignore this.
Cameron asked Peggy to pull over and she obliged. Cameron thanked her for the ride, handing her a stack of hundred dollar bills.
Trying to return the cash, Peggy said: “I was serious about not taking your money.”
“I know,” responded Cameron, “I’m sorry that the only kindness I can repay you with is money, Please take it. Put it to good use.”
Peggy was torn, she had debts and overdue payments mounting up so she tucked away the bills. “You sure you’re okay? There’s nothing around for miles?”
“Not a worry, this is perfect,” promised Cameron, yelling: “Thanks so much!” as he let Peggy pull away, after he’d topped up her gas tanks and giving her a farewell wave.
The remote area was forested with some farmlands scattered about. A stream ran North of the road which Cameron hiked towards, then followed the embankment back in the direction of the accident scene. Not too far along, Cameron’s suspicions proved true, standing in the water was one of the biggest people Cameron had ever met, on par with Buck for height at just over seven foot tall, but weighted four times as much.
The guy was washing himself in the stream, without a stitch of clothes on. As GSD went, he had it bad. His skin was rough, like a wart - but sadly it covered his entire body. Cameron remained quiet but moved closer, finding some clothes laying in the dirt, they were shredded and completely trashed, not to mention soiled. Come to think of it, if Cameron had been run down by a car, he’d likely poop his drawers too.
Cameron cleaned and repaired the clothes, setting them over a low hanging branch. Cameron proceeded to light a fire nearby and set some water on to boil and a large pot beside it, then sat facing away from the big guy to afford him some privacy. He heard him walking, the ground even shook with his footfalls, the big guy exclaimed: “Wah?”
Moments later the walking mountain approached.
“You hungry?” asked Cameron turning to face him.
“Yeth,” came a reply that sounded like gravel when you rake it.
“Coffee, Tea, or hot chocolate?” was offered, as Cameron gave him a deep scan, trying to be discrete. Buck mentioned how he hated people staring at him all the time, no doubt a common issue for someone so extraordinary.
The guy stood there in expectation of the revulsion the sight of him typically elicited. It didn’t come. After a second he said with difficulty: “Co-co.”
Cameron poured hot water into two mugs, one being much larger, he stirred them both and handed the large one over. “I have marshmallows if you’d like?”
“No,” was rumbled, as he emptied the drink in a single gulp.
“Another?” asked Cameron, reaching for the empty mug.
“Yeth.”
A quick pour of hot water later, another drink was in his massive hand, this one he sipped. “Who?”
“Who am I?” questioned Cameron, his scan had shown a badly deformed tongue and mouth, speech was hard for the guy.
The land mass sitting across the fire nodded his head.
“I take it your condition has made speaking difficult for you, I’ll do my best to keep my conversation to the point. My name is Outlook,” at which he raised his reflective silver visor to show the golden hue given off by his eyes. “In certain circles anyway.”
“How?” was asked, as the giant pinched his reconditioned flannel shirt between two fingers.
“Ah yes, that. I hope you don’t mind, but I figured you might prefer some modesty.”
Again a nodded head.
“I am able to alter molecules, I repaired your clothes by renewing the molecular bonds.”
“Thhuh,”
“Your welcome. I hope the stew’s ready, I’m famished.”
Cameron scooped out a bowl for himself, then handed the whole pot over to the big guy, including a large spoon. Cameron hadn’t even finished half his bowl when the big guy set down the pot and began licking the spoon; his tongue was just as rough as the rest of his body, there was no way he could form words with so twisted a mouth.
“Would you like more?”
It was an emphatic head nod.
Cameron returned the pot to the fire, refilled it from his supplies in Storage, and sat back down. “What may I call you?”
“Mm, Mmaath.”
“Matt?”
The big guy stared at Cameron, his eyes reflecting how desperately he wanted to talk as he tried to force his mouth around what he wanted to say. But eventually he shook his head in frustration, grabbing a stick and wrote into the dirt ‘MAX’.
“Alright, Max. Is that your real name or codename?” Cameron regretted asking the question immediately when Max slumped his shoulders and just began to tap his stick against the ground. “Sorry Max, It doesn’t matter.”
The smile given was hard to distinguish from a grimace. Nevertheless, Cameron brought him the warmed up stew and let him enjoy it in peace.
Eventually, after the meal was finished, Max stood pointing at himself, then pointed off into the trees. The direction confirmed Cameron’s estimation as to the mutant’s destination.
“Am I wrong in guessing you’re going to Whateley Academy?”
The affirmative head shake said he’d hit the mark.
“If we goes East a ways, we’ll come across train tracks that go up to Dunwich. It may be easier to take that route, instead of bushwhacking through the forest.”
Max thought about it, he looked at Cameron, then looked over to where he was going. He used his massive hand to point at himself, then pointed at Cameron, then made a sweeping motion to the East that turned Northward.
“Why yes, I would be glad to join you,” agreed Cameron.
The first obstacle was crossing the creek, which Max just stomped through, Cameron jumped from rock to rock without getting wet. Max didn’t wear shoes, finding something to fit those feet would be near on impossible, as it was, his clothes consisted of a pair of canvas bib overalls and a blue flannel shirt. A mens clothing store would be hard pressed to carry anything in this guy’s size.
They avoided the highway, Cameron didn’t question Max’s aversion to being seen, he could imagine the grief - his own eyes gave him enough trouble, there was no hiding for Max. Walking along they came upon an infrequently used backroad, so travelling became quicker. The lack of shoes didn’t seem to bother Max in the slightest. Cameron estimated that Max’s skin was tough as nails, the wart like appearance was akin to layer upon layer of calluses.
Before nightfall they found the railroad, turned North, and began following the tracks. Approaching twilight the pair stopped when Cameron suggested they set up camp for the night. Max shrugged his shoulders agreeably, Cameron guessed he’d slept on the ground wherever in the past, since he had no sleeping bag or tent.
Cameron had been right, Max had the strength of an ox, lifting huge fallen trees out of the way and snapping tree trunks over a foot in diameter into chunks like matchsticks; it took him no effort at all. The wood was used to start a fire as daylight faded.
Cameron put his biggest pot onto the fire and began to prepare spaghetti. As it simmered, Cameron and Max strung up a tarp for shelter, since up above the building clouds looked like rain. The fire gave off some light, which Max stayed close to, Cameron manifested one of his flashlights and gave it to him, the big guy used it to step into the woods for a few minutes of privacy. When nature calls you gotta answer it.
Max ate enough to feed an army, Cameron had seen bottomless pits for stomachs before. In fact, Billie Watson had nothing on this guy, or he’d just not had much food to eat recently. Cameron cleaned up camp and doused the fire. Taking off his visor, he eyed up Max to take his measure - then linked up some foam mattresses from his Warehouse to match his size, setting it on a ground sheet. Another regular size bed was brought out for himself, along with blankets and pillows for them both.
Max became emotional, almost crying, he looked away and turned off his flashlight so Cameron wouldn’t see his tears. He’d had it rough, Cameron had gleaned as much. The rains started a slow drizzle, but it picked up into a steady downpour; the sound was easy to fall asleep to.
With morning came overcast sky’s, it was cool and damp. Max sat beside the fire Cameron had started as Cameron made pancakes - lots of them, big ones too, each the size of dinner plates. Cameron set over a dozen huge pancakes onto a platter for Max, then handed Max a knife and fork three times the usual size. It didn’t take long to empty the jug of maple syrup, good thing Cameron kept more in Storage.
In the night a couple trains had rumbled past, so the tracks were in use, but not part of a main line. They would need to be cautious in case a train came along while they walked the tracks. They walked in companionable silence, Max wanted to talk but couldn’t, so Cameron would sing just so there was something happening between them. Max for his part would hum, especially on songs he knew, and would eventually pick up the tune on those he didn’t recognize.
Taking a break they sat beside a river, soaking their feet in the cool water. Cameron came up with an idea, saying: “I could make a wheeled cart to put on the tracks.”
Max shook his head, pointed at himself, then using both hands pushed together giving them a twist to show how it would break.
“Not if I made it strong enough it could carry you, I’m sure of it. My problem is I don’t know how to power it, I’ve seen how transmissions and gears work, I just don’t know the dynamics involved to set something like that up.”
Max nodded, giving the problem some thought. He made a grin and began to hum “mm, mm, Mm mm mm mmm, Mm mm mmmmmm mm mm mm.”
The melody resonated with Cameron, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Max tried again, with Cameron taking the cue to join along, then it clicked.
“Flintstones, meet the Flintstones!”
Max was very pleased with that, he then held his hands like he was holding a steering wheel.
Cameron reasoned: “The Flintstones … had a car, they used their feet to propel it. I get it, we can use our feet to move the cart.”
Max shook his head, pointing at himself and paddled his feet in the water. He pointed at Cameron while holding his other hand above his eyes, turning his head looking about.
Cameron conceded: “Yeah, we need to keep an eye out for trains. Okay, I’ll keep watch if you’re okay with keeping us moving.”
He thumped his chest once and nodded in agreement, it was a deal.
Cameron brought some train wheel sets out from Warehouse, he had several left over from the wreck clean up. He fastened some heavy duty metal beams between them with cross members. He had Max stand on the tracks to get an idea of height and width needed, then Max tried different positions so he could push with his feet while sitting, or run hanging onto handles to then jump up onto the cart.
Max could alternate from facing forwards or backwards, while Cameron sat looking ahead. As a precaution, Cameron made an awning overhead, it was going to rain again so some shelter would be nice. Looking at the cart from the side, it really did look like the Flintstone mobile.
The beauty of railroads are the mild grades, no big hills. Max needed to push harder going up hills, but going down grade was a blast as they picked up speed. Only once during the day did they need to clear the tracks for an oncoming train, which Cameron spotted long before it became a problem, otherwise they made really good time.
The tracks brought them into a community, Max had no interest in showing himself, and Cameron wasn’t all that keen either. But, if there was a bank it would be smart to refresh his supply of American money. Max stayed hidden under a bridge while Cameron walked the distance into town.
Cameron wore a hoodie and his visor to hide his features; the bank was easy enough to find. Taking a large sum of Canadian money out from Cupboard to exchange into American funds, the teller was concerned about handing over that much cash, but since he had an account in good standing she couldn’t say no. A nearby Grocery store permitted Cameron to restock his shelves.
Afterward, Cameron headed back to join up with Max, but stopped at a fast food joint purchasing a dozen hamburgers to go, a mere light snack for Max. As Cameron walked down a lonely street, a rusty old muscle car in less than pristine running condition screeched to a halt beside him. Two delinquents jumped out demanding Cameron hand over all his money, he’d seen them before - loitering at the bank. Cameron reached into his pocket and took out a leather wallet, which he flipped open revealing his police badge.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cameron asked.
The two looked at each other, uncertain about how much trouble they were getting into.
“Walk away now, and I’ll forget all about this,” added Cameron to sweeten the deal. “If not, you’re not gonna be happy.”
The would-be thieves didn’t walk away, in fact, one pulled out a gun. Even if it was plastic, it looked realistic - not to Cameron, but to anyone else, sure.
Cameron sighed, people can’t help but be their own worst enemies. Cameron stunned them both, they toppled over like dominoes. He could have left them laying there, but it wouldn’t change anything, they would undoubtedly do the same again. So, to give them something else to occupy themselves with, he disassembled their car, setting each part out orderly on the roadside right down to the nuts and bolts.
He’d warned them, they wouldn’t be happy.
Cameron however learned a great deal about the internal workings of cars from the experience.
Cameron and Max covered a lot of miles before stopping for the night, they would easily make it to Dunwich tomorrow. They again set up a small campsite, this time beside a creek. Cameron fashioned a shower so they could get cleaned up before arriving at Whateley. While Max was washing himself Cameron spotted a rabbit watching them in the undergrowth. Removing his visor so the golden glow was visible, he said: “Please let the Medawihla know I’m returning to Whateley.”
For dinner Cameron made chicken and dumplings, a stew type dish his/her mother made often and was a family favourite. It was starting to hurt less thinking about losing his family, it may never go away completely, but his emotions weren’t as raw. Max noticed how quiet Cameron had become and in his own - gentle, yet wordless manner asked if Cameron was okay.
“I’m alright my friend, just thinking about what I’ve lost, when I should be focusing on what I’ve gained. Plus, I’m worried about being back at Whateley. Is this your first year?”
Max nodded, Cameron marvelled at this guy’s courage, he’d shy’d away from people to an extreme, but was determined to get to Whateley. He had a goal and nothing was going to stop him. For that resolve Cameron admired Max. There was a lot going on behind those brown eyes, even if he couldn’t say much.
Rolling into Dunwich the next day was almost a let down. For all the pushing and running Max did he never seemed to tire out, or get winded beyond wheezing at times. The little train station was deserted. Since no trains were slated to arrive for hours nobody was around. It was a difficult sell to convince Max that this was one town that welcomed the abnormal. They walked the short distance into the main part of town and Cameron brought them to Cecilia Rodger’s clothing boutique, motioning for Max to come in too.
Cecilia was an absolute pro, she didn’t even flinch at Max’s startling appearance. Rather, she began to address him like a valued customer, laying swaths of different fabric over him. He picked out some colours he favoured, after which Cecilia took his measurements since her scanner devise couldn’t manage such a large frame.
While there, Cecilia also collected Cameron’s measurements, he easily fit into her scanner with room to spare. While getting his order together, Cameron asked about getting team uniforms made, Max made a gesture to see if he could be part of Cameron’s team too. It wasn’t that Cameron knew all that much about Max, but nothing about him yelled danger, so told him if the others agreed, he was welcome.
Cecilia allowed them to call Whateley on her phone, letting them know they would arrive shortly. It would take hours to walk the remaining distance, and Max was adamant about not getting into a car. There was a story there, but Cameron had to let the reasons slide for now. But an idea hit, they walked over to Dunwich’s Public Works yard and Albert was in the office.
Cameron was greeted like an old time friend, which made Max so curious he even showed himself. Albert whistled saying that Max was easily the biggest guy he’d ever seen, which touched a raw nerve with Max. Cameron asked for a favour; could they be given a lift to Whateley, in a dump truck, the only vehicle around that could carry Max’s weight.
Albert said he’d be glad to do it, and grabbed the vehicle’s keys, Cameron was offered a ride in the cab, but he rode with Max in the back. Fortunately it was sunny and warm enough for riding in the open truck box, although windy. Cameron had strung some rope to act as safety belts to alleviate Albert’s concerns.
Passing through the school’s gates had Cameron worried, so he stripped down his shielding to almost nothing, hoping there wouldn’t be a nasty interaction. The truck bucked and lurched crossing the schools barriers, with Cameron groaning in pain, but the dump trucks shear size pushed them through.
Albert drove them up to the parking area near Shuster Hall. Whateley Academy hadn’t changed, appearance wise anyways, Cameron had hopes that this wasn't a mistake. A few students had already arrived and walked about the grounds. Classes wouldn’t start for a couple days yet so the majority of students would trickle in over the weekend.
Cameron’s friends should be arriving tomorrow or the day after, if everybody's plans held together. He could hardly wait to see Lynn again. Max stood trying to take the place in, if anything, this school could easily overwhelm from first impressions. Cameron thanked Albert profusely and promised he’d come by the shop to visit.
Max was drawing a crowd, even among other freaks he turned heads. A lady exited from the office building with clipboards in hand.
“Misters Burke, and … let’s see, hmmm, Merrell, is it?” She guessed after checking a list.
Max nodded his head to acknowledge she had the right name.
“Very well. I am Mrs. Shugendo, the school’s Dean of Students. You arrived at an opportune time, so I can personally show you around our fine school. Afterwards you will be provided a tour by fellow students,” she informed them. “Here are your student cards, you’ll need these on-campus, so don’t lose them. Now, do you need assistance with your luggage?” she cocked an eyebrow upon not seeing any bags.
“No Ma’am, no need. Max here believes in traveling light and I have mine under control.”
Not certain what the implications no luggage meant gave the Dean pause. Would Outlook really be staying? She proceeded to walk them down a path leading towards the dormitories. Mrs. Shugendo began her oft repeated spiel.
“For Mr. Merrell’s benefit, Whateley Academy’s buildings are all named after famous authors, except for our dining area, which you’ll notice on our right behind Shuster Hall. It’s called the Crystal Hall. Even though the dome is not made from crystal, the translucent composite material shares many characteristics, hence its name.”
“Over to our left is the Beck Library, which is the school’s main Library. We have subsidiary libraries as well, in each dormitory for example. Behind us is Kane Hall, the building with the tower, it contains some classrooms, but also houses this school’s Security department. Ahead on your right is the Doyle Medical Complex, it is our world class hospital facility.“
“Whateley Academy was founded in 1878 by Noah Whateley, it ran as a boarding school until it fell upon hard times and was closed down for a brief period. In the mid 1960s, a group of empowered individuals purchased the school to become a place for gifted children to explore their abilities. Whateley Academy is now the preeminent destination for children of superheroes and villains alike.”
“To our left is Melville Cottage, just ahead of us is Poe, and beyond that is Hawthorne Cottage. Hawthorne is intended for special needs students, such as yourself Mr. Merrell. It has a doctor in residence, and nearly each room is a single. Each Cottage has at least one house parent and each floor has exemplarily students designated as Resident Advisors.”
“Pardon me ma’am, does that mean I won’t be getting put into Hawthorne then?” cut in Cameron at the hinted destination.
“No Mr. Burke, we have chosen other accommodations for you. But attending to Mr. Merrell first seems logical.”
“Yes Ma’am, sorry to interrupt.”
“As I was saying, each Cottage has diverse populations, however, typically every floor is set aside for students of the same year, Freshmen on the first floor, up to Seniors on the topmost, although some exceptions apply. Also, the boys Cottages are Twain and Emerson. Girls dormitories are Dickinson and Whitman, whereas Hawthorne, Poe and Melville Cottages are co-ed.”
They stopped on the steps to Hawthorne, Max had that special look of scared silly and excited beyond belief, all at the same time. Cameron empathized with him.
“Mr. Merrell, your house parent, Mrs. Cantrel, will take it from here.”
Cameron removed from his dimensional holdings a suitcase, into which he’d put some extra clothes he’d made for Max, along with personal items like toiletries, and some towels. Handing the suitcase to him, Cameron said: “I hope to see you soon, look for me at Crystal Hall, we can have dinner together.”
Max walked into the unknown, he looked back nervously to wave thanks, took a deep breath to settle his anxiety to then step into the next chapter of his life, head held high.
Mrs. Shugendo leaned over near to Cameron’s ear, “Mr. Merrell doesn’t say much.”
“He can’t. His mutation has made speaking very difficult.”
“How did you two meet?”
“He walked away from being hit by a car traveling fifty-five miles per hour, without a scratch I should add. I figured that was somebody worth knowing.”
“We’ve never had anyone arrive in a dump truck before.”
“He weights over two thousand pounds so not many vehicles can handle that kind of weight.”
“I better ensure he’s put into a reinforced room. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Mrs. Shugendo hurried inside to inform Mrs. Cantrel in case his room assignment needed adjusting.
Mere seconds later Mrs. Shugendo reappeared. “It’s good you mentioned it, his application didn’t disclose his size.”
“I suspect his mutation is ongoing, his first manifestations might not have been so severe. I noticed his size increased over the last couple days. It would be wise for Doyle to run a full examination, and he should get tested, I didn’t see an MID.”
“His application hadn’t mentioned that.”
“Also, Cecilia Rodgers is making some clothes and school uniforms for him. I’d like that bill to be put onto my account, if that’s allowed?”
“It can be arranged. Anything else?”
“Is Max here on a scholarship?”
“His affairs are private, but I will say that his tuition is paid, and that he’s a legacy student.”
“I need to ask what a legacy student is?”
“Someone in his family attended Whateley previously.”
“Allow me to speak frankly Mrs. Shugendo. Max’s health is questionable at best, I suspect his body will begin to collapse under the strain his mutation is creating. I recommend alerting his family.”
“Your certain?”
“When he sleeps, he stops breathing. The weight of his chest compresses his lungs and his heart has not kept pace with his body’s growth.”
“I’ll let the doctors know. He’s at the best place on earth to deal with the effects of mutations.”
“I see, okay then,” assessed Cameron. “So, where do I pitch my tent this year?”
End Part 3
To be continued.
Dunwich, New Hampshire
Debbie sat on the park bench watching the goings on in the tiny village of Dunwich. Her single little suitcase, plastered with ladybug stickers, rested beside her acting as a deterrent to prevent anyone from sitting next to her.
The girl preferred watching people to engaging with them in any meaningful way. There’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely, her need for companionship was mostly satisfied by observing people from afar. People had been nothing but a disappointment even before manifesting, Deb had learned to keep everyone at arm’s length. It was a tell - how she used her suitcase as a shield to protect her personal space.
A white passenger van stopped curb-side directly in front of her. Deb checked her watch; too early for her ride to Whateley, so her curiosity was piqued. The first person to exit the van was a girl, a really tall girl. Deb only stood five foot three so she already hated her - on principle. Standing at six and a half feet tall, this girl would’ve made her old school’s basketball coach salivate. As it was, the girl’s long slender legs seemed to go on forever. Matched to a slim physique, it made Deb’s loathing spiral deeper, self loathing that is. Deb could never measure up to the expectations placed upon her, by her family, and herself.
The tall girl made a full sweep of her surroundings, giving Deb only a cursory glance. The girl hid her true intent by stretching and bending to remove kinks as she scanned the area. Deb didn’t fail to notice the strands of flame-red hair that were otherwise tucked underneath a hoodie, plus the girl’s remarkable similarity to a young Geena Davis from The Fly; not exactly - but Deb always tried to match people to famous faces. It fed her insecurities.
The second person out of the van was another girl. She exited head first, the crown of her head was blonde as blonde can be, but down the length of her hair near her shoulders, the colour was mixed in with some brunette. Deb took satisfaction from at least having a decent dye job. This girl was almost a foot shorter than her traveling companion. It would be unfair to say the tall girl wasn’t attractive, an injustice actually, but with them standing side by side the newest girl set the bar to a greater height. Full pouty lips with a cute button nose, she would turn heads as a model on any fashion runway. If anyone - she looked like Denise Richards from Starship Troopers, life wasn’t fair.
Debbie had grown up under her mother's shadow, and her mom had ingrained a philosophy that looks were everything. It showed, because her mom was glamorous, spending huge amounts of time and money to create the perfect image. She’d been a beauty contest entrant - hadn’t won anything except her father’s attention. Overall, it was too bad Deb inherited her dad’s looks, aside from her mom’s nose, her original one - not the one the plastic surgeon made for her.
Deb’s introspection took a backseat when the pair on the sidewalk began talking to the remaining occupants in the van, encouraging them to come out. The third to exit was yet another girl, a brunette this time. The second girl offered a hand to steady the latest as she exited their transport. There was some familial similarity between these two. Yes, she was attractive too, but perhaps not to the extent of her sister. Deb began to wonder if she’d stumbled upon contestants for a beauty pageant.
The brunette had sharp piercing eyes; it was like radar how with unerring accuracy she honed in on Deb watching the van. Their eyes touched for the briefest moment of time, but in that millisecond of contact, Deb knew an assessment had been made of her interest, intent, and threat level, and was dismissed.
The brunette stepped out onto the sidewalk, straightening her rumpled clothes as she made space on the sidewalk for the next passenger. She was slightly taller than her sister, so that lent to her being the older of the two, but the blonde had more curves. Had it not been for the blonde’s bright pink backpack, a very teeny-bopper colour, she would have guessed the blonde was older.
The van dipped again as another person came out. This time it was a boy, his movements had an awkwardness to them, like he had to guess where to step and how far to reach. It made him jerky and hesitant and was such a teenager attribute, like when a juvenile’s mind and body hadn’t fully meshed to smoothly fill the space they occupied. However, the boy had an easy smile and said something that made the three girls giggle. A clown, there’s always a clown in every group.
The boy wasn’t as tall as the first girl, few people are so resoundingly over six foot, but this guy had a couple inches overtop the brunette. Again, there was a strong family resemblance going on. Curiously, if three of these travellers are related, how did the tall girl fit into the group?
The boy began to do stretches to limber up. They must have been on the road for a long time.
Another body began to emerge, a fifth passenger slid out of the confining van with a fluidity reserved for highly skilled dancers. After being folded up in a van for hours, it was the most perfect entrance, as onto a stage or the red carpet. Any attempt at being discrete on Deb’s part came to an abrupt end and she stared transfixed like a gopher looking up into the open jaws of an apex predator. Deb had to drop her old standard and recalibrate her scale for ranking beauty. Ten took on a whole new meaning.
At first, the long raven hair hid the last girl’s face until she stood upright and threw her head back, allowing the hair to cascade down her back and settle around her face. Her skin was a sumptuous bronze colour; no tanning booth could imitate such a healthy glow. This newest girl turned her head directly at Deb to unleash a pair of brilliant green eyes that focused upon Deb. The smile Deb received was both unexpected and unnerving. It bore no malice, not even dangerous, if anything it looked mirthful.
Deb had been the recipient of those fake smiles mean girls like to taunt with. She’d been used for target practice many times before, but this smile looked genuine, and that, that was unsettling. Deb turned away. She knew she’d been busted for spying, but tried not to look too guilty. She brought her suitcase a little closer as if it had attempted to run away.
The one thing Deb desperately wanted in life was a friend, an honest-to-goodness true friend, but had stopped dreaming after so many failed attempts. Even coming to a new school Deb only sought to survive; to hope otherwise wasn’t even a remote possibility reasoned Deb, so get a grip.
That lithe girl had left an impression, long black curled hair that bounced - framing her perfect features. She had a little nose above full cupids bow lips, pronounced cheekbones, and a delicate jawline. Deb scrolled through all the images of models and actresses she’d memorized. Of them all, the only one to come close was TV’s Wonder Woman herself: Lynda Carter. It left Deb shell shocked.
The driver rounded the side of the van to begin unloading luggage. He was solidly built, muscular and six feet tall. He wore a checkered red flannel shirt with suspenders holding up a pair of worn jeans. It gave Deb a mental picture of a lumberjack, minus the hobnail boots. He spoke with a thick French accent which sealed her suspicion, Canadians.
The luggage amounted to a large stack all told. Each of the five passengers had a minimum of two suitcases, tags on the bags identical to the ones Deb used for her own belongings. Whateley Academy was their common destination.
When the front passenger joined them on the curb the hugs started in earnest. Deb had determined from her people watching there were four types of hugs; each carried a notation as to the type of relationship between the huggers. Romantic hugs bore the most emotion, ranging from the newly formed attachment to those between lifelong loves. Nobody shared such, although there was something happening between the driver and the female who rode up front; an early romance no doubt.
Family hugs told a lot: parent, siblings, extended family. The way the tall girl hugged the front passenger said they were related, a cousin, an aunt … her mother’s younger sister perhaps. The tall girl was reluctant to touch anyone else, so Deb had to guess the relationship to the others.
Otherwise, it was all close friendly hugs, no superficial perfunctory ones. These travellers had shared experiences and bonded, signs of strong feelings and trust. Although the tall girl had a deep emotional connection to the lumberjack, not infatuation, more like a student/teacher relationship. Again, her reservedness masked the tells.
Seeing people say goodbye was touching and letting people go was a toss up between trust and worry. When Deb left home just a few hours ago, it was a thinly veiled ‘good riddance’. Her parents wanted her gone, plain and simple; let Whateley deal with her. As a parting gesture, her father had secretly given her a gun. She’d spent the last hours trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean, what kind of parent gives a fourteen-year-old a gun?
Deb had lost focus, the van had driven away leaving the group to wait street side, the exact location Deb had been provided as the pick-up point for Whateley Academy in Dunwich. The lone boy in the group sat down on a suitcase as the girls rushed across the street to a clothing boutique.
Cecilia Rogers’ Fabric Boutique had piqued Deb’s interest as well. In the window was a mannequin wearing a school uniform. No doubt Whateley Academy would have a dress code, her last boarding school had one too. It was the system’s way to defeat individualism and churn out automatons. It didn’t matter really. At least she didn’t need to worry about fashion if everyone dressed the same.
Deb only had her small carry-on suitcase which she’d be-speckled with ladybug stickers. She liked ladybugs, they were cute and inoffensive. Daddy had arranged for a delivery service to take her belongings directly to this new school. After getting expelled from her old school when she’d manifested, she’d only been home for a week before getting booted out - again. There was almost no online presence of this mystery school that had accepted her sight unseen. What kind of freak show had her parents signed her up for this time? Why did dad figure she’d need a gun?
Her psychiatrist had pegged Deb as a classic outsider, a loner who preferred to watch rather than become involved. Manifesting as a Gadgeteer had sparked some interest from her aloof father at first, but he quickly dismissed his misfit daughter as an unworthy lesser being, dumping her at the first place that would take her when he opened his wallet wide enough.
