“Remotely viewing the future is not an exact science, Adam. I didn’t know exactly when you would return.”
“Speaking of science,” I began, “Are you seriously teleporting across the country? Isn’t that a bit comic book, even for you? How do you do that?”
“It isn’t complicated, but it is quite a strain. Only a class A psi can attempt it, and even most of them aren’t strong enough. You just remotely view a place anywhere on earth, then focus on your physical body and clothes, creating tiny Mandellian threads all over your body, connecting to the other place. Then you do a quantum leap across the threads from once place to another. The matter you displace on the other side, hopefully just air, travels back to the space you formerly occupied. Don’t worry about partial leaps…if you do not have the power or focus to do it right, then all you will do is give yourself a migraine.”
I pondered that for a moment. The concept made sense, I suppose, but where does it end? What else can I do? But more than anything else…
“What are we, really?” I asked the big man. “Why can we do these things?”
With an amused, almost paternal look on his face, Harrison replied, “Jumping right into your lessons, are we? Good. Shows enthusiasm. Too bad we don’t have all the answers. Science is an excellent way to reveal how the physical work operates. It rarely can tell us why.”
“Aren’t there any theories?” I persisted.
Harrison stared at me a moment, apparently deciding how to answer.
“Yes, there are a few theories, none of them proven. In the days of the Program there was a secret society that claimed to have the answer. They all had the crazy belief that people with psionic talent all descend from the gods of early humanity.”
I was not amused. “Come again? Are you serious? That’s insane.”
“Serious as a heart attack,” Harrison replied, “Look, I’m not taking about mythical characters like Zeus and Thor…those guys are fictional as far as anyone knows. Probably. What I’m talking about was a human species that may have shared the earth with the Neanderthals and Modern Humans. When I was in the Program, they called the species Homo Illuminatus. Enlightened Man. The species developed in isolation on an island that was once located in the Mediterranean Sea, but is now deep underwater, probably the result of an earthquake.”
Wait,” I said doubtfully, “Are you really talking about Atlantis? Fish people with tridents?”
“No, damn you! Stop interrupting!” Harrison shouted as the veins running across his right temple stood out in stark relief. I think I was getting to him. Good.
Harrison stood and continued, “The story bears resemblance to Atlantis, and perhaps the story of Atlantis may have originated from the history of Homo Illuminatus, but there is no evidence of that. The important fact is that we once shared the planet with a race of human that evolved to have incredible innate psionic abilities. They lived like gods, commanding the beasts to do their bidding. The lack of sophistication of their cave drawings and architecture suggest that they were no more intelligent in the traditional sense than modern humans, perhaps less. They did not speak at all, and relied on a combination of telepathy and a crude predecessor of hieroglyphics to communicate. After the destruction of the island, the survivors disbursed into family units. Those families encountered modern humans, and briefly ruled them as god-kings. As the centuries passed, interbreeding diluted the psionic abilities, and those who still had the gift were usually mentally unstable. By the dawn of recorded history, Homo Illuminati were a distant memory, and became the source of myth and legend.”
“Sorry,” I said while shaking my head, “This makes no sense at all. If this were true it would have been discovered by regular anthropologists. It would be all over the Discovery channel.”
“Adam, we are talking about prehistory. They were a very small species which shared the Stone Age world with the Neanderthals and other early humans. In addition to that, they were not as advanced as the others in terms of tool-making and cave art and left little behind. What little archeological evidence there was of their existence has been attributed to the Neanderthals. Either way, it’s just a theory based on dreams. Remote viewing into thousands of years in the past. Chances are that it’s all rubbish.”
“Fine,” I said, “but for arguments’ sake, if you assume all that is true, then how do you explain you and I? How much ’enlightened’ DNA could we possibly have?”
Leaning in with excitement, Harrison answered, “Plenty, and all because of the misguided eugenics experiment that became the Program. Those bastards bred humans like animals, selecting for psionic traits the way chickens are bred to produce more meat. I was born near the end of the fifth generation, the last successful one. Kate and Stuart are on opposite ends of the sixth generation; Stuart and Tracy being among the oldest, Kate one of the youngest. The sixth generation was a catastrophe, with a 98% failure rate. Failure meant either total insanity or major physical deformity.”
“That explains you,” I persisted, “but what about me? I’m a good five years younger than Kate at least, and I was never a part of the Program.”
“Good point. The seventh generation never happened because the Program headquarters burned to the ground. None of the sixth generation have been able to bear children, no one really knows why. However, my girlfriend at the time was early sixth generation, just like Stuart, but vastly more powerful. The night of the fire she was supposed to meet me off campus, but she never arrived. I assumed she didn’t survive.” Harrison stopped and looked away. “She was pregnant…”
A question that I dared not ask froze before leaving my lips. We both stood there, unable to break the silence. Finally, we spoke together.