It was a huge gap between being alone and being lonely, those couple little letters made all the difference. Deb didn’t like always being a loner, but that was what life handed her. Coming from money meant you could never trust people’s motives; friends only used you for what they could get from you. She watched people from afar because she liked the control distance afforded her, but she was the first to recognize the hole it left in her heart.
Deb noticed how two girls returned and towed the boy over to the clothing store. These girls had a different kind of relationship, it was a love/hate vibe, siblings no doubt. The girls shared too many facial similarities with the boy to ignore. A whole family going to boarding school together was unusual.
The road wasn’t busy, but still, the boy looked at traffic multiple times before crossing the street with slow calculated steps, finally entering the shop. Checking her timepiece, Deb had time before the scheduled ride would arrive, so decided she should look into what the clothing store had to offer and perhaps obtain a school uniform as well.
Stepping into the shop she was taken aback by how astonishingly good the quality of the garments on display were. It rivalled any of the stores on Fifth Avenue or Rodeo Drive her mother had taken her into. The tall redhead and the black-haired girl had been admiring an elegant evening gown while the boy was inside a booth complaining about … whatever boys claimed to dislike about buying clothes. The shopkeeper called over, “I’ll be with you in a moment,” as she finished writing out an order.
Deb began a mental dissection of the school uniform on display. The material used was not your standard stuff and feeling the textile used she gathered it was unconventional. It was tactile grade - perhaps even bulletproof, but felt as soft as a fine brushed cotton. The cloth was unique and disturbing at the same time. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, the only indicator she had of a danger sense. First a gun and now bulletproof clothes - just what kind of school was Whateley?
Her intent scrutiny and musings were interrupted when somehow the raven-haired girl appeared beside her soundlessly, and was staring at her intently with some of the most amazing green eyes. Her gaze pierced right through Deb and it was unnerving to be looked at this way. Deb wondered if she was actually being seen or was this a new way to be ignored.
“Lynn,” was offered with an extended hand. “You are Deborah Maurine Hastings, you haven’t selected a suitable codename as yet. You’re trying to decide between Network and Sourcer-ess; I would recommend neither. Network will result in being called ‘nitwit’ and Sourcer-ess will confuse you with magic users. Consider as an alternative Werx, a derivative of the word works, since Gadgeteers make things work.”
“Uhm, thanks?” was the best Deb could muster, her brain doing backflips. Was this girl a stalker? Was this gonna become a kidnapping situation? Deb contemplated grabbing her gun. How could she know all that about her, she hadn’t told anyone half of that stuff?
“It messes with the head doesn’t it,” empathized the tall redhead who’d come up on her other side. Deb was now trapped between them, she realized.
“Precog,” was given in explanation by the black-haired girl still holding out her hand.
Deb ran down the list of different mutations and their associated abilities; she’d memorized everything she’d found online. The note beside Precognition mutants claimed they were so rare as to be unlikely to ever encounter one, plus Precognition strength was impossible to place on a scale. It was with trepidation that Deb extended her hand. The handshake was firm, but tender too, like nothing needed to be proved between them. It was reassuring while being friendly and nothing was aggressive about it, so Debbie relaxed ever so slightly.
It was the novelty that perplexed Deb, still struggling with the flight response she was debating with. Someone engaged her in a conversation … like a normal person. The problem was … Deb didn’t know a normal way to act.
“You may call me R.E.D. until we become friends,” said the hooded redhead, it wasn’t sarcastic or confrontational in tone, just laid out the how and the who, leaving the door open. But no handshake was presented, in fact, her hands were neatly tucked behind her back.
The boy couldn’t have picked a better time to step out of the fitting room. It took the attention off Deborah so she could regroup.
“Thank you Timothy, I have your measurements now,” instructed the shopkeeper, a young woman of impeccable taste in her attire. "You can expect your school uniforms before next weekend. I’ll have them delivered to Whateley along with your friend’s. Now, have you all decided what colour trim you want on your team uniforms?”
“I like red,” exclaimed Timothy.
“Sorry slowpoke, already taken,” refuted the tall girl, pulling off her hood. Deb could now watch the dim pulsating red light travel down the length of her hair in a rhythm timed to a heartbeat.
“Is orange okay?” he asked, then noticed the newcomer and added with bravado, “A nice deep manly tint of orange of course.”
Deb couldn’t help adding her giggle to that coming from the other girls.
“I think I can find just the right thing,” assured the seamstress. She took from the rack a suit on a hanger. “Outlook asked me to come up with a team design. The fabric will be puncture resistant with flame-retardant features. I’m thinking of using an iridescent material on the right shoulder to mimic the aurora borealis, but I’d like your input if you have any suggestions.”
It looked like a skin-tight unitard, the design had elastic cuffs and waist band, the trim was a golden colour which included a double line down the left sleeve. It was mostly a midnight blue colour with flecks of silver that looked like stars and the addition of scuff-resistant patches of black fabric on the knees and elbows was very functional.
“It needs pockets or a utility belt for hold-outs,” chipped in Deb. She felt she needed to explain, “You know, like Batman.”
“She has a point,” piped up the tall one nodding her head thoughtfully. “I would like a skirt, my mother would not agree to me wearing anything so revealing.”
“I agree, skirts for the girls, shorts for the boys. How about a pocketed vest or light jacket to conceal weapons in?” Suggested Lynn, the raven-haired one.
An agreement was reached, but the boy, Timothy asked, “What about capes?”
“I think Edna Mode’s right, no capes, too pretentious. Besides, it’s not like we’re joining the Future Superheroes of Tomorrow,” reasoned the Precog Lynn.
“Fine,” submitted a disappointed Tim to the group decision.
“Future Superheroes?” startled Deb who was taken aback at the statement, what the heck was this?
“Yeah, it’s a group of wannabe’s at Whateley. They have aspirations of becoming superheroes someday, everyone calls them The Capes. Swift kinda had a crush on one of them.”
“Hey!” complained Tim.
“She was a senior and already had a boyfriend, what part of ‘not interested’ did you misinterpret?” consoled Lynn, patting the boy’s shoulder.
He gave her a small smile.
“I promised to tell you when the love of your life came along,” comforted Lynn further. “Until then, you’ll have to put up with us and your sisters,” she teased.
Deb mentally chalked up a victory on guessing the sibling factor. Lynn was a wildcard who had dispelled each clue Deb had gleaned, it was exciting to be presented a challenge that merited further observation. Cecilia efficiently determined her clothing needs. Her scanner was a novel instrument, one which Deb had difficulty suppressing an irresistible urge to disassemble to discover its internal workings … okay, Werx was sounding better and better for a codename.
While getting her measurements taken, Deb overheard Lynn asking about getting a dress suitable for dancing class. That made Ms. Rogers’ day. There were five posters announcing the class plastered on every available space. Green was definitely the girl’s colour, so it only came down to a question of style and cut. With her beauty, Lynn could make camouflage look good, which Deb hadn’t thought possible.
Deb paid the bill for her school uniforms and an adorable pantsuit she’d found … plus some boots that were simply to die for. It wasn’t cheap, which was Mom’s first rule about buying good clothes, ‘cheap is as cheap does’. She didn’t understand her Mom most days, but what teenager doesn’t feel that way?
A larger throng of students had now gathered on the street, some wore the now familiar school uniform, returning students most likely. Others, like herself, had on assorted clothing reflecting regional tastes, Midwestern functionality, California beach duds. And of course - typical for Canadians, multiple layers of clothes for changing climatic conditions, as was seen on the five she’d been watching.
Deb was impressed, the school’s transportation arrived on schedule. It was a twelve-passenger van with a trailer pulled behind to accommodate the luggage. With only ten students there were enough seats to go around. Even so, Deb shared her bench with the two Canadian sisters. Introductions were made, Charlotte was the blonde, Rachelle the brunette. They had visited Whateley before to scope the school out, but had not been attending classes.
Perhaps it was a good sign that they were excited to be returning. Deb didn’t know what she was getting into, but obviously this was a school for mutants and the pieces began to fit into place. The mystery and secrecy she’d discovered so far was to protect the students and likely the staff as well. She could appreciate the discretion since she had also been discriminated against after manifesting.
The school had chosen to distance itself from close neighbours; the last homestead had been a couple of miles back before the van veered off the road and drove past tall wrought iron gates. Each gate post had a gargoyle mounted above like sentinels watching over who entered, a large rock wall looked to surround the grounds.
Watching the scenery was enlightening, the buildings were an eclectic mix which could be attributed to the architect in charge being epileptic, but more likely it spoke of age. The place had been around for a while and as need arose, new construction and additions didn’t hold to a set theme.
The school bus stopped in a parking lot to join several other vehicles unloading students. There were adults holding clipboards attempting to impart order to the growing chaos, calling out names and directing them into clusters. The students already in the know gathered their belongings and headed off towards predetermined buildings.
Their driver helped unload the luggage, some kids hauled their own stuff around, others leaving it where it lay. Deb only had her small ladybug suitcase to contend with, which had wheels, so she towed it behind herself. Checking in, she was told she was assigned to Melville Cottage and overheard that all the Canadian girls she’d arrived with would be in Dickinson.
If typical norms prevailed, dormitories would be pitted against each other based upon socio-economic standards. It was the way the world thinks, it wasn’t right, but just the way it is. Deb never liked fitting in, she’d found the whole system repulsive. It was almost hypocritical coming from one of the top one percentile, but she had no way to change the status quo.
Her concern today was if she had a roommate again, her last one outed her as a mutant and she was tired of living in fear. A huddle of twenty-some freshman kids began the trek over to Melville Cottage together.
Melville Cottage
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” cautioned Rhododendron, looking around at the imposing entryway of Melville Cottage. It smelled of money and had an air of opulence in contrast to their own dormitories’ simple albeit functional decor.
“Of course it’s a good idea, Cameron will want us to check up on him.” It gave the Precog pause thou, making Lynn stop and join her tall roommate to view the cottage’s interior. It looked like a fancy foyer for an upscale hotel rather than a boarding school’s dormitory. “Besides, we’ve got his school supplies, he’ll need those.”
“It’s not Cameron I’m concerned about. Didn’t you listen during orientation, Melville Cottage houses all the hoity-toity students, you know; the more money than brains sort.”
“Cameron’s not like that,” admonished Lynn, “You know him better than that. Besides, he’ll need a friend or two before he’ll be able to settle in.”
“I am knowing, but …” paused Rho, the stare she’d received from a resident was filled with daggers, “how come he isn’t over in Hawthorne Cottage?”
“All the more reason for us to visit, and find out. Come on!” connived Lynn, almost grabbing onto the Energizer’s hot hand to drag her up to the concierge desk. “Aren’t you even slightly curious to see what his room looks like?” whispered Lynn as they waited for the attendant to notice them.
“Unlike you, I can contain my curiosity,” quietly chastised Rho, wondering how it is this impulsive Were girl always talked her into doing crazy things.
The concierge checked their student ID’s against an approved visitor list, then pointed them to the elevator.
Once the doors closed, Lynn spoke up: “I’m just keeping an eye out for him,” Lynn’s comment raised Rho’s eyebrow. “Okay, fine, keeping my eye on him then,” she mumbled.
“Can you honestly, even for a second, suspect that he’d become enamoured with someone other than you?”
“No … well, maybe.”
“I am beside myself in disbelief. Have you looked in a mirror? You are a boy magnet. I believe I am the stick you hold onto to scare them off.”
Lynn broke out in laughter at her friend’s admission, “That’s not true, you provide comedy relief too. And I thought you hung around me to avoid all the attention you attract.”
“What a pair we make,” chuckled Rho. “You should know, stalking is another feline trait you have issues with,” stated Rho, receiving a huff from her friend as they exited the elevator and began walking down the hallway.
Lynn shrugged off the comment saying, “Stalking, tracking, to-ma-toe, tom-at-oe, what’s the big deal either way.”
The directions they’d received said Cameron’s room was at the end of the hall. “Now that we’re back rooming together, should I expect to be slept on again?”
“Could be, I don’t like strange beds, I don’t sleep well until I get comfortable in new surroundings.”
“I’m not complaining, I just worry that you might get burned.”
“I’m made of tougher stuff than most. Besides, you’re nice and warm to curl up on.”
“Ha, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Fair enough, I’ll try and keep the claws in … in case I do get burned.”
The long hallway had plush carpeting which absorbed the sound of footfalls and was in stark contrast to the plain worn wood floors at Dickinson Cottage. Nice artwork adorned the freshly painted walls. Giving the place a sniff, it even smelled like money or some fancy perfumed cleaner. Just like you’d find in a hotel, each door had electric swipe pads and peepholes installed to provide additional security.
Approaching the hall’s end, the corridor was nearly blocked by heaps upon heaps of luggage. The large steamer trunks along with big wooden crates left little room for the girls to squeeze past. Checking the room number Lynn knocked on Cameron’s door.
“Over here,” rang out a familiar voice from the open door across the hall. Looking into the dormitory, Rho stood slack jawed, it was three times the size of the ones in their dorm, and they shared it; not to mention this room only had a single bed.
Cameron stepped out from behind a corner and beamed a huge smile. He hastened up and embraced Lynn in a hug, saying into her ear, “I missed you.” and he meant it, truly and deeply.
Lynn’s knee’s weakened from his affectionate greeting. She had missed her betrothed as well, but she was still miffed that he’d not returned her calls. A slight she was certain to make him pay for - just not right now. Right now, even though she wasn’t in cat form, she was purring.
As if it was an assembly line, Rho also received a warm hug. Watching the events unfold Deb tilted her head in curiosity. It was apparent her helpful neighbour, and Lynn the girl she’d arrived at Whateley with, had feelings for each other. But the tall redhead, R.E.D., had never displayed such openness with anyone she'd touched before, it altered all the perceptions she’d formulated about the girl.
Catching himself in a lack of manners, Cameron began introductions only to be halted.
“We met in Dunwich and arrived together on the same bus,” informed Lynn. “Is all this stuff yours?” she asked in amazement. “You only had a single suitcase with you!”
“Umm, yeah. I had most of my things shipped here ahead of time. It is a lot isn’t it.” she had to confess. Deb doubted even half of it would fit into her room. “Outlook was helping me carry the more important things in. I figure I’ll need to find storage space or hopefully be assigned a workshop. I’ve kinda been hoarding tools since I became a Gadgeteer.”
Deb didn’t know why she found it necessary to explain herself. She hadn’t been so forthcoming to anyone in recent memory, not even to her psychiatrist. Maybe because she was off balance around the Precog girl who seemed to know her soul better than she did, or because her new neighbour had started helping her with little more than a basic ‘Hello’ shared between them.
“I was wondering about finding a place myself. I already asked our Cottage fixer about a hide-y-hole in the tunnels. She said there were some newly vacated spots up for grabs, but I have to act fast in securing one. I was hoping to do some exploring in the tunnels tonight after dinner.”
“Can I join you?” sought Deb. Having a guide sounded like a good idea since she was disoriented, even after the tour she’d been given, but she needed the additional space nonetheless.
After plans to meet up for dinner were all arranged, and a few of the larger crates were set aside making some room in the hallway, Deb was left to her own devices organizing her room.
Lynn asked point blank to see Cameron’s room.
From the hallway Cameron double-checked his room for presentability, he’d put a lot of effort into making it feel homey, not that it looked anything like his family’s house. Home was still too elusive a thought after losing his/her parents. But he hated the sterile dormitory feel of his new digs the second he’d walked in. It had no personality with plain painted walls lacking warmth or welcome. So Cameron had changed it up. His first guests would make or break his decor decisions made to hopefully to avert judgement upon being assigned to Melville Cottage.
Opening his accommodation’s door by swiping the provided security card, he stepped aside to let his first ever guests enter, Lynn and Rhododendron, albeit a risky name to call Flambé depending on how dearly you valued any exposed flesh or hair follicles. It was a hot button issue for the tall energizer who went by R.E.D. That said, she had been receptive to Rho as a friendly shortened moniker lately.
Neither of them stepped inside. Lynn, who stood nearest to the open door, remained unmoving. A wide eyed Rho was halted behind her, gawking into the room’s interior. Cameron was disheartened, he had hoped to create an inviting space and somewhere to feel relaxed and at ease. Overall, Melville Cottage was too gaudy for Cameron’s tastes, too showy and opulent, not anywhere close to what Cameron felt comfortable within.
Cameron felt embarrassed by the extravagance of this place. If this is what this cottage’s residents were accustomed to he doubted they would get along well at all. But Whateley decided to place him here, he’d kinda hoped to be put in Hawthorne Cottage. He’d requested Hawthorne and even argued he could be of greater benefit to the students there. But for whatever reason Whateley wouldn’t hear it and he wound up stuck in Melville.
“Well, that answers the question of where to hold team meetings,” claimed Flambé, looking at the substantial space.
The room held two large leather couches with two matching recliners; a central ottoman also served as a coffee table arranged in front of a wood burning fireplace set into a corner. Large patio doors looked out onto the treed lands behind Melville cottage and beyond stood the Presidential Mountains easily seen in the distance.
What was hard to comprehend for the newcomers was that the dorm room looked like a log cabin inside. The walls consisted of interlocking round wood logs with rough cut timbers for a ceiling, all finished in a shiny honey coloured varnish. The kitchenette had similar wood touches while the granite counters accented a full complement of apartment sized stainless steel appliances.
“Is it too much?” worriedly asked Cameron, the speechless girls triggering his concern as they wandered around taking the place in.
“Where do you sleep?” questioned Lynn, not having spotted a bed.
“In the bedroom,” informed Cameron, pointing to a side door hanging his head in shame.
“You have to be kidding me! This place is huge compared to our paltry room, and we share it.” claimed Rho, as the two girls set down the parcels that they had brought with them.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” conceded Cameron. He hated the disparity forced upon him. “From what I’ve seen of other dorms it’s excessive. I guess it’s Whateley’s way of trying to make amends. At first, they wanted to put me into a penthouse suite, but I negotiated them down to the second floor because of my vertigo. So it might not seem like it, but this room is a compromise,” explained Cameron, as he opened his bedroom door.
The bedroom was adorned like a Klondike tent having wood rail walls on the lower half and canvas cloth hung to simulate the look of a tent above. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from the ceiling for lighting and each of the three large windows had rolled-up canvas flaps for curtains.
A twin-size bed was positioned near a simple wood desk and chair. As well, the room had a recliner chair in a corner. Opposite to it was a wood-burning stove being the only other furnishing.
“No wardrobe for your clothes?” puzzled Lynn from the discrepancy between her room and Cameron’s.
Cameron walked over to open a door revealing, “Walk-in closet,” then with a sigh added, “and washroom.”
“Oh that’s just …” sputtered Rho as she stepped past the stacked clothes washer and dryer Cameron had installed, to then spy the large glistening white jetted soaker tub, with an accompanying separate shower stall laid out in the huge washroom. “Do you know we have communal washrooms and have to wait in line for a shower?”
“You can use mine anytime,” offered Cameron to appease her.
“It’s not your fault,” soothed Lynn. “But having a long hot bath once in a while is too good an offer to pass up.”
“I can get some bubble bath,” enthused Cameron, trying to ease his guilt.
“Lilac,” instructed Lynn.
“Peaches,” requested Rhododendron.
“Peaches? I thought you liked Lilac too?” questioned a justified Lynn.
“I forgot to bring shampoo, so I’ve been borrowing yours,” admitted R.E.D., “Get the stuff Lynn uses, my hair has never been so soft and shiny.”
Lynn laughed out loud, “It’s for fur, I buy it bulk at the pet store.”
“That explains the super jumbo family-size container,” reasoned Rho.
“Says you, I’ve got four fur coats to wash - plus my hair,” detailed Lynn as to her bathing requirements.
“The girls at Dickinson are gonna complain about you hogging all the hot water.”
“They’ll complain more about a smelly cat in the cottage if I don’t wash up.”
“Don’t cats lick themselves clean?” taunted R.E.D.
“Oh, that’s so …” Lynn shuddered at the suggestion.
“Gross?” supplied Rho with a suppressed smirk.
“Unhygienic! How would you feel after licking yourself all over?”
“Like I’d need to take a shower,” admitted Rho, “and bleach my tongue.”
“Exactly!” confirmed Lynn
“I hate to interrupt you two,” inferred Cameron. “But would you know what type of soap Rachelle might like?”
“Strawberry,” said the two girls in unison.
“And Charlotte?” asked Cameron taking notes.
“Tutti Fruity,” claimed Rho.
“Bubble Gum,” corrected Lynn, tapping her nose.
“Right,” admitted Rho, “I might try that myself later. What about Tim?”
“He’s more, you’re run of the mill whatever’s on sale type.” decided Rho having given it some thought.
“True that, probably uses a shampoo and conditioner in one product,” mused Lynn. “He probably thinks the hair care products they give you in hotels is good stuff.”
“Guys have it so easy when it comes to hair care. Wash it, towel it dry, run a comb through it and it’s done,” added Rho fuelling the argument.
“That reminds me, I should get a haircut.” Cameron exclaimed, willing to bring the debate to an end before it got too drawn out, and make him commit to thoughts about his forced changes.
“I think I saw a barber shop in Dunwich,” contributed Flambé to be helpful.
Cameron let it slip without thinking: “I was told Melville has an in-house hairstylist, we’re to ask our concierge and she’ll arrange an appointment.”
“That is so unfair,” moaned Lynn. “No wonder Melvillian’s have a bad reputation.”
“Being here is not by choice,” defended Cameron. “I asked to be put in Hawthorne.”
“You’re right. It’s just the disparity between the privileged uber-rich and all of us low-born peasants is pretty extreme.”
“My parents struggled to make ends meet before …” paused Cameron, not ready to verbalize his feelings. “Money doesn’t mean much when all you want is family.”
“I - we are grateful for your generosity, honestly.” Rho said in a low tone. “My family was at wits end worrying about my manifesting, so coming to Whateley has been a godsend. I know I can never replace those you’ve lost, but you have a friend in me - no strings attached.”
“I appreciate that - appreciate you. I’m not looking to buy your friendship, I just want to help where I can,” admitted Cameron, earning him a hug from the warm hearted - and handed Energizer.
“I know, we know. Just so long as living with a bunch of spoiled rich kids doesn’t rub off, and you become one,” admonished Rho while in the embrace.
“Thanks, I won’t,” promised Cameron. “My parents raised me to value hard work.”
“Good,” added Lynn. “My Dad always says, ‘you need to work hard if you want to play hard.’ Now, be a good sport and open my housewarming gift.”
Lynn hovered nearby as Cameron slid off the ribbon and popped open the lid; inside was a pair of leather moccasins.
“Wow! These are amazing … and handmade,” exclaimed Cameron, clutching them tightly as he held them to his heart.
“Try them on,” beamed Lynn.
Slipping them onto his feet, Cameron gave out a contented sigh, “So comfortable. Thank you,” said Cameron as he wrapped Lynn into his arms so he could kiss her, tenderly pressing lips to hers with deep affection.
Rho let them enjoy the moment before saying, “Careful you two, people might suspect you like each other.”
That they both blushed was gratifying, but they lingered holding hands.
Rho handed Cameron an envelope, “I was asked to deliver this to you, Roche gave it to me.”
It was a communiqué from Ray, a simple note saying: ‘keep your head down, and trust no one.’ Also inside the envelope was a set of detailed drawings from Smith, her instructions called it a Scrambler. Anyone listening in would hear Elmer Fudd arguing with Porky Pig about the best recipe for lemon poppyseed pound cake. Cameron kinda wanted to hear that himself.
Rhododendron decided to try out the couch and sank into cushions as soft as clouds. As Cameron dug into the school supplies they’d picked up for him, he asked, “Hey Rho, what did you do for a summer job?”
“I worked at my uncle’s warehouse, loading and unloading railcars. Really hard physical labour lifting tires and boxes of car parts, a good workout for an Exemplar. What about you Lynn?”
“I helped Dad out at the farm and Mom around the house. It was conditional so they’d allow me to come to Whateley.”
“How about you Cameron, did the RCMP keep you busy?” sought Rho.
“I did some odd jobs with the RCMP, part-time stuff mostly whenever Ray needed a hand. I spent most of the summer working with Marcus’s friend Buck; he has a construction company. It started with us demolishing an old office building in downtown Vancouver. It was supposed to take three months but ended up only taking me a day and a half. After that Buck kept me busy with jobs all over BC; he made me his business partner after the first week.”
“Don’t forget the couple days you spent visiting us in Alberta, after your little run-in with the Calgary Police who tossed you into jail.”
“I think I heard about that on the news, was that around the time Alberta’s Premier announced enacting the Notwithstanding clause of Canada’s constitution, rejecting mutant rights and freedoms in that Province?”
“Yeah, I get to go to trial again come December. I’m hoping Whateley will allow me time away for that, maybe even give me credit in social studies for in-depth experience with societal inequities.”
“You seem to enjoy kicking up a stink, have you ever tried not being the center of attention?” humoured Rho.
“Where is the fun in that? Besides, there’s a lot of displaced mutants moving into Canada now; people’s attitudes need to change. I just happen to be the one to light the fire,” Cameron couldn’t feel regret over doing something he was sent to do in the first place. “Speaking of lighting a fire have either of you signed up for any courses yet?”
“Oh sure, my advisor helped me figure out a course schedule. He’s a nice guy, a psychiatrist: Dr. Bellows. He figures if I can control my emotions I’ll get a better handle on how hot my hands become.”
“I hope it helps,” Cameron had suspected as much from the get go. “How about you Lynn?”
“I’ve been assigned to work with a First Nations representative, an old time hero named Totem. I stopped by his office already, he wants me to call him Charlie, he’s okay. Although, they need to do some testing before placing me into courses, they don’t trust correspondence learning.”
“I guess I’m in the same boat,” mused Cameron, uncertain about the hold up regarding his curriculum. “Well, hopefully I get my class schedule sorted out soon.”
“Don’t you have a student advisor yet?”
“No. There seems to be some kind of hang up.”
Shuster Hall, Administration offices
Mrs. Shugendo was thankful for the chance to sit down, she’d been on her feet all day getting new and returning students sorted and demands upon her time never seemed to end at the start of a school year. She wasn’t the only one under the gun, all Whateley staff experienced the same tsunami of problems arising from students. However, when solutions weren’t forthcoming it fell upon her to sort out troubles.
Elizabeth Carson had asked for a briefing on some of the more pressing issues; situations that required her to step-in and correct. Invariably, each year, surprises arose that hadn’t been foreseen and accounted for: unsuitable room assignments, intolerable roommates, pretty standard stuff. It’s why Whateley Academy had cottage parents to smooth ruffled feathers, and had selected students as intermediaries to help keep the peace.
Most importantly, Whateley relied upon skilled staff to act as guidance counsellors, carefully chosen to be best suited to each individual student’s academic, and at times, psychological needs. Although Michiko had been stymied with figuring out who should handle her latest headache, Cameron Burke. Following the Board of Trustee’s direction that he receive the best treatment Whateley could offer was becoming burdensome. Her trying to accommodate his every need had backfired.
It had become a lesson in frustration for the Dean of Students. The boy had refused the nicest accommodations possible at the school, instead preferring a lesser dormitory assignment. At least he agreed to remain in Melville, but he made it seem like he was doing her a favour in that regard. Now she needed to pick the perfect advisor for the boy and was running out of options. The added pressure that he might just walk away if he became unhappy added to her worry; then she’d be blamed for failing the school.
Mrs. Carson was wrapping up her phone call from Security, some dunderhead kids started fighting the second they came onto campus and the hysterical girls in fits of rage had been admitted to Doyle to get injuries tended to. Michiko could see the stress building upon the headmistress. Classes hadn’t even begun and she was having to consider expelling students already.
Mrs. Shugendo didn’t want to burden Liz with anything more, but she had asked specifically about Outlook just before being interrupted. Michiko pondered the situation again. He’d been here, right under everyone’s noses, taking correspondence courses no less. It was an embarrassment of epic proportions and the legal wrangling had not been going in the school’s favour in reaching a settlement - as discussed at the last senior staff meeting.
Nobody had any certainty about Outlook’s scholastic aptitude. He would need to undergo testing to gauge his current standing before determining what Whateley could offer him.
Mrs. Shugendo wasn’t certain how to proceed. How would he react to being asked to write multiple exams before getting put into a single class? As it was, to be safe, she had reserved a seat in every single class until she knew what courses Cameron Burke wanted to take, the precautions Whateley was undertaking were unprecedented.
“I’ll interview each of them personally and keep you informed,” concluded Elizabeth, ending her call. “Now, where were we?”
“I was telling you about Outlook’s rooming assignment,” commenced Michiko.
“Oh, yes. Melville Cottage, how does he like it?” how could he not, surmised Mrs. Carson.
“I hope he’ll warm to it, he seemed disappointed to not be in Hawthorne with his friend.”
“I thought they were getting put into Dickinson? And the boy … Swift, he’s in Twain.”
“Yes, Outlook made a new friend, Geoff Merril, call’s himself Max. They arrived together.”
“Merril? Heather Merril’s son?” asked a surprised Mrs. Carson.
“You know her?” questioned an intrigued Michiko, the details she’d been provided were sketchy.
“Mysteria, a very powerful Mage,” reminisced Liz. “I helped put her behind bars. She’s serving a life sentence at Mount Prometheus penitentiary for killing Champion, twice.”
“I arranged for Doyle to conduct exams at Outlook’s recommendation. Max’s mutation has inflicted some unfortunate ailments. It would be best if we notified her, do you want me to make contact with her?”
“I’ll do it. She knows me, she may not like me, but she’ll understand that if news comes from me it’s important.”
“Thank you Liz. Also, I was hoping you might have some ideas on who we could assign to be Outlook’s Student Advisor.”
“Did you have someone in mind?”
“Louis Gentz had expressed an interest, but he has several first year Psychics he’ll be mentoring and he doubts he’ll have the time. I had thought Mrs. Henderson would be a good choice but she declined saying she prefers focusing on all the young minds attending Whateley.”
“Any others?”
“None that I feel have the boy’s best interests at heart,”
“Have you considered someone from the Psychiatric team? Outlook was under the care of a Psychiatrist before, I think having him assessed again would be beneficial for all parties in the long run.”
“I need to ask, is this in any way motivated by the court case he’s brought against the school?”
“It would be wise to have a trained mental health professional provide oversight. If Outlook is as delusional as I fear, then having someone trained to identify and support his needs is in everyone’s interests.”
“I’ll approach Dr. Bellows, see who he recommends.”
“Do we know what courses Outlook will be taking?”
“Nothing has been …“ the Dean was distracted and stopped speaking.
A commotion in the outer office not only interrupted their conversation, but loud voices and banging was heard before the Headmistress’s door was forcefully pushed open.
“You can’t go in there!” was called out by Mrs. Claire to the backside of the intruder.
“Elizabeth! What is the meaning of this!” barked Reverend Englund.
Mrs. Carson stood, in doing so she indicated to Michiko to stay quiet and let her handle this. To then address the angered man. “If you’d care to explain what’s got you so hot under the collar, I’d be glad to explain Reverend.”
“Don’t play games with me. I just spoke with Lodgeman, that … that child is coming back - the one who destroyed my church,” thundered the Reverend.
“Security’s investigation showed that Outlook was not responsible for the damages to Dillon Chapel. It was due to an untrained girl generating a portal she had no control over.”
“Pish-tosh, that boy was the ringleader,” dismissed the cleric. “He owes me a church!”
“The school’s insurance is looking into rebuilding Dillon Chapel. In the interim, we’ll be erecting a tent for you to hold services in.”
“A tent! You must think I’m some holy roller in a travelling roadshow. A tent,” he harrumphed in disgust at the mere suggestion of it.
“We could set aside one of the classrooms in Kane Hall for your use on Sundays, if you would prefer,” negotiated the Headmistress.
“I would prefer to have my church back,” challenged the enraged man.
“Yes, well, I’m afraid my hands are tied until insurance settles the claim,” explained Liz of the situation before her.
“A likely story. What’s taking so long?” complained the Reverend, not ready in the slightest to be appeased.
“Our Insurance policy carries a clause that doesn’t cover ‘Acts of God’. They’re looking to interview all those involved,” detailed Elizabeth, knowing he wouldn’t like her reply.
The furious man boggled at that revelation, “It was God’s house, they can’t possibly suggest that God destroyed it.”
“Now, with Outlook in attendance, they can collect his statement. That should expedite moving our claim forward.”
“I wouldn’t trust a word that menace says,” venomously spat the cleric. “Rumour has it that kid can repair anything. He should be the one to build me a church.”
“Whateley Academy cannot, and will not partake in having any student perform tricks like sideshow performers. Our whole purpose in being is to prevent that sort of abuse,” fumed the heroine.
“Pfft, put him on detention and make him do it. I don’t care what excuse you use,” dismissed the Reverend with a flick of his hand, as if what had been said meant nothing.
“No.”
“Then make me his Student Advisor, I’ll motivate him,” goaded the priest.
“No.”
“It only stands to reason, the boy’s made wild claims about been sent by God or some such nonsense. It should be a ‘Man of God’ who guides him and sets him straight,” pushed the man.
“No.”
“Elizabeth, our agreement has been that I’d advise all the God-fearing students who come here. Are you reneging on our agreement?” weaselled Englund.
“His application specifically indicated that he is non-denominational. Now, if he should choose to attend mass, of his own accord, that is his affair. Then you can preach whatever hellfire and brimstone sermon you wish,” forcefully countered Elizabeth. “But this office will not interfere in a student’s religious beliefs.”
“The Board of Trustees will hear about this,” retaliated the infuriated man, unaccustomed to not getting his way.
“I’m sure they will,” calmly mentioned Mrs. Carson to his retreating backside as he pushed past Mrs. Claire.
Crystal Hall
The cafeteria had become busier and busier with each passing day since Camron and Max had first arrived. Dinner had been more leisurely when fewer students had been clamouring for food, now that the ever-present social pecking order had clicked into full gear as egos and pride dictated over who sits where.
Cameron didn’t care where he sat, but had given consideration to Max’s needs when selecting a suitable table. The upper levels were out of the question for the very simple matter of logistics. Max and an escalator equaled disaster, same would go for an elevator, that much weight means something would break, and then nobody would be happy. Stairs could’ve been possible, but after Cameron checked the structural load-bearing capacity it wasn’t worth risking it. That left the main floor as the only viable option.
So, they needed a table that had a wide enough corridor that Max could navigate, not to mention a chair big enough to bear his considerable mass. Nobody took a table reserved for those confined to wheelchairs. It was an unforgivable faux pas to sit there, unless you joined somebody handicapped that is. Max was challenged but not handicapped.
The choices had narrowed down to just two possibilities. Cameron chose the table that also backed up against an outer wall so that it provided a feeling of seclusion for Max by not being the centre of attention. This particular table had seating for twelve, three on each side. Cameron took three seats and combined them into one single chair, adding more material to reinforce it. It took an Exemplar 3 just to move it, but it withstood Max’s weight.
Cameron didn’t recall who sat here last year. He’d worried they’d intruded upon someone else’s claim, but so far nobody had said anything to them. Besides, those who think highly of themselves enjoyed the tables that put them above everyone else, so being on the lower level with the peons shouldn’t ruffle too many feathers.
Outlook made sure to arrive early to Crystal Hall to ensure his newly arrived friends could find him. The main course tonight was roast beef with all the trimmings and it smelled fantastic. Cameron had seen the school’s kitchen, the endless bank of ovens and refrigerators, he’d helped Stan and Morrie make repairs in there last year. Now, he got to actually enjoy the delightful food - as a student, each forkful he ate here was especially flavourful being a satisfying victory.
Cameron held off getting dinner until his friends arrived to join him. Spotting Flambé was easy, she stood a head above most others, and her uncovered hair pulsed red. Her hair had rapid fluctuations indicating she was anxious, first day jitters undoubtedly. Cameron waved to get her attention, it resulted in letting the rest of the crew know where he was, they had come all together.
He gave Lynn a hug. Something he planned to do every day of his life from here on out - at every chance he could. Charlotte squee’d happily when they embraced, then with Rachelle she gently pressed her forehead against his as they hugged.
“I still can’t read you in the slightest,” jested the Psychic. “I should’ve never taught you how to block,” was also said.
Timothy held out his hand which Cameron took, took and pulled him in close for a hug too. He’d missed each of them - equally, except Lynn, she was special.
“I’m glad you got here early,” stated Cameron. “I need to explain about this table.”
All of them had eyed the heavy-duty chair, Charlotte even pulled it back, dragging it across the floor letting out a loud screech, which interrupted Cameron’s train of thought. She sat in it with a giggle.
“I better do something about that before the chair’s feet damage the floor,” said Outlook. “Now then, I wanted to let you know I made a new friend. He’s a super nice guy, a little shy …”
“He’s huge!” gasped Rachelle, watching a massive fellow enter Crystal Hall, his very presence causing a stir among his peers. As if orchestrated the cafeteria’s denizens turned in unison to see what the fuss was all about.
“That too,” continued a nonplused Cameron. “He’s a gentle soul, but hates people gawking at him.” He said that last part extra loud so those around could hear him. Most turned their focus back onto their food rather than be called out.
Max looked over and caught Cameron’s eye. Giving Cameron a head nod, he grabbed a tray for each hand before entering the food line.
Cameron regrouped before continuing, motioning for the others to sit with him as he spoke, “I spent the last two days with Max. He first got checked over at Doyle, then was getting tested in the Labs. He’s an Exemplar, with a bad case of GSD.”
“That’s why you didn’t met us when we arrived,” clued in Lynn.
“Yes. Sorry about that. Max needed some moral support, he can’t say much so he wanted company.”
“Do you trust him?” asked Charlotte, not just of Cameron - but including her other teammates.
“I do, I believe he’s a good egg,” confided Cameron, after giving the question consideration.
“That’s good enough for me. I mean, look at us. If a Psychic and a Precog don’t raise any concerns, what other proof do we need?” concluded Rhododendron. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”
There was no further issue brought up by anyone over Max, just about the need for food.
Max was the first at the table, his two trays heaped high with piles of food. Cameron had left some oversized cutlery for him because a normal fork would have disappeared in his massive hands. Introductions were made around the table as each of them returned one at a time, Max paid rapt attention to anyone who spoke, but could do little to join the conversation going on at the table.
Charlotte sat at Max’s left. During the meal Max had his left hand resting on the table, Charlotte reached over and took hold of his hand, wrapping her fingers overtop his and giving a squeeze. Max froze, looking at the display of friendship - someone touching him. Tears formed in the big lug’s eyes. Charlotte gave him a timid smirk of a smile, but didn’t let go.
Lynn got up from the table leaving food on her plate, saying, “Be right back,” and headed off. There was no accounting for Lynn’s actions at times. To try and figure out the reason’s why she did what she did resulted in the same effect as ramming your head into a brick wall, leaving you senseless. Lynn returned with Deb in tow. The shy girl had already filled a plate and was looking for a place to sit when Lynn snagged her and dragged her along.
“Evening,” Deb said quietly, “I hate to intrude.”
“Intrude away,” stated R.E.D. motioning to the seat beside her. R.E.D. took upon herself the mantle of hostess and began making introductions for Deborah’s benefit.
Rho began, “You’ve met Lynn, she uses the name Aware, and she’s a … “
The Were shook her head. Too much explaining was required if giving too many details.
“A shapeshifter with Precognition,” Rho received a wink of approval for her discretion.
“Cats,” added Lynn, before Deb could ask the question on the tip of her tongue.
R.E.D. continued: “Cameron, you already know he’s your next-door neighbour. His codename is Outlook, he’s - different. He’s …”
Cameron spoke up, “gifted by God, I have enhanced vision and absorb energy which lets me alter matter.”
“Different is a little vague don’t you think,” admitted Deb. “Which God?”
“Are you familiar with the Bible?” sought Cameron.
“Somewhat.” She’d seen it of course, but never read it.
“That one,” revealed Cameron.
Deb sat quietly soaking that little tidbit in. Her family wasn’t religious by any means, they’d only ever gone to church a couple of times for weddings and funerals. By Deb’s calculations, the worst atrocities in history lay squarely at the feet of religion. Her guess as to who was the most dangerous person in the group had a new contender.
Cameron stepped in to help R.E.D. out since he knew the big guy best, having spent the last few days with him: “Max is an Exemplar, his testing didn’t go all that well - he crunched a treadmill to smithereens, then damaged the weight machine. They couldn’t say for certain what level he is.”
“The fancy one?” Boggled R.E.D. she’d used the same unit for her own testing not all that long ago. “That weight machine doesn’t have any moving parts, it just keeps increasing resistance until you can’t lift anymore.”
“Yeah, tore the mounting bolts right outta the floor. That got the white coats jumping,” humoured Cameron about the day’s events.
Max gave a brief, but loud “HA!” which drew attention from all around them, especially his table-mates, most of whom had never heard him say a word. He looked sheepish about his outburst, but all he received were smiles.
“So, is Max your name, or …?” asked Tim, addressing the big guy.
“Codename,” informed Perspicacious, not being rude - just taking the pressure off Max. “It’s an acronym, short for Master of Advanced Xenovaryology,” she added. “It’s a made-up word, cause he really wanted to use the name Max. His real name is Geoff, but never liked it since people never spelt it right. And you have to admit - Max suits him.”
Deb shyly waved at Max from across the table. Until now she’d avoided making eye contact and he waved back which made her smile. He wasn’t as scary as she’d imagined.
R.E.D. continued, “Next we have Charlotte, or Excelle. She’s the baby of the group …”
“Hey!”
“She’s the other two’s younger sister,” explained R.E.D, getting a tongue stuck out at her in retribution. “She’s an Exemplar Energizer mix,” whispering R.E.D. adding, “and our secret weapon - don’t ask, we’ll tell you later.”
R.E.D pressed on: “Rachelle, otherwise called Perspicacious. Heaven only knows why she chose it thou, no accounting for Psychics, always into mind games.” The table laughed at R.E.D.s joke, except for Rach - who gave an annoyed glare and held up a cautionary finger (no, not that one).
“And lastly we have Timothy, he decided upon the name Swift, but don’t play Scrabble with him, he can’t make words bigger than cat. He’s a Speedster. Oh! He and Rachelle are twins.” concluded R.E.D.
Deb nodded her head to acknowledge the greeting and the information given. “What about you R.E.D.?”
“I picked the name Flambé, because I’m an Energizer Exemplar mix, and I can burn almost anything with my hands.”
The puzzle pieces fit together nicely for Deb, aligning with her observations at Dunwich. But still, it left a lot of empty spaces before she’d complete the picture of who and what she’d gotten mixed up with. For the first time she felt like she belonged someplace, it was a good feeling.
“Tell us about yourself?” asked Swift, always a cringeworthy topic according to Deb.
“My name’s Deb, or Debbie, or Deborah, I’m okay with any of them. I’m a Gadgeteer, and thinking I’ll go with the codename Werx, which has grown on me, Thank you,” giving Aware a nod in appreciation.
“What’s the difference between a Gadgeteer and a Devisor?” asked Excelle of the oft-pondered distinction.
“A Devisor makes things that shouldn’t work - but do,” explained Debbie. “A Gadgeteer can make something out of nothing. Did you ever see the TV show MacGyver?” She got blank stares for her effort. “Anyway, I come up with all sorts of ideas for new doodads. I like making toys best, but I refuse to make weapons.”
“Toys? As in kids toys?” brightened Excelle at the admission.
“Yep.”
“How about electronics, or computer stuff?” put forward Tim.
“Yeah, I’m decent enough with that kind of thing.”
Cameron cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Can I get a show of hands for inclusion of Max and Werx as members of Northern Lites?”
All present gave assent.
The tunnels underneath Whateley Academy consisted of a confusing maze of twists and turns that lacked any sense or clear order. Who would build such a labyrinth was beyond comprehension, unless to purposely create confusion. She-Beast, the Melville fixer who Cameron had spoken to, provided Cameron with a map. The map wasn’t very accurate or detailed, but did provide them some direction at least, and allowed for finding the first spot marked on the map.
When describing his needs for a team headquarters, She-Beast immediately selected some of her lesser desirable locations for them to chose from - all at jacked-up rates. Business was a cutthroat affair wherein you had to create demand by making undesirable properties overpriced so that good locations seemed like a bargain at twice the price, it was all about knowing how to play a sucker.
Upon mentioning hide-out hunting to the team, several of his friends volunteered to join him, so his arriving with a whole contingent of tire-kickers was not entirely unexpected, they were a team after all. Max needed to get back to Hawthorne to write home, Tim was applying for a job to make deliveries, and Charlotte had made plans to watch a movie with some other young girls in Dickinson.
The door wasn’t much in the way of a barrier, still, they used the provided code to unlock the shoddy door. They stepped inside to find a dusty dark hole in the wall, not much bigger than Lynn and Rho’s dorm room. Werx immediately sighed at how unsuitable it was for her workshop, she had tagged along in hopes of finding a big enough space for all her tools, she gave out an ‘Eww’ in disgust.
The dank space had zero lighting or any power outlets, plus no fresh air flow, part of the reason it hadn’t been used in eons, so held little promise to prospective tenants. However, Cameron stood staring at one of the walls in deep contemplation for a long time. While the other walls were hewn from out of the solid rock, this wall was concrete and had a smooth finish. The room was hewn from solid work and shaped like a T, the upper portion was larger in diameter than the part branching off. Cameron circled the room on the map before they continued on to the next available room.
Cameron referenced the roughly drawn map occasionally as they walked along the tunnels, he appeared puzzled and would turn the page sideways and upside down attempting to figure the tunnel network out. It happened often that Cameron would stop and become distracted looking at conduits and fixtures and piping running every which way. He said little regarding what fascinated him so much about the tunnels’ construction, but he slowed everyone down to the degree they’d become frustrated.
As map keeper, Cameron had made so many notations on the map, it was getting impossible to tell heads from tails from all the markings. What was worse, he’d paid little attention to the rooms for rent that they’d come to inspect.
Lynn finally broached his lack of enthusiasm while inside the second to last room on the list, asking: “You bored or something?”
“No, no. Far from it,” voiced Cameron as he focused upon a small box mounted on the room’s wall.
“Then what is your problem?” required the annoyed Were. “You’re the one who brought us down here.”
“Sorry, yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten preoccupied,” admitted Cameron.
“What are you not saying?” inquired Lynn, be it Precognition or just knowing how Cameron was.
“The walls have ears, I’ll tell you later,” whispered Cameron, to then call over: “What do you think Deb? Will this one suffice?”
Werx was busy pacing out the room’s dimensions to get an estimation of the space available, and purposely stepping around the white chalk sigils written all over the floor - and in-between the dark red melted candle wax splotches.
“Who used this place, a hive of demon worshippers?” wondered a concerned Rho, not even wanting to enter the spooky place.
“Witchcraft,” clarified Outlook. “It’s safe, there’s no residual essence.”
“How can you tell?” asked Werx
“All mutations utilize energy in one form or another. Magic depends upon essence, they have an internal reservoir which mage’s draw upon. They cast spells to harness that energy and entices it to do what the mage wants.”
The way Outlook explained it took some of the mysticism out of magic, they all breathed easier hearing his take on it.
“What about Gadgeteers?” sought Debbie, curious if she had stored power someplace.
“Have you ever seen those pictures of when someone gets an idea and a lightbulb lights up over their head,” supplied Cameron.
“Sure,” conceded Debbie.
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” explained Cameron. “Energizers are the tricky ones, they come in different colours to signify intensities, kinda like a rainbow.”
“How do you mean?” questioned Rho, she’d never considered how Outlook might see her.
“You for instance, you're yellow,” Cameron said it like it was the most obvious detail about her.
“I am not yellow,” rebuffed Rho, how dare he suggest such a thing
“Actually you are, you have so much energy at the ready you glow yellow - almost like a little sun,” described Cameron, attempting to appease a slighted ego.
“But … my hair, and my hands?” defended Rho, her whole self-image was being challenged.
“Don’t forget her eyes, they go red when she gets really worked up,” inserted Lynn.
“Exactly!” claimed Rho.
“I’m just describing what I see, I didn’t mean to upset you,” soothed Cameron.
Rho turned away, sniffling: “You think I’m yellow.”
“No, far from it. I see you in the yellow spectrum, it means you’re very powerful and probably why you have trouble keeping your hands under control.” Cameron laid out his facts, he hated baring his perceptions, his view of the world was too dissimilar from everyone else’s.
“What colour would you see - if someone was more powerful than R.E.D.?” postulated Werx at new data set.
“White. White is the top of the power scale,” confided Outlook.
“So, what is gold?” asked a confused Werx, the information received wasn’t equaling out as she’d anticipated.
“A precious metal,” answered Cameron coyly.
“I know that,” retorted an annoyed Deb. “Your eyes shine gold, why?”
Cameron looked around the room, sparks fell from three locations. “I should have done that earlier,” he admitted. “My eyes shine gold, because gold was historically the exclusive property of kings.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not, I’m Cameron.”
“So, what? You’re some kind of king?”
“No, I’m just an average ordinary human, nothing more. The gold eyes signify that I’m in the service of the king of Kings,” It was an admission that Cameron had tried hard to avoid saying aloud. “I volunteered for this, cause I want to help people and don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“How’s that working out for you?” It was a hard pill for Werx to swallow, she doubted it was true.
“It’s the adventure of a lifetime, although I’ve died once so far, and came close twice more.”
“You’re serious.”
“No, it’s Cameron actually, we met earlier.”
“Debbie,” offered Deb as they shook hands. “I’m not sure if I shouldn’t be running away screaming my head off right now.”
“Please don’t, that kind of thing really hurts ones self-confidence,” assured Cameron. “Try to understand; I don’t judge people, I’m doing everything possible to give them opportunity to show redeeming qualities.”
“Because?” sought out Deb.
“Because somethings coming on the horizon that’s going to shake this world to its foundations.”
“Could you be a little more specific?” Deb looked to R.E.D. and Lynn for support, they nodded in agreement, they wanted to know too.
“Not my place, the task of giving a warning falls to others.”
“You can’t be serious,” blurted out Deb, the lunacy on display was more than she could fathom.
“We've already covered this; Cam-er-on, Cameron, it’s not that difficult. Outlook to those I don’t trust.”
“You trust me.” Deb didn’t know which news bite was harder to believe.
“You have an important role to play, that’s what Lynn tells me,” confided Cameron.
Lynn stepped in, speaking with complete conviction: “The future isn’t set in stone, but we’re at a confluence. We’ve all come together because Whateley is a provings ground, many lives depend upon what we accomplish here.”
“I … I don’t know what to say.”
“First off, say you’ll take this room for your lab. It’s not perfect, but when it comes to real estate it’s all about location,” enthused Cameron.
“Okay, I suppose it’ll work, after a lot of cleaning,” relented Werx. “What about you?”
“I’ll get the first room we looked at and use it as an office. We’ll be neighbours, just like in Melville.” informed Cameron, his plan was coming together.
“Whaddya mean, It’s better than three hundred feet away through solid rock.” sputtered Deb.
“I’m glad you think so.”
Kirby Hall
Cameron once again checked the note slip he’d received under his door last night, it told him he had an appointment to attend this morning. Checking the name one last time he entered the office area, showing the receptionist the note. He was directed to one of the doors and stepped into a consulting room.
“Hello Cameron, can I call you Cameron? Your file says your first name is Alex but you use your second name, and I find Codenames to be so impersonal.” said the man seated in a large leather chair, he rose to offer his hand in greeting.
“Sure, Cameron is fine. I’m getting called Serious a lot lately, so I’d like to nip that in the bud.”
“Serious? Your file says your codename is Outlook.”
“Yes, it is, Outlook that is.”
“I see … Okay, I don’t see, why Outlook?”
“It’s twofold, first I have enhanced vision, secondly I was cautioned to not let stuff affect my disposition.”
“So does being called Serious stem from taking ‘stuff’ too seriously?”
“Hmmm,” pondered Cameron. “No, I don’t think so, it’s more a matter that folks are in disbelief of what I tell them.”
“Well that’s a segue if I ever heard one. Why don’t you take a chair? I’m doctor Stein by the way.”
“The name on the door has the initials F. N. Your first name isn’t Frank by any chance?”
“Oh lord! Don’t get me started. My father has a twisted sense of humour, it’s why I use my middle name: Norbert.”
“What are you a doctor of Doctor Stein?”
“I’m a Behavioural Psychologist, I’ve been asked to take you on as a patient, and be your Student Advisor.”
“Am I wrong in guessing you’ve just set up shop at Whateley?”
“Yes as I matter of fact, my first day here. How did you know?”
“Your furniture is brand new and hasn’t been positioned properly yet to make best use of the space, and you appear nervous at the prospect of advising students.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Elevated heart rate and tense muscles,” confided Cameron tapping his visor. “So, I’m that much of a hot potato that they decided to throw the new guy into the lion’s den?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“True, but it's what you're thinking.”
“Are you Psychic too?”
“No doctor, but I can do the math. Let me assure you at the outset, I’m not here to create trouble for you …”
“But?”
“Trouble has a way of finding me.”
“Troubled is my specialty.”
“Then let’s get this party started. I looked at the list of elective courses available, and there's subjects I’m interested in taking, but I don’t know if the courses taught here go into the details I was hoping to learn.”
“I’m not sure I understand, please explain.”
“Chemistry should be straightforward enough. I had hoped to take a course dealing with Metallurgy, but only saw it mentioned under Fabrication.”
“If that doesn’t work out, perhaps we could re-arrange your schedule later.”
“All right. Another interest was Engineering.”
“As a field of study; Engineering is broken into many topics, such as Structural, Mechanical, and Civil. Which had you wanted to pursue?”
“All of them.”
“Allow me to speak with the Applied Technologies faculty first, I'll see what might be suitable. Anything else?”
“I would like to learn more about applied mechanics.”
“I take it that Automotive Mechanics isn’t up your alley.”
“No, I’m looking for something that deals with converting energy into physical force.”
“That sounds like Power Mechanics, I’m not sure if that’s on the list.”
“Could you check and see?”
“I can do that. Any more?”
“I understand First Aid is offered under Survival, I would like that please. Oh, and Art.”
“All right. Now, had you wanted to take any of the Religious Studies courses offered?”
“No Doc Stein, I avoid all connection to religion.”
“I don’t understand, Your file says you’re Empowered by God, that usually implies a deity.”
“Yes Doctor, and because of that I don’t claim adherence to any religion, it would open Pandora’s proverbial box if I did, then I’d have to follow them all. So I don’t go to church, or celebrate any holy days, I’d never get anything done otherwise.”
“I hadn’t anticipated that. Very well, you’ll need to write placement exams so Whateley knows what courses you need to take for basic curriculum studies.”
“I expected as much, where do I begin?”
Kane Hall
Cameron approached the building, not entering through Security was a new experience for him. It wasn’t that he was late, well maybe by a couple of minutes, it had taken longer than anticipated to get his class schedule sorted out, he didn’t need many curriculum courses since he’d finished most standard classes over correspondence. The delay came from writing exam after exam and then trying to get into those advanced and specialty elective classes.
He was glad to be done with the paperwork, Doctor Stein managed to place him into nearly all the classes he sought, once the doctor figured out whom to talk to and how to use the school’s database. The subjects Cameron had chosen must have been on the obscure side since all the classes had openings, or not many students had enrolled for them.
At dinner last night Debbie had mentioned she needed to take a firearms safety class, the whole team concurred with the idea and they’d all signed up. Cameron spotted his teammates huddled in a group as they waited outside the classroom, Lynn gave him a knowing smirk as she looked at him, it wasn’t his idea to learn how to shoot a gun, but as a team it made sense - for protection.
“I told you he’d be on time,” said Lynn to the others.
“Sure, sure. But we were supposed to break into pairs ahead of time, that’s why we planned to arrive ten minutes before class,” stated Rachelle in annoyance.
“It’s obvious that Lynn and Cameron are a couple, so the only question is who the rest of us pair with?” detailed Rhododendron, as she looked between the three siblings as to who would be the least grief.
Deb stood beside Max and waved indicating that the two of them would be good together, Max nodded agreeably.
Rachelle looked at her twin brother, trying to decide which of them was best suited to look after their little sister. Using a firearm was dangerous business, did she trust Tim enough to be attentive with Charlotte handling a gun?
“My father taught me to shoot and took me hunting a couple times,” explained Rho, that she was responding to Rho was a sign that the high-level Energizer was beginning to accept her friends using the more familiar monicker - instead of R.E.D. “Perhaps Charlotte would be my partner in training?”
“I’d like that,” exclaimed the junior member of Northern Lites, “I wanna learn to fire a bazooka.” She announced, resulting in her older sister dropping her head and shaking it at her younger sister’s antics.
“I believe this is only small arms training,” corrected Lynn. “Maybe another course, after you pass this one, lets you handle bigger guns.”
“Why a bazooka?” asked Cameron, confounded by her enthusiasm.
“I like the sound of the name: BaZOOka! It’s cool!” explained Charlotte.
“And it makes a big hole,” added Tim, only too familiar with his little sister’s penchant for excess.
“Exactly!” enthused Charlotte. “Right up my alley. I want people to know I pack a punch. Can’t you just see me packing a couple big Bazooka’s!”
“Uh-mmm, I believe there’s innuendo attached to that, it’s what some refer to as the size of girls’ breasts,” noted Rho.
“Really?” asked Charlotte glancing quickly down at her still-developing chest. “How do mine rate?”
The question made most present look away, her older sister’s hand covered her face to suppress bewilderment, as red faces abounded, even Max had the courtesy to look down and toe the ground with his foot to avoid making eye contact.