“My mother?”
“…with you.”
So there it was. That was the link that connected me to all these people, which meant…oh no, please no…
Barely choking out the words, I asked, “Are you my…father?”
Harrison still looked away, but responded bitterly, “Maybe. Who knows? Your mother was a free spirit, and I suspect that she was seeing someone else. But it’s possible.” He finally met my eyes. “You look like Clare. So she gave you up for adoption?”
In a daze, I muttered, “Yeah, I had adoptive parents…for a while, anyway.”
Harrison’s eyes grew wide as he caught a brief glimpse of my memory of being abandoned at St. Jude’s. I quickly tightened my grip on my thoughts, invoking the vault image.
“A bank vault?” Harrison mused, “Pretty textbook. Who taught you that?”
Not wanting to discuss it, I replied, “A friend. So what happens now?”
“Now we leap to the Alliance branch office, get your new quarters all squared away. Do not pack anything, you will have everything you need there. You ready?”
“No. But that never stopped you before.”
The giant guy smiled for once, then said, “Okay, first you need to lock onto my core Mandellian thread.”
Reaching out to him mentally, I probed his forehead until, by God, there it was. Locking onto his core Mandellian thread felt like grabbing a live electrical wire. How does that much power go unnoticed? Gritting my teeth, I focused harder onto the thread, and a grey haze settled over my vision, as if all the color in the world had bled away. In its place, however, I could see a halo of light enveloping Harrison’s body. The light was made up of tiny strands that slightly resembled fiber optic threads. They were increasing in number, making it hard to see the man underneath. From the lower middle portion of his forehead sprouted a massive horn of light as thick as my arm. Fighting to maintain my focus, I looked down at my body, which didn’t seem to have any threads at all. Slowing my breathing, I felt out my own core Mandellian thread, and from there filled my body with awareness. Small pinpoints of light began to emerge all over me with an almost blinding intensity. The feeling of raw power swelled in my chest, then the world erupted in light. Harrison’s consciousness seemed to guide me to remotely view a hug
e circular room with a domed ceiling and no windows. The image increased in clarity with each second, the details popping out in high definition. More pinpoints of light erupted in the shape of Harrison’s body, and I struggled to follow suit. The first Mandellian thread to make the leap was on my arm, and it literally felt like someone plucked a hair off of it. It hurt. Pushing harder, the plucking feeling spread all over my body until it reached the point of agony. Suddenly, it all stopped, and I collapsed to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.
“It didn’t work,” I coughed out, “We haven’t gone any…where?”
It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting conditions in the cavernous room, but I could feel the damp, cool temperature right away. The walls and ceiling appeared to be made of concrete coated in some kind of shiny enamel finish. The sparse fluorescent lights glowed, casting deep shadows. There appeared to be only one door, and the floor was completely devoid of any rug or furniture. Maybe there are more useless spaces in the world, but I have never seen one. Then it occurred to me: Where was Harrison? There was nowhere to hide in this room. Something was wrong.
The sound of running footsteps echoed from behind the room’s only door, which flew open to admit four soldiers. As soon as they stepped in someone must have turned on the rest of the fluorescents, and the room erupted in bright light.
Before I knew it all four of them pointed handguns at my face and were shouting at me to get down on the ground. Summoning what was left of my strength, I…got an idea, then stopped. Slowly I put my hands behind my head and dropped to my knees.
Apparently, the four soldiers were not expecting this, but one of them, a stout blond woman who looked a lot like the one from the tunnel, recovered fast enough. She kicked me in the chin with her combat boot so hard it rocked my head back and a sharp pain shot through my neck. Pretending that she knocked me out, I fell limp. Cold handcuffs clicked shut on my wrists behind my back. As the leader sent away one of the men away to get a gurney, I expanded my consciousness to my surroundings, forming a mental map that I could refer to later. After a few minutes passed the man returned with the wheeled gurney and the four of them comically struggled to hoist me up onto it.
This is either the world’s worst plan or an act of genius. Given my current track record, the smart money’s on the former. Where the hell is Harrison, anyway? The blond woman keeps checking her watch like she had somewhere to be…no…she’s worried about Harrison being gone so long. She loves him, but has never told him about it. That must go around a lot in these military types. Then a sudden realization dawned on me. I sensed those thoughts through her goofy looking helmet. The more I’m around these things the less they hamper me. That must be why Harrison seems to ignore them as if they weren’t even there. He blew past the whole house countermeasures that Dr. Kildare had going. Interesting.