“It’s better if we don’t get into a discussion of who’s bigger - in that department,” advised Rachelle.
“Why?” sought the younger girl, who’s manifesting BIT made her more shapely than her older sister.
“Polite company doesn’t discuss such things,” chided Rachelle.
“Yeah, like we’ve ever been accused of being polite, or even good company,” scoffed Char.
As if on cue, the classroom’s door opened. Caitlin Bardue invited everyone inside, it wasn’t a friendly invite, more like an Orderly reluctantly bringing the lunatics into the asylum.
“I bet nobody says anything to her about packing bazookas,” secreted Char to Rho.
“I prefer RPGs” said Caitlin overhearing the comment.
“Really Precise Guns?” questioned Char at what the acronym stood told for.
“Those, and Rocket Propelled Grenades,” informed Caitlin.
“Do we get to learn to shoot bazookas?” delighted Charlotte at the possibility.
“No, and you probably never will. Unless you take the military route,” instructed Eldritch, relieved that the rules saved her from so many headaches.
Char considered that piece of information, screwing up her face as she worked through the implications. With a downcast expression she looked at both her brother and sister, the negative head-shakes from each of them were disappointing, until she asked: “What’s the biggest gun we get to shoot?”
“Anyone ever tell you, you have a one-track mind kid.”
Everyone was directed to grab a seat, the small meeting space wasn’t full to capacity. Caitlin outright stared at Cameron as he walked past her and found a spot to sit amidst his friends.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Eldritch, stepping close by.
“Learning firearms safety. Like a responsible person is supposed to do?” replied Outlook. “We did sign up for the right course, didn’t we?”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re a pacifist. Why are you bothering with this?” wondered Caitlin, she had him pegged as a raging peacenik.
“I won’t take sides in conflicts, that doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself when the need arises.”
“You’re a poor excuse for a pacifist then.”
“I’ve never claimed to be one, everyone just assumes, and you know what they say about assuming …”
“It makes an ass out of you and me,” piped in Charlotte without hesitation.
“You both need new material, there’s a book of knock-knock jokes in the library you should check out,” snarked Caitlin.
“Really?” questioned the wide-eyed girl, taken with the idea.
“If there is I’m gonna burn it,” nonchalantly stated Eldritch.
“Listen up you maniacs,” commenced Sergeant Major Burlington-Smythe, after writing his name on the chalkboard. “My job is to teach you how not to kill yourselves. Ms. Bardue looks after this school’s gun range. If any of you already have firearms, we'll need you to hand them over to her for safekeeping. It is illegal to possess a gun until you’ve completed this course and have a license to carry.”
Deb lifted her oversized bag up onto her lap, removing the revolver from inside. She held it like it was diseased, pinched between two fingers, to then hold it up and away from her body for Caitlin to take it.
“A 38 special, how’d you get this?” asked Caitlin, the girl was obviously too gun-shy to own such a weapon.
“My dad gave it to me,” admitted Deb.
“You can get it back over at the practice range, after you’ve passed,” informed Caitlin. “I suggest you take some time and learn how to fire it.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
The course instructor began the lesson. Caitlin finished collecting the guns, only four all told, she tagged them and brought them to put into the range’s secure lock-up.
Something bothered her about the 38 special, a common enough piece, often used by police forces around the country, but something felt off about it, it’s weight and balance wasn’t right.
Caitlin gave the confiscated gun a cursory inspection, it looked okay, but for some reason it nagged at her. A 38 wasn’t a gun she herself used much, didn’t have the stopping power she’d come to favour. Instead of putting it into the cage for safekeeping, she grabbed a couple of the shells the girl had relinquished and took the gun out onto the firing range.
She loaded a single round into the chamber and donned a set of earmuffs and safety glasses. Assuming the correct stance for a handgun’s recoil she aimed at a target midway down the range. Depressing the trigger released the hammer striking the bullet.
The gun exploded, sending shards of shrapnel out encapsulating her hands and blew back at her face in a cloud of devastation.
End Part 4
Part 5 coming soon
Dear Mom
I regret how long it’s taken me to write, you may have noticed how dreadful my penmanship was in my last letter, blame it on my manifestation. You had tried to prepare me from a young age for becoming a mutant, and as you had anticipated, I manifested - in a big way.
At first, I had a hunger that couldn’t be satiated, the mother superior at the State-sponsored orphanage refused to feed me enough. I went into shock and was admitted to the hospital, they at least fed me, which allowed my body to grow. I tested as an Exemplar, but I’ve kept changing. I had hoped to be a Mage like you, but no such luck.
You had told me that if I ever manifested to get myself to Whateley Academy. You must have sensed it coming because they had an application waiting for me when I arrived. Thank you! The State was planning on sending me to a work camp to help pay for all the food I need to eat, the car they used had an unfortunate breakdown so I was able to give them the slip.
I have to tell you about my trip to get here. I was making good progress, but came across some difficulties, I got hit by a car and that upset my plans. I wasn’t hurt, but it happened because I was starving and wasn’t focused. I can’t explain it, but just after the accident, a guy showed up, he gave me food and joined me walking to Whateley. You never expressed a belief in God, but I tell you, he’s like a guardian angel.
You often spoke about your time at Whateley as being some of the best days of your life, and I’m beginning to see the appeal. I have already made some friends that don’t judge me and they don’t even care who my mom is.
In fact, it’s because of two of them that I’m able to write this letter. Werx is a Gadgeteer, she came up with an idea to make a computer keyboard big enough and robust enough for me to use. Outlook, he’s the guy I arrived with, he made it off her drawing - just like that, no fuss or muss, one minute it just ‘poof’ showed up. Don’t ask me how he does it, all he said was he alters molecules.
I’m in Hawthorne Cottage, you never mentioned it, so it might be an addition since you were here. It houses students who have medical conditions and appearance issues like GSD, I’m afraid that describes me pretty well. I’ll see about sending you a picture. I’ve changed - a lot - not for the better, but please don’t worry, I’m okay.
So just like you had advised me to do, I’m part of a team. There’s Outlook, and Werx, an Energizer girl named Flambé who’s got super hot hands, a Speedster named Swift, a Psychic girl called Perspicacious (hope I spelt that right), an Exemplar girl who goes by Excelle (those last three are related), and finally a Precog named Aware.
I was worried that between a Psychic and a Precog that they would hate me, but I’ve been welcomed with open arms. Oh, our team’s name is Northern Lites by the way, they’re a bunch of Canadians, except for Werx. They all have an off-beat sense of humor but I like them. Outlook is going to find us a team headquarters, or fort, or whatever on campus. I’ll keep you posted.
I suspect you already have Whateley’s address, but I’ll include it for you. I hope the prison guards let you read my letter to see the wet blotches which are from my tears. Let me know if you ever get out of solitary, I would like to visit you.
Your loving son, Geoff (I go by Max now).
The Ranges
“You’re certain you’re not hurt?” asked Chief Delarose for the third time in as many minutes.
“Just my pride,” admitted Eldritch.
“This has nothing to do with the work you do here at the Ranges. The safety record with you running the show has been exemplary. But, every serious incident must be investigated.”
“I understand the process, I just don’t like why.”
“It could have been much worse. That’s why we need to know what happened.”
“Of course, it could have been worse.”
“That’s some tough hide you’ve got … I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“Don’t pussyfoot around me Frank, I’d prefer your honesty.”
“So be it. If your skin wasn’t nigh-on indestructible what sort of injuries would we be looking at?”
“The gun exploded in my hands, once the bullet lodged in the barrel, it sent the blast backward and out. It acted just like an exploding grenade. My hands would have been pulverized up to the elbows, chunks of metal would have torn my face off with some of it embedding into my chest. The injuries would have been life-threatening at best, death would have been the most likely outcome.”
“Nasty bit of work that. So, in your assessment?”
“I believe it to have been an attempted homicide.”
“But, you sustained no injuries?”
“I was thrown against a wall by the blast, that’s all.”
“Do you know why the gun exploded?”
“From the pieces found, I discovered the barrel had been narrowed ever so slightly, just enough so a bullet would get stuck and create blowback. It was professionally done, everything looked fine when I checked it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I bagged what I could. Everheart took it into evidence.”
“Have you ever heard of something like this before?”
“No, but I checked into it online. There’s a dark website that specializes in modified guns, from what is described it matches what happened. It would be wise to check for micro-fractures, the way it turned into shrapnel would indicate further tampering.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Murder Incorporated.”
“Ouch, Nasty business that.”
“I wrote down the gun’s serial number, it’s on the tag that Everheart took.”
“I’ll begin tracking its history. Anything else?”
“It belonged to a Gadgeteer, Werx is taking firearms safety. I’d like to know how a fourteen-year-old girl from Rhode Island got her hands on that gun.”
“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question.”
“If rejiggered guns like that one are getting into people’s hands, the price is gonna be a lot higher than that.”
The Tunnels
Claustrophobia wasn’t something Cameron had to worry about. It’s not that he liked confined spaces, the opposite was true, he loved the feel of being out in the wide open, he could see forever. But with his sight, being able to see through solid objects like rock for a distance anyway, plus the ability to dissipate matter, he was never really confined.
He’d managed to lease the small room that he and his friends had scouted out, he’d gotten it at a rock bottom rate, after complaining it didn’t have lights, power, or ventilation. Those finer details contributed to the lower price. Cameron had just finished helping Werx clean up her new lab space and no evidence of the former occupants’ activities remained.
The whole team chipped in to help bring Debbie’s countless boxes down and set up her workshop. That girl couldn’t walk past a tool she didn’t fall in love with. It could be worse - shoes have that effect too. Deb was eager to get started making impenetrable security for herself and volunteered to make something for Cameron’s office as well.
There was disappointment from the team that a suitable room wasn’t found for the group, but Cameron had requested that they be patient, he had a plan. Which was what brought him to be standing in front of the smooth concrete wall in his newly acquired office. There was a reason it had garnered his attention at first sight. It was a seal, hastily made to block off what lay beyond.
Outlook had scanned the place time and again, layering his sight in an attempt to create a picture of what was being hidden behind the concrete which was just over three feet thick. Waiting for the right time to crack it open had been torturous, like asking a kid to wait to open a wrapped present. A good mystery always spelt adventure to him.
As an interim measure, Cameron fashioned a metal door and hung it overtop the concrete, leaving a little room between the two surfaces. If what he felt was true, then it would be a worthwhile protection. Cameron easily spotted all the Geiger Counters placed along the tunnels for monitoring radiation, they heightened his suspicions.
Making a small opening in the concrete only big enough for him to squeeze through, and ensuring his metal door was closed behind him, Cameron entered the unknown. His eyes casted an eerie glow upon the untouched surfaces which were remarkably free of dust. Only a minor layer of fine particles covered the floor, undisturbed for many a year.
Layering his sight it told an interesting story of nuclear radiation all right, just as he’d surmised. The further down the abandoned tunnel he looked, the higher the radiation levels became. Whateley certainly had its fair share of secrets and he’d stumbled upon a doozy.
Collecting the residual energy radiation was comprised of wasn’t entirely new to Cameron, the scale of what he’d discovered was going to be the challenge. Checking his battery, it was at a respectable sixty-four percent, he’d been busy of late so his charge was down slightly. He began allowing the abundant energy around him to flow in as he moved forward slowly, letting the radiation level drop around him as he decontaminated all the surfaces.
Checking for telltale indicators for when this had happened, a poster on a bulletin board announced a fundraising bake sale which provided an approximate date: Saturday, February 9, 1974. It happened over thirty years ago! This place was still hot with radiation, it could take centuries for it to cool down. No wonder they sealed it up tight.
Cameron had passed by several rooms branching off from the main tunnel already, his curiosity was dying to explore further, but his battery had climbed up into the mid-ninety percent range already. He’d need to come back another day to finish exploring.
Returning the way he’d come, he restored the concrete wall and removed the metal door he’d used. He was radiation free since he’d converted it all to usable energy. At issue now was that he needed an outlet to reduce his surplus energy so as not to overload himself. Without a better option at the moment, he decided to appoint his newly acquired office into a pleasant environment.
He’d been thrown into too many dungeons to feel comfortable leaving it as bare rock, so he constructed square walls to hide the rock, then applied bright cheery colours to make it feel less dismal. A drop ceiling was next to cover over the rough rock above, then nice hardwood flooring was used to even out the surface below.
He managed to divide the area into two rooms, an obvious choice given the T shape of the place. The first room, the upper portion of the T, became a nice inviting reception area sporting comfortable seats and attractive pictures which helped make it a relaxing place. The second room had a sturdy leather reclining chair in the middle, the chair could fold down into a level surface when needed. This room also included a desk that was set against one wall.
Prominently upon an end wall he hung a large framed picture, it was a landscape of the Rocky Mountains. It portrayed a scene with a lake and forest in the foreground and mountain ranges in the back. He’d placed the picture so as to cover over a square metal plate that had a dial and handle attached to the face. Sure it looked like a safe, but in actuality it was only a thick chunk of metal embedded into the rock face - a decoy in case anyone ever wanted to try and rob him.
Lynn and Rho walked along the path that led them to Whateley’s lake. Its area had been maintained as a natural setting, someplace the students could go to unwind a little and let off some steam. Lynn was in need of a nature break, feeling cooped up in an artificial manmade world. It was refreshing that the school had been constructed leaving so much room around it, but still, the Were girl could feel the walls closing in at times, her heightened senses getting overloaded by so many people and distractions.
With each step Lynn could feel the tension slip away, she needed this. Rho was happy to join her. Too much study and no ‘me' time made her antsy, not what the doctor ordered to control her ‘hot’ hands, so taking a break was some quality time for her too. The tall energizer practised her breathing exercises and flexed her fingers to relieve the stress as they walked together.
Ever attentive, Lynn heard rustling in the trees, her catlike reflexes had her zone in on the disturbance. From behind a branch full of leaves emerged a tiny pixie. Rho was so enthralled at the revelation that she bit her knuckle so as not to make a sound and scare it away. She nearly vibrated in excitement since she was a Disney princess at heart.
Lynn made the customary greeting, a clenched fist held against the chest. The pixie darted up in front of Lynn in a blur, her little wings beating so fast they disappeared much like a hummingbird’s. The diminutive girl made a bow then returned the greeting. Rho couldn’t contain herself any longer and a high-pitched “Eeep” escaped.
The little flying girl eyed the tall redhead, you could follow her eyes as they started looking down at Rho’s feet then traveled all the way up to her rapidly pulsating hair, the two shared a moment of mutual amazement.
The pixie had a short bob-style haircut, but it was midnight black in colour, blue eyes like the sky at midday. Her clothes looked like leaves sewn together - but it was actually cloth made to look like foliage. She had a satchel slung over her shoulder, and from it, she produced a roll extending it out for Lynn to take. Lynn cupped her hand holding it up near the Pixie who dropped the roll into it.
The Pixie took off in a flash for the cover of the trees, but before disappearing into the leafy expanse, she stopped, turned, and gave them a hearty wave. Both the roommates waved in response and broke into huge smiles doing so.
Lynn yelped in surprise, dropping the tiny roll, “What did you do that for?” she accused her companion while rubbing the welt forming on her arm.
“I wasn’t going to pinch myself if it was your dream,” claimed Rho.
“That was no dream, it was real,” stated Lynn as she dropped to her knees and began searching through the tall grass.
“How can you be sure?”
“Cause that’s not the sort of stuff I dream about. Now help me find that missive you made me drop,” to then mutter: “I can’t believe you pinched me.”
“I can’t believe a Pixie just blew in like a summer breeze. Tell me that’s not a common occurrence for you?”
“No, honestly, that’s never happened before.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“The sum total of what I don’t tell you could fill a library, and trust me - it’s for your own good. But, I came across Pixies before in the woods here at Whateley.”
“Why are you just telling me this now?”
“Because you would have signed me up for a long-term visit with a head-shrink.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t do that now?”
“Because you saw the same thing I did, I have the welt to prove it,” deduced Lynn, “Where is it?”
“How do you know it’s a message?”
“She’s a courier, like a postal carrier for the mythical folk.”
“Yeah, about that, are all Pixies so …”
“Small?”
“I was gonna say stacked. Her proportions were unreal. I mean Tinkerbell was cute and all, but sheesh!”
“I never thought about it before, although I didn’t actually see many of them. They were all female now that you mention it though.”
“So, you figure guy Pixies would all be butch?”
“How would I know? That was only the second time I’ve ever seen a Pixie, and what? That makes me an expert?”
“I was just asking.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” apologized a stressed Lynn. “I hope I haven’t lost it.”
“Uhmm?”
“The missive, not my mind.”
“What’s the difference between a missive and a message?”
“A missive is an official message,” explained Lynn. She stopped in her tracks and looked at her friend. “Why are you noticing other girls’ appearances? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, it’s nothing really.”
“Out with it, you can tell me anything.”
“Deb is becoming a bit of an influence, she’s always judging people by their looks.”
“I’m aware.”
“That you are. But it’s gotten me thinking.”
“Go on.”
“I wouldn’t mind finding a boyfriend. But … well, with so many beautiful girls around this school, guys don’t even know I exist.”
“That isn’t true, you're as pretty as anyone else around here.”
“Maybe. It’s just that … I was thinking, it would be nice if a guy was taller than me.”
“Now, that is a problem.”
“And, because I get so hot, I can’t let anybody get close, I’d burn them. There’s only Cameron, and maybe Bricks.”
“Are you saying you like Cameron?”
“Not that way, he’s a great guy and all and you’re lucky to have him. He’s a friend - that’s all. I was just saying he’s one of the only people I can touch without hurting them.”
“Is there a Brick who’s caught your eye?”
“No, oh God no. They’re a bunch of brutish oxymorons as far as I can tell.”
“You said brutish, right? Not British?”
“I’m French, I didn’t know there was a difference. And in case you missed it, I meant oxie in the form of possessing the traits of an ox. Morons should be self-explanatory.”
“That much I understood.”
“You promised to tell Tim when the right girl came along. I was wondering …”
“Tim’s a special case, he was moping about for weeks making everyone miserable. Rachelle pleaded with me to help him,” confided Lynn. “If you really want me to, I can tell you who, how, where and when, but I’d rather not. It’s better to let people’s lives happen, so please accept that you’re going to be happy. You’ll find the perfect guy for you - and you’ll be the perfect girl for him.”
“I believe you, but why don’t you want to tell people their future? Look how it worked out for you and Cameron.”
“That could have gone bad in so many ways,” confessed Lynn. “The future isn’t set in stone, it’s fluid. By revealing the future to someone - just a little hint of interference, changes the future and it can go off in thousands of unintentional directions. I shouldn’t have done anything with Cameron, but I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why not?”
“Because I needed to nudge Cameron down a specific path, one where he helped the Were.”
“At what cost? I mean, has it ruined the future, your future?”
“It altered a potential future, but it seems to be the best possible outcome so far for all concerned. It’s why I took the risk, the rest was dumb luck.”
“I don’t think Cameron believes in luck, he feels everything takes place according to plan.”
“I admire that about him, unshakable determination,” confided the Precog girl. “That’s it, I give up. I’m going to go find Cameron and see if he can locate that silly scroll.”
“Is this it? It looks like a stick.”
“You found it, thank goodness.”
“Read it. I don’t want to have grass stains on my knees for no reason.”
“I’m asked to attend an important meeting Friday afternoon in the Grove, it says tea will be served and they request I come alone.”
“What’s the Grove? Maybe you didn’t read it right, it could be The Groove - you know … some fancy dance club where you can show off your moves.”
“I’ll let them know you think that. But, no. The Grove is a secret place hidden in the trees. No matter how hard you try to find it - you can’t, unless they want you to come.”
“Looks like it’ll be a busy weekend, aren’t you and Cameron going to that reclusive Were village Saturday? You’re becoming everyone’s favourite party girl.”
“It’s not going to be much of a party, not with all the elders wanting a piece of us.”
“So why go?”
“I have to, I’ve seen it happen and can’t avoid it. At least Ella and my brother will be there.”
Melville Cottage
Cameron had decided to take a break, he’d finished prepping his office and then cleared more of the radiation contamination so his battery was full again. He’d come up with an idea to dump excess energy so wanted some privacy if he was to attempt matter compression. Stopping by Melville’s coffee bar, the barista convinced him to try an Orange Whip. He’d never heard of such a thing before, but his first taste held promise.
Checking the time, Cameron sat on a couch and placed a call to his lawyer: Emit Paulson. Mr. Paulson had given him a private phone number to use on special occasions. So far Cameron had to admit Melville Cottage had a couple of things going for it, his own washroom was foremost on that list. Next was each dorm room having a telephone, and third - had to be this Orange Whip, it tasted like an Orange Creamsicle in a glass, only better.
Cameron had no way of knowing if his frequent contacts would be wiretapped, or to what extent the army would go in hunting him. His choice to call Mr. Paulson was due to having been provided a secure phone number. The man had proven to be discrete in the past.
The only way to find out for sure was to reach out and see what happened, besides, he’d built one of Smith’s scramblers, so it was time to give it a test. Dialling the number Cameron placed the scrambler next to the phone and infused some power into it, he heard some clicks and buzzing at first, then the phone rang.
“Paulson.”
“Hello Mr. Paulson.”
“One moment please,” the phone went silent for a second. “Cameron, so glad you called. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Is it safe to talk?”
“I’m on a secure line, how’s your end?”
“I’m using a device that interferes with anyone listening, can you hear me alright?”
“Yes, no problem here, but I best be brief. You’ll be interested to hear that your case against Whateley is progressing, however, I’ll need a record of your earnings to begin hammering out the costs of services rendered.”
“You have Albert Miller’s contact info, he’s my accountant. My boss over the summer was Buck Lund, he can tell you how much I was paid, it depended upon the type of job, but averaged around fifty an hour.”
“Fifty dollars?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“I thought my rates were steep.”
“Construction pays well, or it can. For instance, each mile of highway typically costs a million to build, we’d do anywhere from ten to fifteen miles a day.”
“So you made?”
“Heaps. Buck has the numbers.”
“Very good, I have his contact info already. Next up, You might have heard that the Province of Alberta has used a constitutional clause called the Notwithstanding Act to deny mutants human rights. Alberta has sought to dismiss your court case as meritless. I managed to prove to them that you are not a mutant, so that court appearance is still on the books for December.”
“I was hoping there might be some news about the army.”
“I was getting to that. They have been a rather testy bunch to deal with, even threatening to throw me into jail unless I tell them where you are. Fortunately, lawyer/client privilege protects me from such actions. They however let slip that they have frozen your bank accounts, so don’t use any credit or debit cards. Do you have enough cash on hand to get by?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll take extra steps to stay off peoples’ radars now.”
“Good, good. You’ve put them in a pickle my boy, they wish to annul some of the conditions you’d added onto your recruitment, and re-institute the ones that had been stricken. But since the document is non-severable it would mean the entire agreement is voided. They really seem intent on getting their hooks into you. They keep trying to get themselves out of the hole they’re in.”
“Well, that’s good I suppose. Did they happen to say what they want of me?”
“They’re tight-lipped on that front, I’ll keep asking.”
“Thank you. Will this be the best way to stay in touch?”
“For the time being. However, I may need to send you papers to sign, do you have a secure address I can mail to?”
“Send it to Deborah Hastings in Melville Cottage, care of Whateley Academy. She can act as an intermediary and forward mail to me.”
Shuster Hall
Cameron felt sorry for the people in the school’s office, it looked to be a mad rush to keep the place running. The flurry of phone calls demanding attention, besides the lineup of students waiting to be served was incessant. Cameron was fifth in line, he hadn’t wanted to unload his problem onto these folks, but his conversation with Mr. Paulson had prompted the need.
Upon his turn, the lady behind the counter looked frazzled; Mrs. Claire, if his memory held.
She took a look at him and blanched.
“Mr. Burke, I owe you an apology. If I hadn’t mistaken you for someone else, last year wouldn’t have turned out so badly for you.” She truly looked sorrowful and her voice wavered as she spoke.
“No hard feelings, yours was the first of many mistakes that day. I’m moving forward, I hope you can as well,” offered Cameron.
“Yes, well … thank you. What can I do for you today?”
“I was informed my credit card has been frozen. I didn’t want Whateley to be denied any monies owed, so I’d like to see about making alternate payment arrangements.”
“Let me check your account,” asked Mrs. Claire as she referenced a computer. “It says a cashier’s cheque was received and all tuition is paid in full. But if you’d like to alter your on-campus finances I can help you with that.”
“Thank you, that would be much appreciated.”
“What currency would you like to make payments with?”
“Do you by any chance accept gold?”
“We do. We’ve had a number of students use gold and other precious metals in the past.”
“How about diamonds?”
“Yes, it requires us to use a diamond broker to grade and then sell them, but it can be arranged.”
“That’s good to hear. I have some diamonds that I’d like to see about selling then please.”
“May I see them?”
“Certainly,” agreed Cameron. He withdrew a velvet pouch from his pocket and set it onto the counter. Mrs. Claire spilled a few out onto the counter and gasped.
“Is something wrong?” worried Cameron.
“These are amazing.”
“You think so?”
“I’m no gemologist, but these are extremely nice. I didn’t know diamonds came in so many colours. Where did you get them?”
“Can you keep a secret?” whispered Cameron conspiratorially.
“I’m a professional secret keeper, I won’t tell a soul.”
“I make them.”
“No! How?”
“Did you ever see the Superman movie where he pressed a chunk of coal and made a diamond?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Well, I alter matter, so I tried compressing some coal until it became so dense it made a diamond. I also tried adding some other elements to impart colour, and voila.”
“But these are all cut.”
“They weren’t very pretty raw, so I polished them up.”
“Okay, I just needed to know that they weren’t stolen,” assured Mrs. Claire. “Ms. Hartford is leaving for New York tomorrow, she’s already going to visit the diamond exchange so I’ll have her take your diamonds and get them appraised. Now, Whateley retains a ten percent fee, do you agree to the terms?”
“Yes. I understand and wish to proceed.”
“Good. How much money had you wished to keep on hand with Whateley?”
“Will a hundred and fifty thousand be enough to last for a couple months?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay, let’s start with that then.”
Cameron had been hoping to find a suitable space for the entire training team. He’d cleared out the radiation from a couple of abandoned classrooms already, those held merit as a team room but didn’t offer any pizzazz. He was looking for something with a little zing.
He was baffled by the sign in the hallway at first, it read in big block letters: HYPERBOLE, but the last E was crossed out with a red line, then a W had been scrawled in underneath with an arrow pointing up between the O and L. Entering through the double doors he began to eradicate the radiation that had flooded this section of Whateley thirty-odd years ago. He’d been keeping his sight focused upon dealing with that problem to pay much attention to anything else.
He finally clued in, it was a bowling alley: Hyperbowl. Some English teacher must have come up with the name no doubt. The area it encompassed was huge, replete with four bowling lanes, a snack bar, an arcade and an eating area. It looked like a 3D picture frozen in time.
Jackpot!
He wandered around removing all the contaminating radiation, and cleaning off all the surfaces from the fine layer of dust that had settled, plus the stink which hung heavy in the stale air. The snack bar had a small kitchen which was surprisingly clean. Still, he needed to dispose of the long-since expired and rotten food in the cupboards and inside the vending machines … even if the Cheese Puffs and Twinkies still looked edible.
Along one wall of the arcade stood seven old-time pinball machines, which back in 1974 must have been the going concern. Beside those was another upright box called Pong, it was the only computerized game present, probably the only video game at the time.
In the middle of the arcade was a full-sized pool table, off to the side of that was a foosball table, and folded up in the corner was a ping-pong table. This must have been Whateley’s main recreation centre back then … How did the school keep a disaster like this under wraps?
The eating area could sit upwards of twenty people, it had a retro look like a fifty’s diner. It boasted solid Crome chairs with red cushions, the red fabric had sparkles in it - which must have been a thing in the day; either the fifties or seventies Cameron didn’t know. Much to Cameron’s delight, sitting in a corner sat a big ol' Wurlitzer Juke Box.
He’d have to come back and do a final sweep to ensure all the radiation was gone, but he was going to have a hard time not blurting out what he’d found to the gang. His battery was at eighty percent, he could continue for a time yet.
Back out in the tunnel and down the hall a short way he came upon another classroom and reality came crashing in. The door read: Nuclear Sciences, and it was by far the hottest radiation he’d encountered so far, he’d stumbled upon ground zero.
Kane Hall
Debbie was beside herself, when the two Security guards had collected her from her room at Melville and escorted her to Security’s headquarters, she hadn’t a clue what she’d done wrong.
All she’d been told was that she needed to come with them. Talk about giving somebody a panic attack! And these two guards had been tight lipped the whole way, all their body language said was: ‘don’t mess with me,’ so she didn’t.
Deb was shown directly into a conference room, at least that’s what the sign on the door called it, it looked and felt like an interrogation room to her. Being called into the headmaster’s office at her last school and getting reamed out for mutating was too fresh a memory. She was preparing herself for the worst, what else could she do?
She was left alone inside the room, the reflective glass window was undoubtedly a one-way mirror. The table was bolted to the floor and the chairs were cheap plastic like you’d find on patios, they wouldn’t do much damage if tossed. Deb felt entirely alone and defenceless but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
Deb sat primly in the chair facing the mirrored window, ensuring her clothes looked proper, and adjusted her hairband in the reflection, then waited quietly.
A large man entered, he brought with him a can of diet cola and offered it to her. Deb hated diet pop, it never tasted right compared to the real stuff. But she took it and said, “Thanks.”
“Thank you for coming. I’m Franklin Delarose, Chief of Whateley Security,” at that he showed her his ID, and sure enough he was whom he said.
Deb rifled through her little clutch bag and dug out her student ID card, holding it out to the man: “Deborah Hastings. But I suppose you knew that already.”
“I did. Miss Hastings, I need to ask you about your gun.”
“My gun? Did somebody steal it? I turned it over to the lady when I signed up for Firearms Safety.”
“I’d like to know how it came into your possession?”
“The gun? My dad gave it to me. Just before I left home he slipped it into my purse and told me to be careful.”
“Does your father keep guns at home?”
“Not that I ever saw. That was the first time I’d ever seen a gun in real life. It freaked me out.”
“So your father wouldn’t be in the habit of carrying a firearm on his person?”
“My Dad? He’s a banker, I don’t think he’d ever held a gun before either.”
“What bank does he work for?”
“The Financial Investment Fund International, or FIFI, which is also my Mom’s dog’s name.”
“Had you ever visited your dad’s office?”
“No. He likes to keep us distant from his work, and you wouldn’t exactly call us a close family.”
“Have you fired your gun at any time?”
“Heavens no, I didn’t know the first thing about it. It’s why I’m taking Firearms Safety,” confessed Deb. Her admission brought her concern to the fore. “Be honest with me, is it so dangerous here that I need to carry a gun?”
“It shouldn’t be necessary, but I won’t lie to you, Whateley houses some individuals that keep me armed at all times. But that’s why my Security team is here, so you don’t have to be afraid.”
“Would my father know that? I’m not sure why my dad gave me a gun, it was so unlike him.”
The trifecta of trouble rode the elevator down to the powers testing area located under Whateley Academy. It was only Charlotte who had received the notice that she was to undergo testing, but Rachelle smelled a rat. The testing performed by the MCO back home in BC had been thorough, they’d all been issued MIDs. Maybe it was nothing, perhaps they only wanted to see if Charlotte had changed as her manifestation continued.
Perspicacious had counselled her little sister to downplay her abilities. If people knew that she could boost other mutants and heighten their powers rating, it could spell trouble of the worst kind. No, there had to be a lid put on this, and nailed down. So, they all agreed upon a story that had Excelle only able to mildly increase abilities - limited to her brother and sister. That’s why all three of them had come together.
Tim was happy, he’d gotten the job, and his first day was Friday night. There was a little restaurant in Whateley’s housing Village called the Blue Moose, they wanted to expand business so were starting pizza delivery and other take-out food. The idea of having a Speedster get deliveries out to customers within minutes was too tempting a service for the restaurant’s purveyors; a couple of Canadian goofball brothers, to pass up.
The elevator door opened up to bring them into a sterile environment, it looked like a hospital with people milling about in white coats carrying clipboards or electronic pads. There were two white coats: a man and a woman, waiting near the elevator and hastened to greet the day’s guinea pig.
“Miss Excelle?” asked the woman.
“That’s me,” said Charlotte stepping forward after looking at her siblings for confirmation.
“Super,” confirmed the lady. “We’ll take good care of you. Your friends can leave.”
“This is my sister Perspicacious, and my brother Swift. I need them to be able to show you what I can do.”
“No need, we’ve already arranged some volunteers as test subjects. If you’ll come this way.”
“No. You don’t understand. I need them.”
“Explain!” demanded the man in too abrupt a manner. Charlotte shrinking away from him, it fell upon Rachelle to intercede.
“My sister is trying to tell you, that her abilities are linked to me and our brother. Beyond her physical - Exemplar abilities, she can increase our - that is my Psychic ability and my brother’s super speed for short periods. It only works on us you see.”
“Interesting. We’ll need to run tests to verify that,” stated the man. That he doubted their claim was apparent, Rachelle could sense that outright - but his desire to disprove their ruse was worrisome. He had ulterior motives.
“It looks like we’ll need to establish baseline power sets for each of you first, then we can proceed with enhanced testing. If you’ll follow me,” informed the lady. “My name is Rose, Tammy Rose. Everyone just calls me Rose.”
“Are you a doctor Rose?” asked Timothy.
“An intern, this is part of my practicum before I can become a full-fledged doctor.”
“What sort of testing is going to be conducted?” sought Rachelle.
“Oh, the usual stuff,” assured Rose. “A Physical examination, we’ll take some blood samples and do x-rays. Then you’ll get put through some standardized exercises to determine your physical limits, we’ll need those to check against any potential increases.”
“How long will it take?” required Rachelle.
“With three of you, likely all day. Had you any plans?”
“We’re to meet up for dinner with friends,” supplied Charlotte, hoping it set a time limit upon the torture session.
“That may not be possible, it’ll depend on how testing goes. I can try and get a message out if it looks like we’re getting into a time crunch.” Rose’s comment was sincere, she at least wasn’t trying to pull a fast one.
“Thank you,” said Rachelle, for the kindness and honesty offered.
“You’ll definitely be here over lunch. I’ll see about arranging for some nice high-calorie food to be brought in. Any allergies I should be aware of?”
“Spam, sauerkraut, and anchovies,” informed Rachelle, receiving assent from her sibs.
“Now there’s a recipe I’d hate to meet in a dark alley,” admitted Rose, earning her a laugh from the three, as she directed them into change rooms.
The suits provided had sensors positioned at all key areas of the body, held fast by the suit’s stretchy material. Wires ran every which way gathering together into plug-in harness ports, range of movement wasn’t hindered, but at the cost of looking like a poorly realized Halloween costume - like Frankenstein met the Mummy.
Charlotte looked at her sister and couldn’t hold back a laugh until Rachelle pointed at a mirror so she could see herself. They both had to laugh to dispel nerves.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Charlotte.
“It has to be,” said Rachelle, to then add mentally ‘They're up to something. Don’t let your guard down, and play the game.’
Charlotte nodded in understanding.
Rose showed them to a medical clinic where they got weighed, measured, and each given exams for vision and hearing. Blood was withdrawn and urine samples collected, that should have happened before being told to wear the tight fitting sensor suits, an afterthought Rose noted on a clipboard.
There were technicians who set the equipment up for them, and other interns who ensured the tests ran smoothly, and of course, Rose who interacted directly with the three. But the doctors, or scientists - the minds running the show, they always remained behind the scenes, always just out of Rachelle’s range of telepathy. That made Perspicacious more on edge.
Timothy enjoyed a chance to run, to cut loose for a change. As a level three Speedster he could sustain fifty miles per hour, the treadmill he was on had been built for just that purpose. Swift had to live life in slow motion, he had to think about every step he took and take it at a snail’s pace. It only felt natural when unrestrained and he loved it.
Swift drew special attention during his acuity testing, he was put in front of a computer keyboard and told to type as fast as he could. This was where most speedsters’ inability to process information at super speed began to falter. They might be able to type incredible word-per-minute counts, but the errors got worse the faster they went. Timothy didn’t, his improved.
Another speed test was to assemble a jigsaw puzzle, a spacial relations exam as Rose explained it. How fast he could put a 1000-piece puzzle together was timed, Tim was to hit a start and stop clock, something you might see for speed chess.
Rachelle got to play the ‘what’s the next card game’ staring at a computer. She couldn’t read computers, only the computer operator. Then she had to pick from a lineup who had the red apple, each of the five volunteers had apples but only one had a red apple. Then she was to discern what her test subject had eaten for breakfast as he was busy reading a book, she had to look underneath his mental focus.
It was a completely new experience for Rachelle to be put into a driving simulator. She was told to scan the volunteers who walked past the booth she was in, while driving, determine all those who had pets, and if they were either a cat or a dog. The Psychic had beads of sweat after the test finished, she was spent and needed to sit down to recoup.
Charlotte had been given the full gambit of physical tests: strength, speed, and endurance, she’d had to lift dumbbells since the weight machine was still busted. Then it was on to flight testing: how high, how fast, how much could she lift while in the air.
It was lunchtime before they’d gotten to testing any boosting. Rose had to scatter the disappointed white coats before they devoured the plate of sandwiches she’d managed to secure for her patients. The vultures circled looking for leftovers while the trifecta ate. None of the ones in charge approached with answers for Rachelle to pick their brains.
Rose sat down with them, and partook of a sandwich with them, it was cucumber with cream cheese which wasn’t half bad. Rose had a look of concern as she asked: “Perspicacious, do you have a driver’s licence?”
“No, I’m not old enough yet.”
“Good. While you were driving you went through three red lights and sideswiped two cars.”
“Oh, no! Was anybody hurt?”
“It was a simulation, nobody got hurt. But it shows that you can become very distracted while using your Psychic abilities, something to be aware of in the future,” counselled Rose.
“I’ll have to remember that,” determined Rachelle. “How did I do - Psychic wise?”
“You’re rated as a third-level Psychic, no difference from your original results.”
“How can you rate someone?” wondered Charlotte.
“That’s a bit tricky to explain. A point scale is used, so the higher the number of points you’re assigned, the higher the rating.”
“I don’t understand, do you mean like one to ten, how do you tell the difference between someone who’s a three for four?”
“Okay, so, the scale is from zero to seven. But between each number there are decimal places. Think of it this way, if you could lift a hundred pounds that would give you a score of one, making you a level one Exemplar, but let’s say you only lifted ninety-five pounds, that would only give you a point nine-five score, so not quite a level one or we might call that a low-level Exemplar one.”
“I lifted over a thousand pounds today, does that make me a ten?” assumed Charlotte, tickled by the idea of calling herself a ten.
“No. You see, to be classed as an Exemplar you need to exceed what an average baseline person can do. That number is hard to establish because you have people who train constantly like olympic athletes, against those who are sedentary, we look for someplace in the middle and that changes often.”
“Okay, so …” puzzled Char.
“As a number, I’ll throw out there two hundred and fifty pounds as being the maximum weight a baseline human can lift. You lift more than that you’re a level-one exemplar. Rachelle, for example, lifted three hundred and twenty pounds, placing her in the lower reaches of a level one Exemplar, let’s say a 1.3.”
“She can do better,” assured Charlotte.
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
“What then sets the bar to become a level two?”
“In the lower ratings, like a level two’s - it would be twice the baseline score. So lifting five hundred pounds.”
“And above level two?”
“Then math gets involved, a level three wouldn’t simply be three times a baseline’s scoring, it’s closer to doubling a level two.”
Charlotte was curious, “So what am I?”
“You scored as a 3.7, which I should add is 0.2 higher than what you scored with the MCO.”
“Do ratings change?” asked Swift, a worthwhile question from Rose’s head nod.
“Just like with an athlete, training and exercise can account for some increase, but there’s limits on what a body can achieve. That’s why it’s exciting to see what effect boosting has. There’s quite a bit of buzz around here today with everyone wanting to watch, but you didn’t hear that from me,” conspired Rose.
“What’s next?” asked Rachelle as she stood to wipe crumbs off the sensor suit, turning around to scan the room in the process.
“How do you boost?” wondered Rose.
“I touch them. Exposed skin works best, but doesn’t have to be,” explained Excelle.
“Let’s head back to the weight room to get started,” advised Rose.
As they walked, Rachelle whispered to her sister “Boost me all the way.”
In reply Charlotte was confused: “But …?”
“Trust me, I’ll fake it. I need to know what they’re after,” advised Rachelle, she received a head nod, albeit uncertain about the newly formulated plan.
Timothy went first, Charlotte played up the boosting, making a show of how it took minutes rather than just a second to impart, and that it was a strain to do. In reality, she just gave him a little bit.
Swift stepped onto the treadmill and began to run, and run, and run some more.
Meanwhile, Rachel got boosted, full-on, as requested. She was set up lifting weights, it was Rachelle’s turn to make a performance. She was started out at where she had maxed out before. In a way, she wanted to know just what she was capable of now, but that would ruin the whole plan to protect her sister, her family.
So while she could have lifted more, much more, she held back. Rachelle read the minds of those monitoring her, giving them just enough improvement to say boosting had an impact, but no more than that. The collected minds said Timothy had increased by a factor of 1.1, she kept herself to 0.9 gauging from the results she could glean from those watching.
As for those watching, she delved into their minds. They had hopes that Charlotte would break open the doors to unlimited feats of power, that mutation was the key to making supermen, one and all. For some it was purely the science involved, to others, it was all about building the perfect soldier, weapons of war.
Rachelle could understand the scientific curiosity, however, world conquest was her greatest fear, and why Charlotte had to be kept from their clutches, they were doing the right thing. She grunted to say she had lifted all she could, shaking her arms as if buckling under the strain.
The Psychic testing went much the same, she allowed them to see a minor improvement, she even purposely hit a couple of cars in the driver test. It was when they sat her in an interview room, a departure from previous testing, that Rachelle wondered if her bluff was being called.
The manifestation of Louis Gentz was brought in, she smiled at him, he was her student advisor and a teacher. They engaged in a conversation, two actually, one spoken aloud for the benefit of those listening in and a complete fabrication of pleasantries and inane questions, the other conversation was purely a mental exchange.
‘Rachelle, you’re holding back. Why?’
‘I found out what they plan to do to my sister if they discover what she’s capable of.’
Louis read what she’d dug up, he also checked the minds of those holding sinister intent. He pondered her dilemma, and mulled the consequences of the situation.
‘What’s your plan?’ he finally asked.
‘We want them to believe that only my brother and I can be boosted, because we’re family. And just to a limited degree.’
‘My dear, I’d say you’re a level six right now. Do you really want to walk around with that much untrained power?’
‘No. I had hoped you might teach me how to control this. It’s just …’
‘You would sacrifice yourself to protect your sister.’
‘I would, I will.’
‘I’ve made many mistakes in my life, I’ve had too many try and push me into doing unforgivable things, make me into a weapon. I won’t condemn your sister to that life. What do you need me to do?’
‘Tell them I’m only a level four Psychic, a boost of one level’
‘Done,’ mentally agreed Mr. Gentz. To then speak: “We’re going to have some interesting lessons, you and I.”
“I hope so,” concurred Rachelle.
“You wouldn’t play chess by any chance?”
“I can learn,” volunteered Rachelle, receiving an agreeable head nod in return.
Louis’ manifestation de-rezzed, leaving Rachelle alone in the room, to then get collected by Rose and brought back to join her family. Tim was still being tested for acuity and accuracy at speed, he hadn’t needed to hold back, only getting a partial boost.
Charlotte was being peppered with questions - badgered about why she couldn’t boost anyone other than her brother and sister. She was a master at making the face of disdain which says either: ‘you must be joking?’ Or ‘are you brain dead?’ It’s all in the eye roll.
Earlier, Charlotte had been directed to boost some volunteers; an assortment of Bricks, Exemplars, Energizers, all fairly low-level mutants, they all wanted more - much more. After supposedly boosting, the test subjects underwent rigorous testing, they all showed no change. Disappointment was in the air, as were angry words.
Disgruntled scientists checked and re-checked the findings, they’d expected results - different results to the ones received, ones in keeping with their designs. Charlotte however, apologized for the wasted effort, showing contriteness for failing to meet expectations.
Rose provided a tally once the testing results had been analyzed and dissected. Timothy gained a solid 1.1 rating from boosting, making him a Speedster 4.1. Rachelle increased to a Psychic 4.4 and Exemplar 2.3. They both had new MID’s issued to reflect the dual ratings of boosted and not, and Charlotte’s MID was updated as well.
A follow-up examination was scheduled in three months, since Charlotte continued to manifest it was likely her Exemplar rating could climb over time. Rose escorted them back to the changing rooms, then waited to take them back above ground. The gracious intern shook each of the siblings’ hands, but slipped a small piece of paper to Rachelle in a sleight-of-hand trick. When well out of sight Rachelle opened it, it read: Good deke, I won’t tell.
Kane Hall
Cameron was asked to wait in the interview room he’d occupied many times before, instead of being roughly escorted, this time he’d received a note in the cottage’s post box. He’d showed up as requested, still sipping on the Orange Whip he’d acquired at Melville Cottage’s coffee bar, he was developing a habit.
He was sucking up the dregs from the bottom of the cup - good to the last drop. The door opened and Admiral Everheart ushered a suited man in, he claimed a chair as did the Admiral acting as Whateley’s representative.
This could go so many ways thought Cameron, too many people after him. It wasn’t until Outlook looked into the man’s wallet and spied his credentials: an insurance investigator. He breathed easier, but it didn’t end his curiosity.
It was Everheart who broke the ice: “Outlook, this is Mr. Stewart with the company Great American Insurance. He’s investigating what happened to Dillon Chapel.”
“I appreciate your showing me the site Ms. Everheart. You don’t need to stay.”
“I do actually, it is Whateley’s policy to have someone present during any outside questioning of students. It’s a matter of security for the youths entrusted to us.”
“The questions I need to ask could be construed as personal in nature. As long as your presence doesn’t deter imparting sensitive information. I don’t object.”
“Outlook?” sought Everheart if he would comply.
“Am I under obligation to answer all questions asked?” requested Cameron.
“No, you can of course decline to answer,” assured Mr. Stewart. “But we had hoped to obtain as accurate an account as possible. I have already spoken with Constable Kenneth Tallman who provided some very interesting details which you can hopefully corroborate.”
“Will Great American be releasing a full statement for Whateley’s records?” asked Cameron, his question surprised the Admiral, even though she was wondering the same thing.
“We shall provide a complete report of our findings,” promised Mr. Stewart.
Cameron gave the situation consideration, mulling over the best course of action to take. His delay was interpreted as stalling.
“Outlook?” was asked again by Everheart to nudge him along.
“All right, ask your questions,” acquiesced Cameron.
“Do you wish the record to show your name as Outlook, or can I use your given name?”
“Whateley requires our student’s identities to remain secret.”
“Very well, I respect the need for privacy. Constable Tallman referred to you on occasion as Sergeant. Is that a correct designation?”
“At the time, I was a Staff Sergeant with the RCMP, so yes, Sergeant is suitable.”
“And now?”
“I was promoted to Inspector,” revealed Cameron.
“I didn’t know Inspector was a rank used by the Canadian police?” piped in Admiral Everheart.
“Typically not. I was granted an exception, due to my not undertaking regular policing duties, and started working on a part-time basis.”
“Would regular policing duties have included the questioning of MCO agents?” asked Mr. Stewart.
The tack this interview was taking added twists Hive took a keen intense interest in.
“A sting operation was staged after a court case found the MCO had overstepped their mandate. In part, it required Constable Tallman and myself to conduct interviews to ascertain who within the MCO was guilty of misconduct. It was coordinated to occur in one fell swoop across Canada.”
“This is why the use of Teleporters was required?”
“Yes, the distance we needed to cover, in so short a time could only be accomplished by the support provided by Teleporters.”
“I see. So, it was during one such teleportation, that you and Constable Tallman were deposited into an, how was it described: an inter-dimensional void?”
“Deposited?”
“Have you a better description of events?”
“If you call being forcefully yanked out while in transit, to then become the low man in a dogpile, then sure, deposited works.”
“I’ll be certain to make note of that. Describe this void?”
“I can’t.”
“You wish to withhold information?”
“I was blind and unable to see, I don’t know what the void looked like.”
“Are you not considered blind now?”
“Yes. Although, my sight is not considered a sense as medically defined.”
“What prevented you from seeing?”
“The void is a pocket dimension where those in opposition to God have been ‘deposited’ to await judgement.”
“The wraiths, I believe you called them.”
“Yes, they rebelled against God and had to be removed. They’ve been placed into a holding cell - that would be a good description of the void. The void is completely isolated from God, so my sight ended while in that environment.”
“I don’t understand. How did a Teleporting accident deposit you in this void?”
“A good question. My hypothesis is that Teleporters, or some of them anyway, step out of our dimension into another one in order to cross the distances they travel. That’s just my thoughts on the matter, there may be better explanations out there.”
“You and the others, were repeatedly attacked by these wraiths? Correct?”
“They afforded us little time to do anything besides defend ourselves.”
“What had they hoped to gain by attacking you?”
“We were nourishment to them.”
“Explain that … please.”
“God is the source of life, being cut off from him, the wraiths seek other forms of energy to sustain themselves.”
“They eat people?”
“Not quite, they suck the life force out of a person. That, or they suck upon these teats that are scattered around the place. I would say those are their main source of food.”
“That aligns with what I’ve already been told. How many of these teats were struck while fighting off the wraiths?”
“Hmmm. Four, maybe five.”
“How long a time frame would the attack in which striking these teats have taken?”
“Less than an hour. Why?”
Digging into his briefcase, Mr. Stewart placed a series of photographs on the table. Cameron had noticed them earlier when he’d scanned the briefcase’s contents, you can’t be too careful.
“These are pictures of destroyed buildings. One in Scotland, another in Latvia, and Portugal. Great American has been in consultation with insurance companies involved overseas," he provided while pointing out each of the scenes of devastation. “Now this is a church in Lafayette Louisiana I am also investigating. The thing that they all have in common, is that they were all destroyed within an hour of each other, exploding without any discernible source of ignition. We are trying to determine the cause.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Some injuries, no fatalities - fortunately. You can see why insurance companies are curious about circumstances surrounding buildings blowing up, for no apparent reason. Which brings me to Whateley Academy, to have twelve people exit from another destroyed building, is beyond coincidental.”
“I’m beginning to understand your interest.”
“Now, I have sworn statements saying you had nothing to do with creating the portal used to expedite your escape from the void. Constable Tallman emphasized that he had to forcibly drag you through the portal. Is this accurate?”
“I felt the risk of us entering an unsecured portal was too dangerous. We had no way of knowing where it would discharge us.”
“Had you any insight into where … ‘nourishment’ was coming from?”
“After we arrived at Whateley, I deduced that Patricia had managed to open a portal following a conduit, that sustaining energy was originating from Whateley’s Chapel was a surprise. I had no prior indication that this was happening. Nor had I known that the other teats were linked to locations in our realm.”
“Interesting, I believe I have what I need. Thank you for your willingness to speak with me.”
“Will Great American Insurance be settling our claim now?” asked Samantha Everheart, it’s what she’d need to provide to administration, to answer the burning question about Dillon Chapel.
“Ms. Everheart; I don’t know. I have a humdinger of a report to write, one that quite frankly is going to call into question my mental stability. Your guess is as good as mine.”
The Tunnels
Cameron slumped to the floor exhausted. Matter manipulation took a toll, it depleted his battery and left his body ragged, he needed to rest, and taking a break was overdue. The Nuclear Sciences classroom had required some thinking outside the box … by making a box inside a box, well a sphere if you feel the need to get picky. He’d encapsulated the experiment gone awry, the plutonium which had been excited to critical mass was now fully contained within an all encompassing energy-absorbing ball.
The raw energy being released by the atomic reaction was getting siphoned through collectors into a massive bank of batteries. Some of that energy became electricity which powered the underground area Cameron had reclaimed, the rest was held in reserve until Cameron wished to fill up his own personal battery when needed.
As an extra precaution, Cameron had surrounded the entire classroom by six feet of solid rock, made super dense so nobody would accidentally expose it - themselves. He drank an energy drink - one of those electrolyte replacing sport drinks, and chewed upon a chocolate-covered granola bar. His battery might be full but his body was depleted.
He picked himself up and made another sweep of the tunnels to remove any lingering radiation. He’d decided that the three classrooms he’d found could be used as exercise rooms, one of which he set aside for weight training with exercise equipment like treadmills and stationary bicycles.
In another classroom, he chose to make a pool, which simulated a river so you could swim against a current instead of doing laps. He missed the benefits of time spent in water to strengthen his muscles, and hoped he wasn’t being selfish in making a pool. To alleviate his concern he made a sauna and hot pools for soaking in, space enough for everyone to relax in.
He left through the entrance in Deb’s workshop, she had been hard at work making a secure way to keep her stuff safe. It meant she needed to trust her teammates, to give them access into her private domain, but she had willingly agreed.
Cameron closed up the secret passage built into one of Debbie’s tool storage units, locking it up tight. He also checked that her workshop door was secured before leaving, ensuring the scanner Deb had constructed was working, it detected and disabled bugs. Those pesky eavesdropping devices had a way of showing up too frequently, it seemed being a nosy Parker was a favourite pastime at Whateley.
It was late Friday afternoon, Lynn had said she had some personal business to attend to - and hadn’t said any more about it. Tim was at work delivering pizza. Max was at a social mixer in Hawthorne. The girls were watching a chick flick in the private theatre Deb had reserved in Melville. It meant Cameron had the evening to himself - alone at last.
He’d checked out a book from the Library, one Mrs. Henderson recommended highly: Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne. He wanted to savour a good book, read it slowly, and get captured up in the telling. Downtime might sound dull and boring, but it was all he wanted, some peace and quiet.
Tomorrow he and Lynn would be visiting the Medawihla, so being rested to face people clamouring for a piece of you … it can wait, tomorrow’s worries are tomorrow’s problem.
Medawihla Village
Ella and Allan arrived at Whateley early to pick up Lynn and Cameron. Fortunately, Cameron had some breakfast sandwiches held in Storage so they didn’t need to go hungry. Ella drove her Jeep without the fabric top covering, the sun was up and it was a lovely bright morning, but the wind had Lynn and Cameron huddle together in the back seat. Whether that was from coincidence or by plan, either way, time to just enjoy each other’s company was appreciated.
The wind whipped Lynn’s hair about her face, she’d taken great care to make herself as presentable as possible, but had to give up trying to control hair that went wherever the air currents took it. Cameron stared at her in awe, wild-haired and laughing unfettered at the simple delight of being taken for a ride with the top down.
Lynn looked at him, she pulled some strands of hair away from her face to lean close to his ear, and ask: “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”
“You just haven’t been paying attention.”
“No, really. I’m serious.”
“No you’re not, you're Cameron,” teased Lynn with a giggle and held him a little tighter. “Do you ever get to cut loose? Just enjoy a sunny day?” She asked, her intense green eyes boring a hole into his psyche.
Cameron reached up to tenderly kissed her forehead, he then pressed his head against hers. His uncovered golden-hewed eyes looking directly into her emerald green iris’. “You are my sunshine.”
There was a sharp intake of air, Lynn was taken aback at his admission, “Do you mean that?”
“I do,” smiled Cameron, with a smile that encompassed his entire face. Compared to Lynn’s wild abandon it might not show, but he too was happier than he’d been in a long - long time. “I’ve been scared about letting you in, when my family died I didn’t think I could love … should love anyone ever again. It was pointed out to me that life without love isn’t much of a life at all.”
Lynn was dumbfounded at the admission, the pieces fit, although she needed to ask: “So, before, when you said you needed time, was that why?”
“In part. I didn’t know if I was allowed.”
“What do you mean, allowed?”
“To be happy. I’m fully dedicated to doing God’s will, I didn’t know if that allowed for me to pursue my own interests, like getting married. I was worried I couldn’t have a life beyond being God’s agent. Even then, I didn’t think anyone would want to share a life less ordinary.”
“Ordinary equals boring and not my style. I should tell you, your mentor paid me a visit while you were gone.”
“Really? What did he say?”
“That you were in danger.”
“Why would he do that? You’re a Precog, you’d have already known.”
“That’s just it, I didn’t know. You had vanished, I'd lost touch with you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Did his visit help?”
“It gave me hope. You should know: you anchor me, you give something solid to hang onto, so I don’t get lost in the abyss of dismal possibilities that could easily overwhelm me.”
“Basically, we support each other, lift each other up,” deduced Cameron. “I think that’s what a relationship is supposed to do. I wouldn’t exactly say we’re a match made in heaven, but pretty close.”
Lynn paused at that thought, she had always figured she directed her own path: “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Had you never considered that Precognition followed a set course?” quizzed Cameron, certain that she had puzzled over it. “Your Mom described being a Precog like driving down a highway and steering around all the obstacles encountered, isn’t it reasonable that somebody would have built the road?”
“I admit your explanation is plausible. All I know is, I’m not carrying the weight of the world when I’m with you,” claimed Lynn. “What do you suggest we do?”
“We should definitely spend more time together,” suggested Cameron.
“I’m not the one who’s always going off to God knows where,” accused Lynn in a light-hearted jest.
“Funny choice of words. Accurate, but funny,” admitted Cameron, he went where he was sent, it meant people’s lives. Cameron hoped his timid smile eased Lynn’s worry.
Lynn bit her lip, concerned she might have said the wrong thing. Rhododendron had commented that Lynn was a bit of a control freak, it had hit a cord with the Precog. Precognition lent itself to always have her one step ahead, it eliminated surprises, so in that sense, sure, she enjoyed the control it gave. But it came at a price, like enjoying the moment - as it happened, she was enjoying the moment with Cameron, why had she poked the bear.
Lynn looked sheepishly at Cameron, to see if he was upset. Rather, he snuggled in closer and put his arm around her shoulder since she was shivering. Lynn would have shifted into a cat, her fur would keep her warmer. But being held was nicer.
Cameron found it hard to converse with Ella and Allan in the open-air Jeep, it required yelling at them up in the front seats. So deep topics needed to wait until they arrived at the Village, that isn’t to say Lynn didn’t give her brother an occasional lite punch in the arm - to say she was glad to see him. It was traditional between them.
The Medawihla had company, vehicles were parked everywhere leaving little room for Ella to get through. Eloise Donner stood on her front porch and waved in greeting, Ben at her side. The guests of honour were ushered to the meeting hall where breakfast was waiting. Lynn could always find room for food and Cameron would never say no to hospitality.
After eating Lynn was whisked away to participate in a high-level meeting, it was a gathering of Were chieftains. Cameron wasn’t invited, neither was Ella or Allan, but Ella’s dad: Ulrich Oberon was asked to attend. Left alone to amuse themselves in the meeting hall, Ella and Allan asked how Whateley was going. Cameron explained that, so far, his classes had been - well, educational.
A group began entertaining themselves at the meeting hall’s dart board. For more privacy, the three moved away to a far corner.
“What have you two been up to?” Cameron asked of his two friends and potential future in-laws.
“Dad located another outpost of corrupted Were, we managed to surprise them and set another twenty Were free,” detailed Ella, she and Allan sat side-by-side, in an obvious show of affection. Cameron had earlier been asked to deplete boxes of filled energy balls, so he knew they’d been busy.
Cameron noticed the necklace Ella wore, it had round white stones, square black stones, and golden rings in a repeating pattern. It was something different on her so Cameron asked: “Nice necklace, does it have meaning?”
Allan answered: “I gave it to her, it’s my pattern. It indicates that she’s …”
“Married?” questioned Cameron.
“Spoken for,” inserted Ella. Receiving a huge smile from Allan.
“I’ve been meaning to ask. How does it work?” blurted out Cameron, who had to backtrack when he received blank faces as a reply. “Sorry. What I meant was, how do you shift from animal and have clothes on?”
Ella had the grace to laugh at Cameron’s clumsy question, “You would prefer we be naked?”
“No, of course not. I have no issue with you being clothed. I just don’t understand what happens when you become your animal, your clothes don’t turn into fur do they?”
Ella and Allan looked at each other in puzzlement, but Allan responded with his own question: “How is it you miraculously bring objects out of nowhere?”
“I have them stored in another dimension.”
“Then maybe you have answered your own question. It just is, it is what Were have always done. It’s like asking why we breath,” detailed Allan.
“Do Were have any problem wearing metal?” was Cameron’s follow-up question.
“A Were may wear what they choose, if wearing a suit of armour is to their liking, so be it. Although it does chaff badly,” enlightened Ella. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve wanted to give Lynn a gift, but I didn’t know if it would … get lost,” reasoned Cameron.
“She would treasure it, no need to fear her misplacing it,” advised Allan as his eyes zeroed in on a distraction across the hall. “This can’t be good.” He murmured, standing in response to a party coming their way.
“So this is the upstart who claims to be the Golden-Eyed saviour,” accused the interloper, trailing an entourage of hangers-on.
“I’m Cameron, who might you be?” said Cameron as he raised up and turned to face the confrontation, offering his hand in greeting.
“I am the real Golden-Eyed man!” boasted the man, slapping Cameron’s hand away, his arrogance purposely meant to intimidate. ”I was approved by the Oberon, and anointed by the Counsel of Elders. What gives you the right to claim my place?”
“Where have you been?” asked Cameron.
The man was startled at the question, he hadn’t anticipated such a sarcastic response. “That is none of your concern.”
“I just find it odd, seeing how that the Golden-Eyed man - was nowhere to be seen during the Were's fight against the Bastard’s forces.”
“I was rallying support, building up my army to wage war.”
“Well, at least you’ve finally arrived: a day late and a penny short I might add. Oh! In case you hadn’t heard: the Were won.”
“A single battle doesn’t win the war,” he sneered in contempt.
”I’m curious, what strategy had you planned to employ to defeat an army of the corrupted, without succumbing to the Bastard’s machinations?”
“The Were would fight to our last breath, as the Were have always done.”
“Good thing it didn’t come to that, otherwise nobody would be left standing here.” Cameron said that so all around could hear, the growing audience coalesced around them and murmured assent to his statement.
“None of your trickery human,” he mocked, attempting to sway the crowd by dividing loyalties. “Only a pureblood Were is fit to lead the people. I challenge you to combat. To prove once and for all who the real prophesied Golden-Eyed man is. Then I’m going to claim the Pantheress as my bride,” he leered when saying the last. “I’ve waited a long time for her to present herself to me.”
“You’ll be waiting a lot longer buddy,” declared Cameron becoming annoyed, and dismayed at his affront to Lynn. “Tell me, what does a challenge involve?”
“You see! This pathetic human quakes in his boots crying for his momma like a frightened weanling. Is this your saviour? Is this your path to greatness? Then you lack vision and honour just like this whelp!”
It had devolved into a spectacle, a performer stepping onto a stage into the spotlight to win the favour of his audience. Cameron knew he was being set up, it was obvious, win or lose this buffoon only wanted to disgrace Cameron. It stung having the memory of his mother sullied, but to threaten Lynn - that he couldn’t let slide.
“I have plenty of honour, and these good people have already proved their worth. All you’ve ever done is spout off without considering which way the wind is blowing. Teresa left you hanging, I can promise you her daughter will do the same,” cautioned Cameron. “But if you’re itching for a fight, I’m willing to oblige. It’s just that I’ve never been challenged before, I don’t know if I’m supposed to kill now, right where you stand, or humiliate you first and then kill you.”
“Big words for such a small man, or should I say boy.” He stood pressing against Cameron, looking down his nose at him, his smile held no humour only animosity and hate.
Ella intervened, providing the insight needed: “A challenge is a test of worth, it is a duel of wits, skill, strength, or speed. Not usually to the death - that depends upon the contest and what weapons are chosen.”
“Who chooses?” sought Cameron, not letting the man’s presence intimidate him.
“If accepted, the one challenged picks the contest,” supplied Ella.
“And if the challenge is not accepted?”
“It is taken that the challenger was in the right, his claim was just and true.”
“I see, it’s a case of fight for your rights then. Very well, I accept the challenge.”
“How do you wish to meet your demise?” insinuated the challenger.
“I choose a game of Darts,” informed Cameron.
“You jest! You mock our traditions, you worthless - human,” derided the haughty man.
“Not at all. What I propose is we throw darts, a simple contest to pit our skills at marksmanship. The winner gets named the sole Golden-Eyed man,” Cameron needed to ensure all understood his motivation. “But let me be clear, the Pantheress decides her own future, nobody forces her against her will. Do you agree?”
“What are the rules of this game?”
“The game is called ‘around the world’, or a variation of it at least. We take turns throwing darts at a rotating dart board. The game requires we throw three darts into each of the twenty numbered wedges, a dart needs to land in the single point area of a wedge, plus one dart must land in the outer ring, one dart in the triple-inner ring. The game requires a player to finish placing darts in each wedge, going all around the board, before hitting the bullseye's ring and button, the first one to do that wins the game.”
“Agreed. You’ve already lost, I’m my tribe’s most accomplished hunter.”
A line was drawn across the floor that the contestants had to stand behind. Cameron fashioned a stand with a motor to turn the dart board which rotated on its axis 360 degrees, the board’s face was only seen momentarily by the contestants as it turned completely around. The speed was timed to ten rotations a minute and controlled by the scorekeeper with a switch.
After selecting three darts each from the hall’s collection, they each threw practice darts at the stationary board to get a feel for them. Then the contest started after a coin toss to see who went first, Cameron would throw second.
The board turned while the obnoxious man rocked back and forth trying to time his throw with the board’s movement. His first toss hit the board’s outer rim and bounced off the metal cladding, his second throw connected and stuck, as did his third - although in the back of the dartboard.
Cameron took the mark and stood fast, he watched the board for a moment, then in quick succession made his throws.
The scorekeeper stopped the dartboard to count the points. Cameron had put his three darts into the 20 wedge, hitting the triple, double, and single point marks. His opponent placed a single 18, his only scoring dart.
Cameron asked: “Have you a name, or do I call you Mud?”
“Quellen, a name you won’t soon forget.”
“You’re up Quellen, try a little harder won’t you, it could become embarrassing otherwise.”
Quellen managed to make all his darts stay, as did Cameron. The tally for Quellen was a single 14, a single 12, and a dud that had stuck into the board’s outer edge. Cameron threw all his into the 19 wedge, clearing it off his score.
On the third throw Quellen hit a bullseye, along with a double 12, and a single 19. Cameron continued to pick off the 18 wedge.
The scorekeeper had to wipe off the bullseye from the board since it didn’t count until the game’s final toss. Quellen’s supporters hissed in displeasure.
Cameron kept throwing at the board hitting the numbers sequentially in decreasing succession, he was into the single digits now. Quellen was falling far behind, only hitting wedges completely at random without rhyme or reason, rarely did he find the double or triple spaces.
The combatants were well into the game when Lynn and the Elders entered the hall. Cameron could tell that Lynn was angry, furious even. She glared at the Elders who wisely kept a safe distance from her. Lynn sat beside Allan and he brought her up to speed on the situation speaking in hushed tones.
The match was proving to be no match at all, Cameron commented: “Perhaps you should eat a sandwich.”
“Why?” sneered Quellen.
“If you’re the best hunter in your tribe, you must be starving,” illuminated Cameron.
Quellen huffed in displeasure, not deigning to answer the insult.
Cameron had methodically filled in his trip around the world, his score on the whiteboard stating he’d filled all the wedges. He only had the bullseye left to finish the game on his next turn.
Quellen stepped up to the line for his turn to throw, he was in a foul mood since his score lagged so far behind, his tally had gapping holes considering his lack lustre performance. As he readied his dart, he failed to begin his customary sway linking his timing to the board’s rotation. Quellen quickly spun and chucked the dart in hand as hard as he could, aiming at Cameron’s head. He clutched the two other darts into his fists to use as daggers when he jumped at Cameron, he began jabbing them at Cameron’s back.
Ella had spotted Quellen’s lack of normal behaviour, plus how Quellen’s companions had dispersed throughout the hall - his fan club had been rooting loudly for him, but had become silent when his score had fallen far behind. Ella alerted Allan, so he and a few trusted Were circled to track down troublemakers in the crowd, the hall was full of spectators who’d gathered to watch the event. Ella had caught Cameron’s attention, wordlessly indicating with her eyes of a potential escalation. Cameron acknowledged her concern.
The flung dart sailed at Cameron’s head, to be held suspended in mid-flight, inches from embedding into Cameron’s left eye, the projectile’s forward thrust was stolen much to Quellen’s shock, and the audience’s surprise. Quellen recouped quickly, his attack pushed Cameron down onto his knees, exposing his back, which Quellen repeatedly stabbed with his impromptu spears. However, Quellen’s blows had no impact since they didn’t connect, Cameron had raised his energy-absorbing field which stopped the dart strikes cold before inflicting injury.
A long sharp knife was withdrawn from Quellen’s boot, he wielded it in favour rather than the ineffective little darts. The golden eagle shifter took on a berserker’s demeanour; all or nothing, he was beyond reason, his vision clouded by images of his own greatness being in danger. He drove his knife at Cameron’s neck, his strike was thwarted when his knife was cleaved clear in two, the blade sliced off mere millimetres above the handle.
Quellen gasped in astonishment as Cameron’s blazing gold sword was sunk deep into his chest. The blade was immaterial at the moment, but could become solid and cut the man in half if so desired.
“Not only are you a sore loser, but you’re also a backstabbing coward,” pronounced Cameron, his voice bold and commanding as it echoed off the hall’s walls. “You’ve lost in every sense of the word,” claimed Cameron. “What’s more, you have threatened the girl I love. Sullied my dead mother’s name. You only get one chance: Run away, or fly off, just get out of my sight.” Cameron withdrew his blade to then place the tip under Quellen’s chin, tipping his face to look at Cameron: “Know this: If I ever see you again, I’ll pluck you like the chicken you are.”
Cameron pointed his blazing gold sword at the door, an indicator that Quellen should leave. Quellen scrambled on all fours to make a hasty escape, once he had his feet underneath him, Quellen shifted into his golden eagle form, taking that shape a few feet shy of the hall’s exit door. Quellen hopped the last distance to get outside, he then spread his wings and departed in as quick a retreat as he could muster.
Half of Quellen’s groupies also fled, to join their disgraced leader. A few remained behind, dropping to their knees in disgrace, seeking forgiveness from their fellow Were.
Cameron disappeared his sword, it could have gone much worse, bloodshed had been avoided. Stepping to the dart line, the scorekeeper took his cue and turned on the board’s rotation once more, Cameron threw his last three darts, one sticking into the bullseye’s outer ring, the last two placed dead center into the bullseye’s red button.
“And that, as they say, is all folks,” stated Cameron.
Lynn had stayed impartial during the match, too many eyes watching her every move. This whole contest, this whole day had been contrived by those who wanted to get rid of Cameron, and get her to submit under the Council’s control. It was all about ensuring their place - so that their future went unchallenged. Cameron shattered all anticipated outcomes and spoiled those plans.
Victory meant that Cameron could not be denied his role at her side, now it wasn’t just Lynn, the Council had to bend to their will. Now the Council not only had to contend with an unaffiliated outcast, but a wildcard human as well.
Wrapping Cameron in a hug, and kissing him in public, Lynn’s display had the staunch pureblood Were cringing. It closed the door on any jockeying to prevent the Golden-Eyed man and the Pantheress from assuming leadership among the Were.
Ella and Allan joined Lynn in congratulating Cameron, although they only shook his hand and gave him congratulatory pats on the back.
“When did you become so good at hitting targets?” sought Ella.
“I took a firearms course. Turns out I have very good hand-eye coordination.”
Cameron had been coerced into leaving the rotating dart board as is, everyone wanted to try it out and it had become a huge attraction among the Were. He’d have to check with Debbie to see if it could be patented. The atmosphere among the Were had become frosty, Cameron was welcomed amidst the Medawihla but some of the visiting guests had attitude problems.
Lynn was constantly being assailed by some group or another, and often sharp words would be spoken. The animosity on display was upsetting, so it wasn’t all that surprising when Lynn asked if Cameron was ready to leave - code for ‘get me outta here.’
A suitable excuse was made, one that allowed Cameron and Lynn to cut short their weekend plan.
Ella and Allan sat up front in the Jeep on the drive home, with the top secured overhead it held at bay the cool night air. Lynn slumped against Cameron, exhaustion oozed from her. She’d tired from dealing with contentious people who wouldn’t relent from applying pressure.
Lynn’s presence threatened their relevance and hold on power, she wanted no part in their schemes, there was no future down that path.
Cameron held Lynn tight, letting her rest her head on his shoulder, she revelled in the peace it afforded her.
“Thank you for today,” confessed Lynn. “Winning that challenge halted a power grab, and silenced a coming storm. I wasn’t sure you’d accept, then I’d be in even worse straits.” She didn’t look up at Cameron while explaining her reasons, ashamed she might have damaged their relationship, lost his trust. “I need you by my side, always.”
Cameron quietly shushed her, encouraging her to stay leaning against him. “I understand, it was a rough day for both of us,” he comforted her. “I learned something though. I hadn’t known that Were retain their belongings when shifting.”
Cameron retrieved something from out of his dimensional holdings, it was wrapped in a delicate green pastel colour scented paper tied with a dark green ribbon and bow. “I’ve wanted to give you something for a while, I hope you like it.”
Lynn took the gift and savaged the wrappings to get inside. In her hand was a pendant, the lustrous green stones shaped into a cats paw print, the setting was surrounded by thick gold. The gold’s deep yellow created a beautiful backdrop to highlight the deep green gems’ dazzling glimmer. Attached to the pendant was a woven gold chain that was supple yet strong.
“Are you proposing to me?” asked Lynn, such a gift among Were had significant meaning.
“A promise,” corrected Cameron, knowing that the right time wasn’t now. “I promise that nothing will stop me from loving you. I fought for you today, I will fight for you every day hereafter.”
“Are you sure?”
“As certain as I can be of anything,” confirmed Cameron as he tenderly kissed Lynn’s cheek, she flushed from the display, slipping the necklace around her neck and closed the clasp.
“Deal,” she replied and kissed Cameron on the lips.
The moment was spoiled by a harmonized “Awww,” coming from the front seats occupants. Chaperoning has its rewards, like ruining tender expressions of affection by making them uncomfortable. Isn’t that what having family is all about? Especially big brothers.
Cameron and Lynn rode in silence, Lynn slipped into sleep still holding Cameron’s hand and leaning heavily upon him.
The gates to Whateley Academy stood closed, the guard opening them for the stopped vehicle. The uniformed man approached the Jeep, asking: “Are any of you Outlook?”
Cameron identified himself, being told:
“You’re wanted at Doyle. Your friend was attacked.”
End Part 5
Stay tuned for Part 6
Whateley Academy
“Your friend’s been attacked.”
The words sent a shockwave through the boy, and the others inside the vehicle. But it was Cameron who moaned audibly, his vocalized “nooo!” indicative of how deeply upsetting the news was. Cameron’s insides wrenched, while the Jeep lurched forward.
Cameron had feared the worst, that having his associates come to Whateley, how they too could be targeted, because of who he was - what his assignment was. Events proved that his concerns hadn’t been misguided. As sayings go, as they often do, and proved true: “The friend of my enemy is my enemy.”
Ella drove her Jeep hard down the gravel road, coming to a screeching halt with rocks flying in the parking lot closest to Doyle. Cameron was beckoned to rush into Doyle Medical Centre. Lynn called after him, saying: “I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” as she with her brother and Ella … sister-in-law she supposed would be the best moniker to describe the Oberon warrior now, walked over with more decorum.
“We’ll stick around,” offered a visibly concerned Allan Franklin, in a show of compassionate support to his sister.
Lynn smiled at her brother, his concern was endearing, he was going to make a good mate for Ella. Ella for her part, was ready to protect and defend her friends - family. You could see it in how Ella was clenching her fists and was instinctively analyzing their surroundings for threats.
“You should come in and say hi; the gang is gonna love seeing you again,” recommended Lynn. Sometimes a distraction when distressed lightens the moment, knowing that others share your pain. Lynn was certain any friendly face would be welcome.
Stepping into Doyle’s admitting area, they found the members of Northern Lites: R.E.D., Werx, and Max. Cameron had already been taken into Intensive Care, with little more than a wave of greeting to his teammates in the waiting room.
Rho gave Ella a warm hug, while Lynn made introductions for the newcomers: Debbie and Max.
“What happened?” sought Lynn, a question her friends hadn’t expected to come from the Precog.
“Don’t you know?” wondered Deb, it didn’t make sense that she wouldn’t.
“Sorry, no clue,” admitted Lynn, it then struck her that she truly had no inkling whatsoever as to what had transpired, it was like a black hole had swallowed up an entire block of events.
“Tim was found outside Emerson, he’d been hurt - bad,” supplied Rho, hating to be the one to say it out loud, like as though it wasn’t real until someone admitted it.
Lynn hung her head, had she seen this - she would have done something to prevent it. That fact sat heavy on her heart. Allan reached out placing his hand on her shoulder, a gesture saying it wasn’t her fault.
“Is the perpetrator in custody?” questioned Ella, ever the practical one.
“We haven’t been told. Rachelle and Charlotte are in with their brother, it was Rachelle who alerted Whateley that Tim needed help. We don’t know what Security has done about it so far,” detailed Rho.
“Then perhaps Allan and I will go sniff out the scene. No point in us all waiting, I’d rather be doing something useful,” informed Ella. She received nods of acceptance from all present, they too felt similar but didn’t want to drift off and not be there for the team.
“You’re not students, Security won’t like having you wandering around campus,” interjected Deb.
“I have no intention of letting Security see us,” assured Ella over her shoulder as she and Allan walked away.
A red fox and a black-as-night panther stole into the shadows, silently and stealthily, traits of predators on the hunt.
Allan was unfamiliar with Whateley Academy’s grounds, so he followed Ella as she deftly wove her way through the trees and shrub beds that adorned the school, the natural camouflage providing adequate concealment for a nocturnal adventure. Emerson cottage only had one side that faced the trees, it cut down the potential areas for an attack to have taken place.
Both Allan and Ella were proven hunters, with enhanced senses sharp as one might expect of apex predators. With Ella being a fox, a member of the canine family, her sense of smell was unrivalled. Both of them scouted out the site where Tim had been accosted. They sifted through the evidence left behind, scents from three Security / Medics, Rachelle and Charlotte.
But underneath all that, were the unmistakable traces of two others, they came from, and returned to Emerson Cottage, which narrowed down the field considerably. One of them had a fondness for spearmint chewing gum, to mask his bad breath, and used a medicated skin cream that left a pungent smell. The second person excessively used scented hair care products and deodorants, and liked ketchup which left a lingering trace.
Ella might not know what they looked like, but she could easily find them just from their smells. A quick look at Allan, and he too had the trail. Ella paused, something on the wind caught her attention, Allan picked it up too.
A look and a bob of her muzzle told Allan what Ella planned. Allan glided silently through the shadows to the left, Ella darted through the undergrowth to the right. Ella broke through the trees to watch a rabbit move under the cover of an overhanging branch, it sat on its haunches, wide-eyed and attentive to every sound.
Ella moved out into the open, the rabbit’s attention was transfixed on her and it lowered itself down to avoid being seen. Ella ignored the rabbit, choosing instead to stealthily creep across the grassed area nearing Emerson’s front door, illuminated only by a single light posted on the walkway. The fox checked that her targets had entered the Cottage in question.
Allan used a burst of speed plus the cover of darkness to snatch up the rabbit in his jaws, he didn’t use his teeth - only pressed down with his mouth. The rabbit had such a fright that its heart nearly stopped, but it didn’t struggle to escape. Ella joined Allan as he moved further into the dense copse of trees, away from prying eyes.
Allan gently deposited the rabbit on the ground and backed away to give it room. Both Ella and Allan shifted back to human form, as did the rabbit.
“My apologies for the less than courteous introduction,” offered Allan. “We hope you might be able to help us, a friend of ours was attacked recently near here.”
“Swift, yes, we had been told to keep an eye on him,” informed the Were rabbit, he was a few years older than Allan.
“We?” puzzled Ella.
“We; I am one of the Watchers assigned to observe the goings on here at Whateley. Too many times have these humans endangered our home, then attempted to hide their misdeeds from us, flaunting Were rules. The Medawihla have posted Watchers as observers ever since the events of last year.”
“Did you observe the attack upon Swift?” questioned Ella.
“Yes, I reported it back to the tribe already. Is that why you're here?”
“We had been with the Pantheress and the Golden-Eyed man.”
“Aware and Outlook, are they well?”
“They are attending to Swift. What can you tell us of the attack?”
“Swift arrived with two pizzas, both heavily ladened with meat: pepperoni, and salami have got unmistakable aromas. He was only inside for a couple minutes, but he was forcibly dragged outside by two youths, bigger than Swift but they both displayed unnatural strength for their size.”
“Exemplars or Bricks,” deduced Ella.
“Bricks,” added the Were rabbit. “Swift attempted to fight back but his blows fell short. The boy was taken into the trees and beaten viciously. His assailants laughed as they struck him, they enjoyed inflicting pain.”
“You didn’t intercede?”
“Watchers watch, we don’t meddle in the affairs of men unless it impacts the Were.”
“Can you identify who did it?”
“I don’t know them, they’re new students housed in Emerson. One called the other Diesel.”
Lynn sank into one of the chairs, holding her clenched hand against her forehead in an obvious show of dismay.
Rho sat beside her, pressing her shoulder against her friends. At such a moment she hated not being able to touch, to provide simple consolation. But her emotions were in such turmoil her hands nearly glowed crimson.
Lynn sputtered, “I should have known. Why didn’t I know? Of all that Precognition provides, why not this? Of all things - why not be able to protect my friends?”
“It’s not your fault,” expressed Rho. She could never know just how much her roommate saw of the future, but she didn’t blame Lynn for what happened.
“Where’s Cameron?” requested Lynn of her team.
“A nurse took him back, the second he stepped through the doors,” informed Deb. “They’ve only let Rachelle and Charlotte see Tim so far,” detailed Deb of the situation. “Why did they let Cameron in?”
That Deb didn’t know the extent to which Cameron could alter matter wasn’t a surprise, she was new, she hadn’t had a chance to see what all Cameron could do. But Doyle and Cameron had a history, so it wasn’t a shock that they wanted him inside.
“He healed me when I was shot by the MCO,” explained Rhododendron. “I’m sure he’ll be able to help Tim.”
Cameron had been escorted into Trauma Room 1, not his first time in this room, or second, or third for that matter. Standing off to one side were Rachelle and Charlotte, they had both been crying, and Charlotte still had the look of distress that said she might start again any moment. Rachelle bore a more stern look, she’d moved past the initial shock and had entered into an anger fuelled mental zone. The sisters held hands, a sharing of emotion and support between the two.
Speaking to the sisters was Franklin Delarose, ascertaining how Rachelle knew that Tim was in trouble, their whereabouts at the time, the pertinent details to eliminate them as suspects. It was a classic assumption that whoever reported a crime was guilty of it.
Cameron gave a cursory gaze at Timothy lying on the examination table, blitzed on sedatives, and stripped of clothes with only a sterile sheet covering his midsection. Displays monitored his vitals and an IV drip administered a steady dose of morphine. His quick assessment resulted in Cameron emitting an audible “Oye!” at the extent of damage his friend had taken.
“What happened?” asked Cameron.
Delarose created a wall between him and the girls, preventing any interaction between them until his questions got answered.
“Where were you?” the Security Chief demanded, again working under the assumption that everyone was guilty until proven innocent.
“I’ve been off-campus visiting the Medawihla, both Lynn and I. We were informed at the front gate that I was needed at Doyle. I just walked in the door now.”
“When did you leave Whateley?”
“Early this morning, before breakfast. How long ago was Tim hurt?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
“The longer we wait, the worse off Tim’s gonna be. He’s only getting ten percent of the blood he needs to keep his left leg. It could fall off before you finish, so please, tell me when and how this happened.”
“He’s right Chief, we’ve got to act quickly if we have any hope of saving the boy’s legs. You’ll have to wait to conduct an investigation. Please!” requested the doctor, a man Cameron didn’t know.
“Fine, it can wait,” relented the big man. “I’ll expect a full accounting tomorrow,” his condition for stepping aside. Before leaving Franklin turned, saying: “I hope he recovers.”
His comment burst the dam and Charlotte broke into tears.
Cameron moved to the bedside and began his scan, while Rachelle provided the details she had pieced together: “Tim was delivering pizza, he was leaving Emerson Cottage when he was assaulted and dragged into the bushes. He’s been beaten up - badly. I notified Security when I sensed something was wrong with my brother.”
Rachelle sobbed, it took her a few moments to recoup her emotions. Charlotte hugged her sister which had the effect of Rachelle almost collapsing, if not for Charlotte holding her up. Charlotte took up the narrative: “Tim was wheeled into Intensive Care right away. It’s been maybe a half hour since Rachelle first freaked out, I called for medics to meet us at Emerson,” Charlotte shuddered before stating: “They want to cut off his legs … Tim couldn’t live with that … where have you been?”
Cameron cried, tears welled up and forced him to blink repeatedly, water rolled down his cheeks. Cameron wiped his tears away to then hug Rachelle, which Charlotte joined. He didn’t offer an explanation, he’d let his friends down, it was inexcusable.
“Can you help him?” begged Charlotte, that hope is what they’d held onto - how they’d coped so far.
“I’ll do everything I can,” assured Cameron. “I’m going to need quiet to focus. It would be best if you two went back to your room and tried to get some rest. Ask Max to take you, I’ll stay with Tim.”
“We both know Max wouldn’t hurt a flea,” admonished Rachelle.
“That makes him the perfect person to guard you. Besides, nobody in their right mind would dare try anything with Max around,” assured Cameron.
Tim’s sisters wanted to object, they wanted to stay close, they were family, all the family they had left. The bond they shared was tight and had only grown stronger since their father had cast them out. Rachelle stepped bedside and laid her hands on Tim's forehead, the psychic link she formed calmed Tim’s thoughts as she imbedded the knowledge that he was loved.
Rachelle addressed the doctor: “I eased his pain, and tried to calm him down.” Her look to Cameron was filled with desperation and hope. The conflicting emotions bespoke of the faith she placed upon Cameron, a reliance that put added weight onto the boys shoulders.
Stepping into the waiting room, Rachelle and Charlotte were overwhelmed by the outpouring of concern from their teammates. The commotion made was such a disturbance that the nurse on duty asked them to leave.
The whole team walked Rachelle and Charlotte the distance over to Dickinson Cottage. Lynn made a point of walking beside Rachelle, her head hung low.
“I’m sorry,” confessed Lynn, unable to look her friend in the eyes.
Rachelle considered what Lynn had said, replying: “You didn’t hurt Tim.”
“No, but if I’d seen what was going to happen, we could have … I could have prevented this,” confessed Lynn.
Rachelle stopped walking to confront Lynn face to face. “Did you know?” Her tone spoke of confusion laced with accusation.
“No, I didn’t,” admitted an ashamed Lynn. “But that’s just it, I don’t understand why. It’s the sort of thing I should have seen coming.”
“I didn’t know Tim was in danger either, until after it happened. There’s enough blame to go around, but it mostly falls on those who hurt my brother. I just hope Cameron can help him, Tim’s only happy when he’s running, if he can’t even walk - it will break him.”
The two girls hugged, the night was cool but their hearts burned. Grief, frustration, and worry, it was a recipe for anger, someone hurt one of their own. Lynn knew the scales of justice had been skewed, she’d speak with Cameron about what would right the wrong.
Resuming their way on the path to Dickinson, they met up with Ella and Allan, in human form. The whole group walked to Dickinson Cottage together, bidding goodnight on the doorstep. From there Max and Debbie departed, Max walked Deb to Melville to then join up with a Security patrol who escorted him all the way home to Hawthorne, no point taking chances.
It had been decided amongst Northern Lites members, that none of them should be caught alone, at least until the reason for the attack upon Swift was determined. The Weres decided to return to Doyle, Lynn wanted to be with Cameron, someone needed to watch his back while he deep dove into Timothy’s anatomy.
Lynn asked her brother: “What did you find?”
“Two Bricks attacked Swift. They grabbed him inside Emerson Cottage and forcibly dragged him outside. It smells of a set up. We should find out who ordered the pizzas, that might tell us who orchestrated this.”
“I can take it from here, you two shouldn’t stay at Whateley, it’ll get Security’s hackles up.” advised Lynn.
“About that. I was wondering, would Whateley allow you to receive combat training, as a Were? From a Were?” Asked Ella, raising a growing concern she had as an Oberon, ever since the battle with the Bastard, Lynn needed to know how to handle herself better in a fight.
“Interesting. I already signed up for some basic martial arts, but it only covers human fighting techniques. My reflexes are more cat-like, what I’ve learned so far seems ineffectual, for what I’m capable of.”
“I will speak with Eloise Donner to see about making arrangements,” concurred Ella.
“Alright, ask if Allan could act as Medawihla’s liaison between Whateley Security and the Were’s Watchers.”
Ella and Allan stopped dead in their tracks, it was Allan who broached the subject: “You know about them?”
“Don’t forget I’m a Were too. I spotted them my first day here,” scoffed Lynn, to then add: “I think it’s a great idea, but they don’t need to try and hide from me.”
“Okay then,” acquiesced Allan.
“I need to ask a favour,” segued Lynn.
“Such as?” sought Ella.
“I was approached by the Grove. A World Tree seed was planted, it’s taken root. The forces that keep the Grove alive are getting diverted to feed the seedling, the Grove is dying. I was asked to help find a new home for all those who shelter within the Grove. Will you help?”
Doyle Medical Centre
Doctor Philip Tenant provided Cameron what facts he had ascertained so far. Firstly, he explained that he was Ophelia’s husband, and she’d encouraged him to accept Cameron’s assistance, with any case under his care. All indicators painted an ugly picture about Timothy’s injuries, Swift’s kneecaps had been shattered beyond repair by repeated blunt-force trauma.
It had taken calculated strikes using immense force to inflict so much damage, the damage done included surrounding bones, both above and below the knee joints. It was the doctor’s medical opinion that his knees were unsalvageable, amputation was recommended.
Cameron looked at his friend’s knees, and saw the mess Swift had been left in. Had it just been the kneecaps themselves, surgery to install titanium knee replacements could be considered, but as it stood, without any solid bone to start with, no wonder the doctor believed the only viable option was amputation. Maybe prosthetic legs could be fitted later on, but it meant Swift would never run again.
Tim had other injuries, none as bad as his legs, but still, his beating had been without mercy. Tracing the veins and arteries, Cameron noticed the impeded blood flow, the internal bleeding creating grossly distended swollen, and blackened legs. It was a good thing that Rachelle had suppressed Tim’s nervous system, Cameron would have terminated all nerve clusters below the waist otherwise.
In a quick review, Tim had two black eyes, a broken nose, three cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, as well as internal injuries. Serious, but not critical, so placed as secondary concerns. Cameron had his work cut out for him, he took consolation from having rebuilt a hand for Ahmed, after that, Cameron didn’t feel out of his league helping Tim.
Cameron was aghast, having empathy for Tim’s agony. However, his demeanour was lightened when Lynn discreetly snuck into the room in cat form, hiding under a monitor’s cart, it was a moral boost he needed right now. Cameron dreaded to consider that Tim was hurt because of him, but that needed to be put out of his thoughts right now, first came Tim’s immediate health.
Doctor Tenant anxiously stood bedside, perhaps expecting Cameron to miraculously heal Swift by chanting and frantically waving his hands to and fro. Maybe that’s how magic healing worked, but Cameron didn’t use magic. It took a brief explanation about how Cameron needed to focus his sight on the injury down to the molecular level, to then knit bones back together. He’d need time - not a lot all told, but still, it would take time and much effort in consideration of the extent of damage wrought.
Cameron checked his battery: 83 percent, good, he wasn’t going to run out. But Cameron had also learned he needed to pace how much he did, so as to not overwhelm an injured body. Slow and easy since a body needed to acclimate - recuperate, on its own. Not to mention that too much rapid sensory input could inflict damage upon the mind, sending it into shock, just as bad as when getting injured - even if it’s undergoing healing.
Cameron commenced starting on Tim’s left leg, the bones at the knee had been pulverized, beyond recognition, not much remained but a calcium mush. After a while Cameron would sit in a chair to close his eyes to recoup his vigour, it also allowed Timothy a period to rest. Lynn would join Cameron in the chair and purred as he petted her fur. Cameron didn’t resume until Timothy had stabilized his breathing and circulation resumed. Even sedated, Swift’s body reacted to what Cameron did, it was better to let the swelling go down on its own, allow the body’s natural healing ability to do its job. It was a hard-learned lesson after repeatedly healing himself.
It was well past midnight before Cameron needed to stop, there was more to be done, but it could wait. Doctor Tenant had finished his shift and hesitated before going home, another doctor took his place: Doctor Cho, he stopped in to check up on what progress had been made. Cameron assured him that Timothy was stable. Upon that assessment and the improved vital signs being monitored, Timothy was removed from the Intensive Care ward and placed into a recovery room.
Once settled, with Tim still in a sedated slumber, Cameron slumped into the bedside chair and slept. Lynn found a blanket to cover him, then resumed her kitten form and curled up on him, keeping watch so no one disturbed them.
Dickinson Cottage
Rachelle and Charlotte donned their pyjamas in a wordless haze, just following the nightly routine rather than focusing upon the action. Rachelle was being brave for her little sister’s sake, but she too was upset and only keeping it together by a thread.
Rho was ready to cry as well if either of the sisters shed a tear. When Rachelle asked if Rho would stay with them tonight, she readily accepted. Charlotte and Rachelle huddled together on Charlotte’s bed, letting Rho have Rachelle’s. Sleep didn’t come, sniffles and choked breaths bespoke of worry.
Rachelle waited until Rhododendron fell asleep, she helped slide the Energizer girl into a deep dream-filled sleep. Once certain that the coast was clear, she rousted Charlotte, Charlotte had fallen sound asleep but didn’t complain about being disturbed. The two quietly changed into dark-coloured clothes, to then slip out of their second-story window, with Charlotte carrying her sister in flight away from Dickinson.
Staying away from the illuminated pathways, and using the trees as buffers, they arrived at Emerson cottage. Perspicacious reached out to touch the minds inside, looking for two in particular. At Doyle, Rachelle had helped her brother by dulling his terror at getting beaten, she mentally eased his fear and soothed the pain he was in. Of course, his mind had a clear picture of who attacked him, so now Rachelle did as well.
Perspicacious had also read the minds of Ella and Allan, learned what they knew, that had provided a name: Diesel. It took a couple flybys before narrowing it down, but Rachelle found the perpetrators. A couple of freshman Bricks, sharing a dorm room.
They even made it easy by leaving their window open for fresh air. Charlotte had only needed to disable one security camera during the search, she smacked it with a tree branch that had grown close to the cottage’s wall, a simple decoy to divert suspicion.
Climbing into the room the two Bricks remained asleep, Rachelle ensured they wouldn’t wake up during the intrusion. The Brick on the left was Diesel, the guy on the right called himself Foremost. Perspicacious dipped into Diesel’s mind, he was dreaming lewd thoughts about a girl he’d met. Beneath that, his mind was thrilled with the prospect of being welcomed with open arms into a group called ‘the Brickyard’, a collection of Bricks attending Whateley - he considered it a fraternity. That was also the belief held by Foremost.
It turned out that they had nothing against Timothy personally, they had been put up to beating him to prove themselves worthy of becoming members of ‘the Brickyard’, a hazing, a right of passage. Like guns, they had been pointed and sent off to wreak havoc. These two didn’t know who gave the order, only that it was relayed by Rho’s old foe: Unstoppable. These imbeciles had even gone back to Unstoppable’s room afterward to enjoy pizza.
It left no doubt, these were definitely the ones who’d done it. Undoubtedly lackeys, just the same: that they lacked good sense and a moral compass was no excuse. They were guilty as sin.
Rachelle was livid, how dare they! They had considered it sport, a good time, only a fore-gleam of things to come after manifesting as indestructible Bricks. They enjoyed hurting her brother.
It had been in the dead of night that she, Tim, and Char had had to runaway from home. Ever since then, the three of them had become entirely dependant upon each other, they looked out for each other, always. Rachelle protected her family with the passion a cornered animal would display fighting off any predator who threatened her family.
These two had earned her ire. As a Psychic, boosted by Charlotte, Rachelle let them have it, both barrels.
Having seen Timothy’s pain, his agony, and terror, Perspicacious implanted Tim’s hurt into his attacker’s minds. She wove the conflicting memories into a single perspective, each strike, each injustice, felt like it happened to them. In their minds, they had been attacked by each other, and suffered each blow like it had been afflicted upon their own body. That memory overlapping their attack upon Tim.
Leaving the room as they found it, Rachelle and Charlotte returned to Dickinson. Once back they returned to bed, after adjusting the time on the alarm clock. After a couple minutes Rachelle woke Rho, telling her that Charlotte needed to use the washroom, Rho volunteered to take her, they all went together - safety in numbers.
Only later did the clock get returned to the correct time, once Rho was asleep again.
Doyle Medical Centre
Cameron stirred, sleeping in a chair was never a good rest, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made. Lynn was curled up in a ball on his chest, she’d taken her kitten form and was contentedly snoring away, it was too cute, Cameron didn’t want to disturb her. Remaining still, Cameron checked on Timothy, he was doing well, he had bruises and was swollen, but he was improving.
Cameron steadied his breathing and layered his sight to look at more of Tim’s injuries, ruptured blood vessels in his kidneys and misalignments in his spine took Cameron’s attention away. Cameron was shaken rather violently, he was forced to leave unfinished what he’d been focused upon.
In the hospital room was a member of Whateley Security, the man was apologetic about waking Cameron, not realizing Cameron had been focusing upon healing Tim. Lynn was nowhere to be seen. The Security man asked if Cameron had been here all night, aside from a visit to the washroom two doors down, Cameron hadn’t left Tim’s side.
Lynn entered the room with two cups of hot chocolate in hand. She was also asked of her whereabouts, she confirmed she had been present with Cameron all night, watching over Tim. He could ask the night shift nurse about Cameron and a cat being here. Yes, she was the cat, she needed to confirm that tidbit of information.
The Security man strictly told them to stay put, Doyle had an emergency, and needed everyone to keep out of the way. Tim’s recovery room door was closed and the man stayed posted outside.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Lynn asked.
“Don’t you?” was Cameron’s reply.
“I didn’t see Tim’s attack coming, I … I, I don’t understand - what’s wrong with me?”
“I think I might know,” confided Cameron, reaching out for the cup of hot chocolate, while offering the only chair present to Lynn. “You see, there are events that must happen. It’s the reason I’m an observer. There’s stuff that can’t be avoided or re-directed, it has to be faced head on. I suspect, in this instance, your Precognition couldn’t interfere with what had to happen.”
“Why?” begged a perturbed Lynn.
“People’s motives need to be drawn out into the open,” enlightened Cameron, hoping it satisfied Lynn’s curiosity.
“I’m being tested?” balked Lynn.
“No, not you, I’m pretty sure anyways, but you couldn’t interfere. Preventing something that needed to transpire.” Cameron’s attempt at consoling his stressed girlfriend backfired.
Lynn asked: “Is Tim in trouble?”
“No, I don’t think so. Otherwise, why let me heal him? No, my guess is, something needed to happen to kick open a door. I’m sorry for how terrible it sounds, but what’s happened to Swift may just be the latest salvo in a greater conflict.”
“You better explain yourself,” huffed Lynn, Cameron’s words only raised her ire.
“Students coming to Whateley get checked over upon arrival, in case they’ve been planted by God,” explained Cameron. “Last year I was killed within minutes of arriving here. Ever since then I’ve had to hide who I am.”
“Is that why you keep your eyes covered? Why you have a mental block so Psychics can’t read you? Why you don’t shout to the world that you’ve come in God’s name?” demanded an exasperated Lynn.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, to all the above. People can’t know that God sent me, so I can get close enough to see what’s really going on. Recently, I had to wear a disguise to uncover what the Brotherhood of the Shard was up to. I need to stay below everyone’s radar here at Whateley for the same reason.”
“The Brotherhood of the Shard?” bemused a mystified Lynn.
“A group of fanatics who had designs on conquering the world. Along the same lines as the Bastard.”
“You stopped them?”
“Not me, no. God stepped in before it got out of hand,” illuminated Cameron.
“I’m confused,” confided Lynn: “If God stopped this Brotherhood, why hasn’t he done something about the Bastard?” stated Lynn at the discrepancy.
“Hasn’t he?” retorted Cameron.
Lynn froze, the thought had never occurred to her before, a proverbial lightbulb lit over her head. “All this time, it’s why you’ve been helping the Were. Even though you weren’t sent to do that.”
“You thought you had to trick me into being the Golden-Eyed Man,” revealed Cameron.
“You knew?”
“Not at first, but you were so committed, you willingly gave up everything to help your people. That kind of conviction deserves some assistance, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
“It does, you do,” assured Cameron, placing an arm over her shoulder. “You are a rarity, a gem on a rocky shore. God has been willing to bend a little, just like he did when he saved the Were at the Cleansing.”
“You mean the Sundering?”
“It depends on your perspective, but yes.”
“That’s … Wow!”
“The Cleansing removed a corrupt and defunct government which had set its sights on complete world domination, in outright rebellion against God’s will. That old system went on for so long - only because its objective was hidden from sight. Once revealed - it was wiped out - Cleansed. The Brotherhood was a direct copy of Atlantis’s ideals, employing hatred and violence to enforce mastery over man. So it also warranted immediate destruction, just like what happened to Atlantis.”
“How does the Bastard differ?” deduced Lynn, unsure as to the reasonings at play.
“As a cat, have you ever toyed with your prey? Kept it alive to watch it squirm?” postulated Cameron.
“Well, yeah, sorta. But in my defence I did it to hone my tracking skills,” confided Lynn.
“The Bastard’s being used, he may not realize it, but he’s forcing people to show their true colours. It isn’t just a question of black and white, right and wrong, the game isn’t that simple. A person needs to display the qualities that separates them above the base emotions of hatred and violence.”
“But the Were are warriors, doesn’t that make them … us - bad?”
“They also value truth, honour, and dignity. Those are redeeming qualities, and why they’ve been given a nudge on occasion.”
Lynn sat in quiet repose, for all she thought she understood, much was unfounded. It takes time to shift gears mentally and get up to speed.
After mere seconds she smiled, asking: “Do you know why Whateley needs us locked up?”
“Nope. Does it matter why?” jested Cameron. “I’ve learned that sometimes you have to let matters unfold in their own way. There’s a plan, just enjoy the ride.”
“You got anything to eat?” said the hungry Werecat, one must set priorities.
Mount Prometheus Penitentiary
Lady Astarte walked into the waiting area, the high-security facility was renowned for containing dangerous individuals, empowered mutants who’d run afoul of the law. Just how they managed to keep some of the most feared criminals on earth behind bars, that was as big a secret as Mount Prometheus’s location.
To get here Elizabeth Carson had relied upon her heroine persona to even get in the doors. Starting from Arkham, she was then teleported to three places in rapid succession, each time getting screened and scanned. Lastly, she arrived at Mount Prometheus. There were no windows in sight, all light came from overhead illumination and the walls looked to be solid rock. A very imposing place.
The visitation room was small and under constant surveillance from the guards, consisting of just a table and two chairs facing each other was all the room offered by way of comfort. Elizabeth supposed it was a little more personal - to be able to speak in person, rather than conversing between a barrier like in some institutions. In consideration that it was impossible to make a phone call to Prometheus, there was no outside communications - period. No internet, no telephones, rumour had it they didn’t even get cable TV. Outside influence and interference was kept to a minimum.
Heather Merrill was brought into the visitor room, her prison clothes consisted of a baggy yellow jumpsuit. Over the heart were three concentric rings, again larger ones were on her back, they looked like targets - likely were targets, a terrible reminder that you were no longer a free person.
Liz remembered the lovely young lady who had attended her English class, smart, insightful, she had a fondness for poetry that Liz had nurtured and watched blossom. Back then Mysteria had all the earmarks of becoming a heroine, like herself. On instances, they’d even worked together to corral some heinous crooks who used magic to further their activities. That promising life had come crashing down like a house of cards when Liz was called upon to help capture Heather.
Mysteria sat in the chair opposite, her dark brown eyes lacked any of the lustre Elizabeth Carson remembered. The suppression collar around her neck blinked a red light on occasion, it might have been the disconnect to magic that dulled the Mage’s eyes, or the results of her life course.
“Elizabeth Carson, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or do I call you Lady Astarte? How about Miss Champion?”
“Elizabeth will do nicely”
“Yes, a nice cordial visit is in everyone’s best interest isn’t it? Have you come to discuss a poem’s merits like we did in the old days?”
“As enjoyable as that might be, I’m here to talk about your son: Geoff.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Briefly.”
“What’s he like?”
“A bright young man, he could even become an English major like his mother if encouraged to open up some more. When was the last time you saw him?”
“The morning of the day you beat me to a pulp and handed me over to this place.”
“That’s it?” Elizabeth was shocked at the revelation; that had been five … no, six years ago.
“Oh no, we’re pen pals. Just yesterday I received his letter. Single page, nothing scandalous is allowed, no talk about mutants or mutations, otherwise it gets redacted.”
“You’re aware that he’s manifested as a mutant?”
“I guessed as much, judging from how much of his letter was blacked out. Also, he missed a couple of letters, then his latest one was typed - not handwritten, like before. How is he?”
“He has GSD.”
A tear rolled down Heather’s cheek as she closed her eyes to hold them back.
“How bad?”
“It’s one of the more severe cases I’m afraid,” Elizabeth had to force her mouth to say the words, as a mother herself it was devastating news to impart.
“Tell me,” was said in a hushed tone, almost a plead for mercy.
“He has an overactive pituitary gland, it’s something you’d see in someone with gigantism, he measured in last at seven foot seven inches. He’s covered with malignant growths that have distorted his features. Coupled with his body becoming extremely dense, an effect of being a high-level Exemplar, he weighs in at two thousand three hundred and sixty pounds, and still growing.”
“He never said, if he did - this place never let me know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Will he stop growing? Is he …?”
“The people who examined him, they don’t believe his growth will stop. The prognosis isn’t favourable, it’s his heart.”
“Oh dear,” she openly wept. “My sweet little boy. I didn’t know what to think when his letters stopped coming.”
“For him to use a normal pen would be like writing with a toothpick. He’s been provided a keyboard to use, one that can withstand his strength.”
“He’s strong?”
“Off the charts. There’s more I need to tell you: I had a paternity test done.
“I told you who his father is: I was raped by Champion.”
“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before.”
“I came to you, you'd worked with him for years, then parted on unfriendly terms. I thought if anyone would believe me it was you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The police were beyond useless, they needed their ‘champion’ to come to the rescue, so did nothing - nothing!”
“Do you remember Scott Morrison?”
“What? Why?”
“You would have been at Whateley around the same time.”
“Boyscout? He used the name Boyscout. He was anything but a boy scout. Every girl I knew had a horror story about him, as I recall I even slapped him for some obscene comment he made.”
“Scott Morrison was the first Champion you killed, he is Geoff’s father.”
Heather Merrill went into a deep introspective trance, there was a war being waged mentally and emotionally. When she raised up her dead eyes she asked the only question that mattered: “How?”
“There have been many Champions down through the years, there’s always a replacement waiting in the wings to take over.”
“But … I figured I botched my first attempt. After he came back when I thought I’d killed him - the first time, I figured I hadn’t finished the job. When he returned a couple of months later, I needed to … then he … Oh God!”
“That was another Champion, it wasn’t Scott.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why tell me?”
“You deserve to know. Meeting Geoff made me realize I haven’t owned my mistakes.”
“If you’re looking for forgiveness, you’ve come to the wrong place. I killed an innocent man, I deserve to be punished.”
“You came asking me for help, at the time I was convinced in the rightness of what we were doing, I pushed you away. All I could see was being a hero. I was blind to the fact that good people can do bad things.”
“What changed your mind?”
“In part its Geoff, why should he have to pay the price for somebody else’s errors? Plus, he had help getting to Whateley, a young man took care of him and has befriended him. The same young man I mistakenly abused and mistreated, and for which I could go to jail.”
“On the brighter side, the cell beside me is vacant, we could critique poetry together.”
They shared a bitter smile.
Doyle Medical Centre
The lockdown ended after a tense hour. Cameron had resumed healing Timothy’s ails, with Lynn providing the presence to allow Cameron to safely continue. Tim was improving nicely, the swelling was reducing and although he had severe bruises, his body was reacting to Cameron’s repairs as hoped.
Cameron had sat to rest when Rachelle and Charlotte entered Tim’s room. At Cameron’s smile, it broke the worry the two sisters had born since yesterday. Cries of joy escaped as hugs of thanks ensued.
Cameron had provided the doctor on duty a breakdown of Tim’s condition. X-rays and a visit to the MRI were slated to ensure Tim was okay. Now, Cameron needed to get some sleep, in a bed, and he wouldn’t mind a good meal too. But before he could leave, Rachelle asked if she could speak with him - privately.
Lynn agreed to stay with Tim, Charlotte asked if she could remain with Rachelle.
Doyle had a small vacant lounge in which they could talk, Rachelle wrung her hands, a cue that something was bothering her.
“How did you feel when you found out your family had been killed?” asked the Psychic.
Cameron had never really talked about his parents’ deaths, coming out of a coma almost eight years afterward hadn’t lessened the blow in the slightest. The issue hadn’t been brought up during training with her mentor, so hearing how they’d died was a wound that had torn her up inside. Now Rachelle and Charlotte had to contend with something similar, Cameron had to steady his emotions to address what was asked of him.
“I wanted to die too. Life meant little without my family,” admitted Cameron.
“But, you’re still here. So …?” dug Rachelle.
“Somehow I found the courage to go on,” it pained Cameron to say that. To confirm that ever since that dreadful day he carried a huge hole in his heart, that a big part of himself had died. But he hadn’t given up, he had a job to do, that thread of conviction had been the impetus to move him forward, to face the challenges and changes.
Until today that is, Cameron could share the hurt and tears seen in Rachelle and Charlotte’s eyes.
“Did you ever find who killed them?” Rachelle’s question brought the situation into focus.
“The agents responsible died at the accident's scene,” confided Cameron. “But I took the MCO to court, they’d orchestrated the whole mess.”
“Did it make you feel better? Winning against the MCO? Putting all of them into jail?” the sincerity of Rachelle’s questions demanded a reply.
“Getting rid of those hate mongers eased my worry that they would keep hurting others. It didn’t solve anything, the underlying problem of discrimination and violence remains,” Cameron tried to look his friend in the eye when saying that, but his head dropped when he saw the agony his words conveyed. “I don’t know that I will ever feel truly satisfied that justice is done. But I have to keep trying and believe God will set matters straight.”
“I found the guys that hurt Tim,” Rachelle’s admission shocked Cameron.
“What did you do?” softly requested Cameron.
“I … we,” Rachelle reservedly motioned to her sister in order to include Charlotte in the telling. “We paid them a visit last night. And …”
“Don’t stop now,” begged Cameron.
“It was two Bricks, Freshmen named Diesel and Foremost. Charlotte wanted to break them in half, I told her no, but …”
“I’m not here to judge you,” assured Cameron.
“At first, I was fully prepared to kill them for what they did,” admitted Rachelle, Charlotte agreed with that assessment by nodding her head. “But, I couldn’t do that, take a life that is, no matter how bad they hurt my brother … it didn’t seem fair.”
“I really wanted to bust them up, like they did to Tim,” inserted Charlotte. “But Rachelle wouldn’t go for that.”
“So …?” sought Cameron.
“I overlaid Tim’s memories onto their minds, they now feel Tim’s pain. Suffer just like he has.”
Cameron gave a heavy sigh, it pained him that his friends had been placed into such a position. He wondered how much of this rested upon his shoulders. “How does that make you feel?”
“It bothered me, I laid awake thinking about what I’d done, wondering if it was - right,” revealed Rachelle, locking her fingers together and squeezing until they turned white, a manifestation of a wounded conscious.
“How about you Charlotte?” questioned Cameron.
“I don’t know, I mean, at first it didn’t seem fair. What with Tim in hospital and all, and these guys sleeping in their own beds without a care in the world. But now, now that they’re getting a taste of their own medicine, not getting off scot-free, that makes it better.”
“You’re putting me in a tough spot,” assessed Cameron. “But I think it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“I … we, didn’t want you to think badly of us,” admitted Rachelle, with Charlotte again nodding her head in agreement.
“As a Policeman; I need to act on what you’ve told me. But it isn’t my place to judge you,” assured Cameron. “Nor am I a priest taking confessions.”
“Yeah, but, you’ve got an in with God. Does he hate us for what we’ve done?” blurted out Charlotte. In saying it, what she meant was, would this distance Cameron from them?
Cameron sat quietly thinking about the situation, to then say: “No, I don’t think God hates you. I’m reminded of the expression: ‘Eye for an eye, Tooth for a tooth.’”
“I don’t get it,” puzzled Charlotte.
“That’s God’s view of justice, there needs to be an equalizing of accounts to obtain balance. It’s why scales are often used to depict justice.”
“But we took the law into our own hands, doesn’t that make us vigilantes now?” stressed Rachelle.
“In the strictest sense, the closest blood relative has the right - no that’s not quite right, the obligation to take vengeance to correct a wrong,” informed Cameron.
“Wait, are you sure? What about the whole: ‘turn the other cheek’ stuff?”
“It’s true, we shouldn’t be the ones to instigate conflict. Perhaps another doctrine to consider is: ‘Treat others as you want to be treated.’ By assaulting Tim, his attackers deserve the same treatment they doled out, that would be what’s fair,” explained Cameron. “That you took a different route, rather than physically return punishment, you mentally repaid them in kind. As long as you are satisfied, then I would say justice has been served.”
“You aren’t mad at us?” exclaimed a surprised Rachelle.
“Far from it. I think you used your talents in an ingenious manner, very creative. I wish I had thought of it,” confided Cameron.
“Will Whateley be mad at us?” was the next obvious question that Rachelle needed to ask.
“Most likely,” admitted Cameron. “They tend to get their knickers in a twist over most everything.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” requested Rachelle.
“How they’ll react is anyone’s guess, after last year’s debacle I can’t even fathom how they’ll react,” deduced Cameron. “However, Whateley now has two more injured students to take care of, no doubt that’s gonna be top priority. Whichever way this plays out, it’s going to be interesting.”
“You’re not going to arrest us?” claimed a shocked Charlotte.
“Whateley doesn’t want me acting as a policeman on campus, so no. I’ll let you decide when you want to speak with Security,” affirmed Cameron.
The Tunnels
Sunday lunch at Crystal Hall had been a quiet affair, the members of Northern Lites ate together - minus Tim, they talked, about nothing really, just went through the motions of ingesting food. That Tim was improving had been encouraging news and allowed his sisters to leave his bedside.
A few well wishers stopped by, most of the Kimbas: Jade, Billie, Toni, Nikki, and Ayla. All the Outcasts, and a few other of Tim’s cottage mates. Poor Charlotte was weary from riding an emotional rollercoaster, it was a toss up if she would laugh or cry every time someone mentioned her brother.
Cameron knew his teammates needed a distraction, something to cheer them up. He had wanted to have everybody present for his big reveal, perhaps the time for showing off was now. Debbie’s space in the tunnels was closest to access from Schuster Hall, so everyone agreed to meet there after lunch.
They all gathered outside Werx’s workshop as she entered each of their biometrics and passcodes into her door’s security system. Although her workshop was large, with everyone standing around there was little extra room inside, not with storage units for tools and materials lining the walls, and a huge workbench taking up an entire end.
Opposite to her workbench was a double-doored storage cabinet, it too, just like the entrance door, had a touchpad. Deb placed her hand on the touchpad and an oddly familiar voice asked: “What, is your name?”
Deb’s face lit up in a huge smile when Charlotte had to ask who that was? “Tim the Enchanter, from Monty Python’s The Holy Grail,” a collective groan came from the group.
Deb gave her codename: “Werx.”
“What, is your favourite colour?”
Deb said her colour, the colour of the trim she’d selected for her uniform: “magenta,” to then inform that each of them had to provide their team colour when asked.
“What, is the airspeed velocity of an unladen sparrow?”
“I don’t know,” provided Deb as she entered her passcode on the touchpad.
“Right. Off you go.” The storage unit’s double doors swung inwards to reveal a passageway hidden behind. It was slightly cramped for Max, who needed to shuffle through sideways, but he managed the ten feet of constricted space Cameron had eked out of the rock.
The passageway emptied into a wide open and well-lit corridor, the team now stood a few feet behind a large concrete block that abruptly ended the corridor. It matched the placement of the sharp corner in the tunnel outside Deb’s workshop. Cameron had them huddle to commence his explanation.
Pointing to the concrete block behind them Cameron said: “This tunnel used to be the main arterial corridor for Whateley’s underground. They sealed it off after an accident forced them to abandon it, then dug other tunnels to go around this section.”
“What kind of accident?” sought Deb.
“Nuclear,” provided Cameron.
“Ahhh, they might call mutants ‘children of the atom’, but I don’t think that makes us radiation proof,” stated Rhododendron, a little pensive about her location.
“That is true. And yes, there was a lot of radiation down here. It’s taken me quite some time to get rid of it, that’s why I didn’t show any of this to you before,” supplied Cameron to allay the collective fears.
“Wait, you are immune to radiation?” puzzled Werx.
“No, not as such. I absorb energy, all kinds of it, including nuclear radiation,” backtracked Cameron, Deb didn’t know Cameron’s history.
“Seriously?” scoffed a dubious Werx.
“Not that again. Yes, seriously. It makes for a nice snack between meals, okay? Can I move on?”
“By all means,” relented Debbie, shaking her head in disbelief.
“So, nobody’s been in here for thirty-plus years. I don’t think anybody even knows it’s here. I checked the school’s records in Beck Library going back into the seventies, and there’s no mention of it, not the accident, nothing. The only thing I could find was in the rose garden: ten people died at Whateley that year, what was the cause - it doesn’t say.”
“So that concrete wall in your room, that’s the other end of this tunnel?” deduced Werx, the pieces falling into place.
“Exactly,” claimed Cameron. “Everything between here and there now belongs to us,” motioned Cameron as he pointed towards the two ends of the long corridor. “Welcome to our new clubhouse.”
There was trepidation amidst the group, news of a nuclear accident and radiation tends to bring that out in a person. Cameron had expected as much, so he handed out radiation monitoring strips, it’s surprising just what you can find in Whateley Academy’s little store.
Cameron showed them the converted classrooms, now exercise rooms and a spa - the sauna and hot pools garnered ooohs and ahhs. He held off showing them what he felt was the ‘piece de resistance’; Hyperbowl.
Opening the door, he let them enter at their leisure, the slack jaws and huge eyes said everything that could possibly be asked.
Charlotte twirled, giggling. She rushed over and grabbed Cameron’s arm, asking: “This is ours?”
“As long as we keep it a secret, I’d say so,” confirmed Cameron.
They wandered around huddled together, checking out the bowling lanes, the arcade, and the eating area that Cameron had re-arranged into a meeting space by forming a single large table in the middle.
Rho stepped up to the Juke Box and cued up Hawaii Five-O by The Ventures.
The song blasted out, as Charlotte started a game of pinball. The place came alive for the first time in ages.
Werx saddled up beside Cameron to say: “We may need to update the Juke Box’s playlist.”
“If you wouldn’t mind taking that job on?” concurred Cameron. “I have some songs I’d like to add, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Challenge accepted,” agreed Werx.
Lynn had gotten a couple of drinks from the vending machine for herself and Max, they sat at the table which everyone slowly gravitated towards. Charlotte was the last to sit down, she was a bundle of joy, this was exactly what she, Rachelle, and the others needed.
Cameron began: “I would like to call the first official meeting of Northern Lites to order. As the first bit of business, I find I need to express that I don’t feel I’m suitable to be our team’s captain.”
Cameron’s announcement was met with noises of dissent. So he continued: “Every team should have a leader, someone who can give direction, make commendation and correction. I can see - like forever, but I can’t carry the lion’s share. I’m distracted, or I should say I get distracted, to use my sight I become dissociated with what’s happening around me. That’s why I think we need to vote on our leadership.”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say we just assumed you would be our captain,” added Lynn. “Is there another reason why you don’t think you’d be suitable?”
“All right. My first priority is to observe the actions and attitudes of those attending Whateley, that is my mission, why I’ve been sent here. At times, that may align with what everyone wishes to do. But I could get assigned something that you can’t be part of. I don’t want to drag you into something that could endanger you - more than I already have.”
“I don’t understand,” added a baffled Rho.
“I suspect Tim’s attack is on my head. On my first day at Whateley last year, I was killed. It wasn’t an altogether unexpected welcome, because God’s enemies anticipated an agent to show up eventually, although they didn’t expect me to return. But, ever since, they’ve been on alert for another to come.”
“You think Tim was targeted?” supposed Lynn based upon Cameron’s admission.
“They’re very good at hiding their true intentions,” enlightened Cameron. “They don’t want to be exposed.”
“The two who attacked Tim believed they would be given admittance into a group called the Brickyard,” informed Rachelle, all eyes turned to her in curiosity.
“Do we know anything about this Brickyard?” questioned Lynn, while Rho had a fit of giggles at the mention of the word brickyard.
“Not yet. Not beyond that it’s a bunch of Bricks, the same ones who made noises about Flambé burning one of them last year,” said Rachelle. “I need to read a few more minds to figure out who’s in charge.”
“And this is why having a Psychic in the group is so useful,” confided Cameron. “It’s also why it would be good if we all learned how to block mind probing.”
“Is that necessary?” contested Rho, she wasn’t sure about someone messing around with her head, but had made progress with Dr. Hewlett already, so … maybe.
“It worries me that Tim’s attack was because something tipped them off. That you’ll all be in danger because of me,” cautioned Cameron.
“Do we even know who this they are?” Debbie’s question came with a hint of sarcasm, but she saw the fear born on the other’s faces.
“That is the question, isn’t it? I highly doubt that a group of Bricks are capable of being in charge, it’s not in keeping with the ‘strong back - weak mind’ stereotype,” commented Cameron. “I’d say we need to let Rachelle explore options.”
Rachelle spoke up: “I’ll focus on Dump Truck and Unstoppable, see what they know - I don’t have high hopes of finding much, for obvious reasons. Calling themselves the Brickyard, it’s kinda dumb.”
Rho burst out laughing at the comment.
“What’s your problem?” insisted Lynn.
In between chortles, Rho got out: “At my uncle’s warehouse, we put all the damaged items into a heap outside we called the ‘brickyard’, to get hauled away as garbage.”
“Okay,” admitted Lynn. “That’s worth laughing over. But doesn’t get us closer to the issue at hand.”
Cameron didn’t want to add speculation, he preferred dealing with facts, but: “I was questioned about the destruction of that church on campus. The insurance investigator had a schedule of who’d used the church before it was destroyed. A group calling itself the Atlantean League held regular meetings.”
“That doesn’t sound so nefarious,” chipped in Charlotte, receiving agreeing head nods from Max and Werx.
“Atlantis is the name used by those destroyed in the Cleansing,” detailed Cameron.
“You might have heard it called the Sundering,” corrected Lynn.
“It depends upon your perspective. It was a corrupt and decrepit system that had to be removed, it deserved to be destroyed because it was in direct opposition to God’s will. Recently, a group called the Brotherhood of the Shard was following in Atlantis’s footsteps, revelling in hatred and violence, they got - cleansed too. I estimate that the Atlantean League is another front to that same ideology, intent upon pushing mutants into war.” Cameron’s explanation took his friends a moment to digest, they shared glances as a means to confirm that they had heard it right.
Rachelle broke the stymie that had formed, “Do we know who’s in this Atlantean League?”
“I don’t know, I believe that’s what I’m to find out,” supplied Cameron, confirming he didn’t have all the answers.
“How are we going to do that?” asked Lynn, speaking for the team.
“Stay alert. If anyone asks you to join a club, it could be a recruitment to the Atlantean League,” instructed Cameron.
“What about you?” asked Rho.
Cameron detailed his role: “I need to keep watch, have people expose their true selves, seeing their reactions and motivations.”
Werx was mystified, this was too new to grasp, she had to ask: “How do you know you can trust any of us?”
“Because God provides me insight. I receive direction in the form of dreams, I dreamed about each of you. That you needed help - divine intervention if you like, it lead us to meet, and become friends.”
Charlotte summed it up by saying: “Wow!”
“In light of all that, having you as team captain only makes sense,” said Rhododendron, who stood: “I hereby nominate Outlook as captain of Northern Lites, all in favour say: ‘Aye!’”
No one objected, however Cameron withheld voting.
“So be it. As my first official act as captain, I appoint Flambé as my assistant.”
Doyle Medical Centre
Doctor Philip Tenant had been dubious about letting Outlook attend to his patient, it wasn’t how a doctor treated those placed into their care, granting an untrained and uncertified person to perform healing. Had the boy been a specialist, perhaps even a mage, he’d have had fewer doubts. But the x-rays he was looking at sealed up his concerns and locked them away.
Ophelia had been right, Outlook not only helped, but had effectively healed the boy’s injuries. The pictures on display all showed Swift’s bones to look solid and healthy. Philip’s latest examination already resulted in decreasing the pain medication the boy was being provided, now Doctor Tenant was certain Swift could be placed into recuperative care, and begin physiotherapy to regain strength in his renewed limbs.
Philip wanted to speak with Outlook, see about bringing him in to aid at Doyle, it would be a boon. But Ophelia had cautioned him that Outlook wasn’t interested in becoming a doctor. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, not after what he’d witnessed.
“How’s the patient?” Dr. Cho’s question shook Philip from his thoughts.
“Take a look at these x-rays,” offered Dr. Tenant, stepping aside to give Cho room. “This knee joint was beyond salvaging, a total amputation was the only option, before …” The difference between the before and after pictures being illuminated on the board told the story.
“It alters one’s perception of practicing medicine, doesn’t it?” confided Dr. Cho.
“I watched as the boy did it, I still can’t believe it’s possible,” added Philip as he put his nose up against the x-ray to better see the detail captured. “Not even a hairline fracture left. Think of the good that boy could do.”
“It makes you wonder what tomorrow will bring, between mages and now this kid. It makes me feel like a … a witch doctor,” pondered Cho.
“I was worried he would be uttering prayers and performing rituals, like sacrificing some poor little creature to appease the gods. All he did was become very quiet and stared. I did notice a slight blue haze form, but otherwise, there were no indicators.” Philip Tenant spoke from a place of awe.
“Don’t mages need to channel magic with a spell?” asked Dr. Cho.
“What I saw wasn’t magic, he can control the elements,” affirmed Phillip.
“We’ll be out of a job if he becomes a doctor.”
“You think so?”
Timothy sat up in bed, sipping on a glass of orange juice. He was slow in his movements, as he always did to pace himself to live in a world that existed at a snail’s speed. But now, he was being super cautious, his injuries still hurt, not as bad, nowhere near as bad, he was still sore.
The first visitor into the hospital room was his twin sister Rachelle, she eyed him up, gave a head nod, and said: “Right.” It seemed to be an agreed-upon cue for his younger sister to also join them.
“Tim’s still addled by sedatives, don’t expect too engaging a conversation,” Rachelle warned. “Not too different from usual.”
“Oh, hardy, har, har. Make fun of the guy laid up in hospital why don’t cha,” retorted Tim.
Into the room also came Cameron and Lynn. Lynn carried a small potted plant with a bow tied on it, she set the plant on the little bedside table before asking: “How do you feel?”
“Groggy, and … slow,” Tim admitted, his sister was right, the drugs he’d been administered made him a touch loopy.
“Anything in particular bothering you?” sought Cameron, oddly his eyes were uncovered, not the first time Tim had seen him without his visor on. The golden glow made him look so very different, you wouldn’t even notice anything else about him other than his shining eyes. Cameron held out a tub of food: “Butterscotch pudding,” explained Cameron. “They said you shouldn’t eat anything solid for a while.”
Charlotte made a noise that sounded like: “Yum,” and made moves to intercept it.
Cameron held up a hand to halt her, then reached behind his back to procure another bowl full of pudding for her. Then offered her a spoon, which she also grabbed before digging in.
“My side hurts,” mentioned Tim, in answer to Cameron’s question.
Cameron spied Tim’s side, looking for anomalies, he had a large bruise, a remnant from internal bleeding. Cameron cleared up the spot, easing Tim’s discomfort. Cameron began a sweep of Tim to spot any other lingering effects from his beating, mostly he had sore and tender spots to contend with, a huge improvement.
There was only a single chair provided in the room so having his entire team present crowded the room. Expressions of goodwill were offered before most of his teammates vacated, leaving Rachelle and Charlotte to comfort their brother.
Heading towards Doyle’s exit, Cameron was confronted by Ophelia Tenant, asking if Cameron would help her diagnose two patients who had been admitted earlier with curious ailments.
Lynn stayed close to act as Cameron’s protector, a role she welcomed since it let her remain at Cameron’s side. They held hands as Cameron focused on Ophelia’s patients, the shared physical contact with Lynn was reassuring.
The two Bricks had been placed into a single recovery room, the curtain was drawn between them for privacy, as much privacy as a thin piece of hanging fabric affords that is. Cameron looked intently at the first Brick in bed, his chart named him as Diesel. Then the second Brick; Foremost. After looking at them Cameron made an expression akin to an amused smile but it was only on one side of his face.
Stepping into the corridor so as to not upset her patients, Dr. Ophelia asked: “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” admitted Cameron. “There isn’t anything physically wrong with them, aside from high cholesterol which could be attributable to a poor diet.”
“That is so strange, they’re complaining about extreme pain in their legs and other places, but we can’t determine why,” confided Ophelia. “At first, we thought they suffered a similar attack as your friend.”
“I’m sorry Doctor, I can’t fix what’s not broken,” supplied Cameron, accompanied with a shrug of his shoulders to convey he couldn’t help her.
“Thanks for trying,” conceded Ophelia. “A Psychic is coming to check them for psychosomatic injuries,” She re-entered the recovery room leaving Cameron and Lynn alone.
“What’s going on?” sought Lynn. The encounter was a little too manipulated to be coincidental.
“I need to speak with Rachelle, let’s go back to Tim’s room,” advised Cameron.
A new guest had arrived to visit Swift, Admiral Everhart was interviewing Timothy to get his statement about being attacked. Rachelle sat in the chair while Charlotte leaned against a wall holding her empty pudding bowl.
Cameron and Lynn were allowed to enter and observe, as long as they didn’t interfere. Everhart didn’t need a notepad or recorder, Hive was directly linked to Whateley’s mainframe so everything said could be saved and analyzed later.
Tim told the story of delivering pizza to Unstoppable’s room at Emerson Cottage, as he was leaving he was accosted in a staircase by two assailants: Bricks, after cornering him they carried him outside. He was taken into a cluster of trees and beaten mercilessly.
Tim didn’t know either of his attacker’s names, he’d never seen them before, and didn’t know them from Adam. But provided the best description he could. With tears running down his cheeks, Tim asked why they would do such a thing?
Admiral Everhart didn’t provide an answer, if she didn’t know, or didn’t care, either way, her silence felt cold and impersonal. It did nothing to help Tim deal with the emotionally distressing effects of his experience, it only added to the mental impact and misery his assault caused.
Whateley Security, as standard practice, required a few additional questions to be answered, like the estimated time of the attack, and if anyone was witness to it. It was very much like being victimized again, in effect saying that Tim deserved what he got for not defending himself.
Cameron understood that Police in general have to remain detached, to not let emotions cloud their judgement, but there was something very off about the non-biologic officer, a human touch was lacking. The Admiral left without even saying: ‘thanks’ or offering a gesture of goodwill like ‘get better’.
Cameron asked to speak with Rachelle privately, when she stood to leave, Charlotte jumped at the chance to sit in the chair, doing so by flying overtop the chair back and dropping down into it. Tim laughed, but groaned holding his side, and coughed, which elicited another groan.
In the hallway, Cameron quietly said; “I was asked to inspect two Bricks, I recommend speaking with Whateley sooner than later, tell them what we know, get ahead of their investigation.”
Lynn surprised everyone by asking that they wait until she returned, she needed to collect something from her room.
Cameron approached Doctor Tenant, asking if he could arrange a conference with Doyle, Security, and Admin. Shortly thereafter Cameron was informed that a meeting was to be held over at Schuster Hall in a boardroom in a half hour.
Rho volunteered to stay and keep Tim company, she’d brought a deck of cards and a can of maple flavoured peanut brittle her family had sent. Rachelle, Charlotte, Cameron, and Lynn walked together the short distance over to Schuster Hall.
En route, Cameron provided Rachelle with some advise: “Answer all their questions, tell them the truth, don’t hide anything from them. Remember, you guys are the victims, don’t allow them to make you feel like you did something wrong. Most of all, treat them with respect.”
“Will you stay with me?” quizzed Rachelle, safety in numbers and all that.
“All the way, but if I can’t, don’t overplay Charlotte’s role, try and keep her out of it, as much as possible,” added Cameron.
“Hey,” complained Charlotte. “I helped.”
“It’s okay Sis, I know you did your part,” soothed Rachelle. “But it’s on me, it has to be on me alone, in case this goes South.”
“Maybe it would be best if Charlotte wasn’t there. Lynn, can you take her back to Doyle?” sought Cameron. Lynn nodded in acceptance.
“But …” Charlotte wanted to object, not willing to leave her sister’s side.
Lynn handed Rachelle a couple of pages of paper.
“What’s this?” asked Rach.
“A witness statement from someone who saw everything,” confirmed Lynn.
Rachelle’s mouth dropped open; “How? Who?”
“I’ll tell you later, it’s best if you don’t know,” responded Lynn, as she gave Rachelle a light push toward the door. “Go, you’ll be fine,” assured Lynn. If that was Precognition or a friend speaking was not conveyed in her comment. “Come on Char. If we hurry, there might still be some peanut brittle left,” tempted Lynn.
It took a second for Charlotte to relent, begrudgingly. But she and Lynn turned around and headed off back to Doyle.
“Good,” announced Cameron, to then continue prepping Rachelle: “Don’t get nervous, you’re just making a statement, not a confession.”
The two walked towards the Admin’s reception area, stepping up to the desk, Mrs Claire directed them to the meeting room that had been reserved for them. In attendance were Chief Delarose and Admiral Everhart from Security, Doctors Tenant from Doyle, Mrs. Shugendo and Ms. Hartford representing Admin.
Barely inside the door, Cameron could sense the tension in the room, a quick look at Rachelle bespoke how she too felt waves of impatience from those in attendance, although much more so than Cameron with her being a Psychic. The door had barely closed behind them, having all eyes trained upon the two youths, Cameron addressed the room: “We have information regarding the attack upon Swift. Officer Everhart just conducted an interview with Tim, and we would like to impart further details to aid her investigation, and for Whateley’s benefit.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” sought Samantha Everhart in an annoyed tone.
“Tim doesn’t need to know what we have to say, he’s dealing with enough already,” illuminated Rachelle. The attendees couldn’t dispute her logic.
Before parting, Charlotte had given her sister a boost, so Rachelle was as high a level Psychic now as ever before, and she read the room. Perspicacious knew who was for and against them - her.
It was the Dean of Students who invited Rachelle and Cameron to sit, no one else had seen the need to offer them a place at the table.
“Proceed!” was the directive given by Hive, not wanting to waste any more of her time.
“We know who attacked Tim. Residents of Emerson Cottage, two Bricks named Diesel and Foremost,” provided Rachelle, completely calm and unruffled at the scrutiny.
“How did you come by this information?” requested Security Chief Delarose, it was more than his team knew at this point.
Rachelle handed the eyewitness statement Lynn provided over to the Chief, he read it quickly then gave it to Everhart to scan. That the statement was written on Medawihla Tribal Council’s letterhead was irksome to the pair from Security, judging from Franklin Delarose’s derisive snort, and Rachelle’s grasp of the situation.
“You’ve already approached the Medawihla?” accused Delarose, frustrated at being played.
“Not at all,” inserted Cameron. “But it does appear they wish to be included in your investigation, if their handing over that document is an indicator.”
“Peachy,” mumbled the Security Chief, more hurdles to hinder his work.
“How did you determine that Foremost was an accomplice? He isn’t mentioned in that statement,” asserted Everhart, ever keen on details.
“I read his mind,” revealed Perspicacious, the room was startled at her frank admission.
“I see,” acknowledged Ophelia Tenant. “Did you know that both Diesel and Foremost are currently in Doyle, exhibiting symptoms identical to those of your brother?”
“Yes,” agreed Rachelle. “Outlook informed me he had been asked about their injuries.”
“And?” required Ophelia.
“It’s likely that you haven’t discovered any medical trauma present, physically at least, which would explain their condition,” expressed Rachelle. “The reason for that is: I implanted the agony Tim has undergone onto their minds.”
“That’s completely unethical!” spouted Ophelia, letting her emotions overrule her actions.
“I beg to differ,” refuted Rachelle. “It would be unethical, had I not acted to defend my brother, and prevent any further hostilities.”
“Young lady, you are greatly mistaken about what it means to have ethics,” corrected Ms. Hartford.
“Really! So, it’s Whateley’s stance, ‘ethically’ to let supercharged adolescents run willy nilly around campus without restraint? You consider it ethical to allow teenagers to carry: guns, blades of any size or shape, wield any weapon conceivable, as part of integrating them into society?” countered Rachelle, she had scanned Chief Delarose to glean his greatest concerns and worries, and chose to play upon them. “Whateley actively encourages violence, not only as a means to resolve conflict, but to acknowledge that you cannot enforce law and order on these unruly kids. In effect, you’ve given up trying to enforce control. What hope does society have for a peaceful future?”
“You are completely out of line,” rebuffed Chief Delarose. Only because it was expected of him, in truth, Rachelle had hit every chord he’d been thinking - perfectly! He was ready to cheer for her in his heart.
“To take it down a notch, might I ask Officer Everhart a question,” requested Cameron, receiving no open objection, he commenced: “What percent of crimes typically get solved by the police?”
“Seven percent,” supplied the Security officer without skipping a beat.
“Is that statistic a fair representation, including mutant activity?” was further asked by Cameron.
“That is the national average, most enforcement agencies acknowledge its accuracy,” detailed Hive. “But it doesn’t differentiate between mutant and non-mutant crimes.”
Cameron took the torch and ran with it: “Who of you, if playing a game having only a 7 percent chance of winning, would even bother playing that game? Isn’t it more likely that you would walk away, avoid the risk, and keep your money?” Cameron had cast the net, time to draw it in: “The thing is, this isn’t a game. It’s life, Tim and Rachelle’s life. As Officer Everhart has stated: In all likelihood, a violent crime at Whateley will go unpunished since only 7 out of every 100 crimes committed get resolved. Given those odds, no wonder Rachelle felt it necessary to not let the system fail them, as it did me.”
“You are out of line,” shouted Ophelia, standing in outrage at the affront. To then look around the table and see that no one else had taken up the mantle, especially none from Admin.
“Tell me, please,” begged Cameron. “What crime did I commit, that warranted me serving three months of detention? Which, by all accounts, is the longest punishment ever handed out at Whateley.” levelled Cameron. No one spoke up to provide a response. “That is why Perspicacious could not anticipate receiving a satisfactory response to her brother’s attack. It is also probably why - the average human lives in fear of mutants, because of the example being set for them here - which outright condones bad conduct.”
“Don’t you think what you did was bad? You confessed to committing a crime, we all heard it,” objected Ophelia.
“I took no delight from having to protect my family, getting pushed into a corner, forced to fight,” confided Rachelle. “Until now, I never understood why so many people are gun owners, but if those make a criminal think twice before assaulting anyone, then more power to them.”
“That’s not for you to decide, or place judgement on. You’ve hurt those boys!” pleaded Ophelia hoping to sway opinion to her side.
“Let’s be clear, the crime in question here, was the unprovoked assault upon her brother: Swift. Perhaps that issue should be resolved first, before taking Perspicacious to task,” cautioned Cameron. “Does Whateley have a suitable punishment in mind, fitting for what those two deserve?” questioned Cameron.
“They’re writhing in pain as we speak, isn’t that enough?” contested Ophelia.
“You’re argument is: that ever since Swift has been healed, the injuries he sustained aren’t worthy of consideration?” clarified Rachelle.
“No, that’s not it at all. You can’t go around inflicting pain upon others as retribution,” countered Ophelia.
“How else will they learn?” Rachelle’s reply stung, it held true to the underlying idea of correcting wrongdoing / wrongdoers with prisons and punishments. Rachelle determined that most obstacles in the room had been removed, it was only the doctors who remained to be convinced.
“Did you know they laughed while beating Swift up, like it was the most fun they ever had?” continued Rachelle, appealing to the doctor’s humanity. “Are you prepared to heal the next person they attack? And the next after that? What if they kill someone? Can you face knowing you did nothing to stop them?”
“That’s not the point!” stressed Philip Tenant.
“I am touched that you don’t want me to become a monster, like those two in Doyle. But, you should know, I left a backdoor in their minds,” softened Rachelle’s approach. “If they show contrition, real remorse for what they’ve done, and ask for Swift’s forgiveness. The mental block will disappear. So, it’s up to them, if they want to get better. Unlike Swift, who - thanks to them, would have lost his legs - and maybe his life if he couldn’t learn to cope.”
“You’re coming over to Doyle right now young lady, and removing this mental inhibition of yours,” demanded Ophelia.
“No, I won’t,” refused Rachelle outright, completely set in her conviction. “And I wouldn’t recommend having another Psychic attempt to lift it either,” she cautioned. “A mind is much like a house of cards, pull on the wrong thing and the whole shebang comes tumbling down.”
“You booby-trapped it! Can you live with yourself? Torturing others?” condemned Ophelia.
“I can live knowing nobody’s going to touch my family, not if there are repercussions for raising a finger against us,” refuted Rachelle.
“You have no morals!” Spat Ophelia.
“My morals are just fine, thank you. Do you honestly believe every person in America who owns a gun is immoral? Which is funny, cause your husband has a gun hidden in the nightstand beside your bed,” Rachelle’s revelation brought about red faces. “Since when is protecting your family a crime? Isn’t that one of the reasons why you married a big strong man?”
Ophelia huffed in displeasure, but she couldn’t pursue her argument. Her stand had too many holes in it, holes that Rachelle was easily maneuvering through.
“I’m going to recommend to the headmistress that this investigation be handed over to the Medawihla for reconciliation,” recommended Ms. Hartford, halting the debate. “The situation as it stands, is too nuanced for Whateley to handle internally, given the proximity to Mr. Burke’s existing legal suit, and the headmistress not being able to become involved.”
Rachelle nodded in acceptance, with Cameron vocalizing: “Agreed.”
“Perspicacious, you can expect to hear from the Medawihla shortly. Please reconsider releasing Diesel and Foremost from their mental bindings. That’s all everyone,” dismissed Ms. Hartford.
Cameron and Rachelle were the first to leave, exiting the office Cameron said: “You need to consider becoming a lawyer, you owned that room.”
“What do you think the Medawihla will do?” worried Rachelle.
“Not much,” assured Cameron. “They’re all for letting people settle their own accounts. They as much as had that written into the agreement which lets me stay at Whateley.”
The End
for now