The blond woman, named….Heidi, checked her watch again. Just past six in the afternoon. Six??? It was almost eight o’clock when I found Harrison lurking in my condo. How could ten hours have gone by? And where the blazes is Harrison??? This plan began to seem dumber by the minute. I was hoping for them to put me in jail so that I could find my friends there. At least I think they are my friends. I made a promise to Kate, anyhow, and she’s a friend. Right?
All of a sudden I had an urge to forget all about Kate and just embrace being a part of the Alliance for real. Why was I fighting these people? For the first time in my life, I could actually belong to something. Yes, I’m planning to betray them, but there’s no rule that says I have to. When Harrison gets back this whole misunderstanding will be cleared up and I will be part of the team. Who are the good guys in this fight, anyway? How do I do the right thing when I don’t know whom to trust?
Two of the four soldiers resumed their posts guarding the hallway outside the Way Station (which is what the soldiers called the big domed room). The two that stayed with me were Heidi and a wiry, dangerous-looking man named Clyde with a fresh curved scar outside his left eye. At this very moment, Heidi was thinking about how to kill me without getting caught. Fantastic. My plan was looking better and better.
The hallway ended, splitting into two wings. The one on the right was marked “Stairs to Level B3.” We took the unmarked door on the left. It was secured by a keypad security code, plus a retinal scan, plus a voice analyzer. The door was made of reinforced steel. It seems like a great security system unless you develop laryngitis. Heidi and Clyde walked up to the retinal scanner until it beeped for both of them, then entered the security code. Then the system spoke, “Verify, please state your names.”
“Clyde Williams.”
“Heidi Kohler.”
“Analyzing…Thank you.” Then the door unlocked with a clang and the two musketeers ushered me through. As I was wheeled into the wing my ears popped, as if I were in a rapidly ascending airplane. The feeling was accompanied by a dead silence unlike any that I had ever, um, not heard. Then it dawned on me that I was not hearing anyone’s thoughts, no faraway whispers, not the urgings of animals, no thoughts at all but my own. Even my own thoughts were scattered and hard to hold onto. I opened my eyes slightly to see where they were taking me. Not five feet past the entrance was a brightly lit pharmacy window complete with elderly pharmacist. It would look right at home in any drug store in America, except this was a prison wing for psionically talented criminals. It didn’t quite fit here.
Clyde stepped forward. “Roger, we have a live one here. This is Adam Sharpe, an untrained Class A psi.” (He pronounced the word “sigh”). “His readings are completely off the charts, and we found him in the Way Station, and you know that that means.”
Roger frowned, “Class A indeed. I’m surprised that your team was able to subdue him. Good work. How did you do it?”
Clyde shifted his weight and replied, “He just surrendered. Then my overzealous sergeant kicked him unconscious.”
“Just surrendered, hmm?” Roger leaned over me. “Welcome to our treatment center, young man. I know you can hear me so you can give up the charade. Please sit up and take your medicine and you can be on your way.”
“No thanks,” I said, opening my eyes, “I’m fine.”
The friendly look on Roger’s face evaporated. “I am afraid, sir, that taking your medication is required, and if necessary, we will administer it to you by force.”
My two soldier buddies leaned over, malevolent and eager looks on their faces.
I sat up with difficulty, my hands still cuffed behind my back. Then I said, “That’s not going to happen.” The reflection in the glass revealed that Clyde was about to pounce, and I did my best to focus on speeding up my metabolism to slow down time.
It didn’t work. This godforsaken room was short-circuiting my ability to concentrate. Clyde used some kind of judo on me and before you can say, “Take your medicine,” I was face to the floor with my arms still behind my back. I felt the pinch of a syringe in my neck, but the needle snapped off before it penetrated deeply. Panic set in and I pulled at those cuffs with all of my newfound strength—what was left of it, anyway. The pain in my wrists was agonizing , and I cried out right before one of the links snapped, freeing me.
Before I knew what was happening, more of these security goons showed up and tackled me, trying to hold me down. I pushed and pulled, bit arms and pulled hair until I was free enough to plant my right foot on the ground, then thrust myself upward to a standing position, sending several of them flying. That was awesome. I felt unstoppable. Heidi had stepped back from the fray, and when the men went airborne, she nimbly evaded them, stepped right up to me and pointed a gun to my forehead.
Everyone froze, and all of my confidence evaporated.
“Okay,” I sighed, “You wi…”
Boom.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Talon, the Prophesier, levitated invisibly in the hallway of the strange underground complex, looking down upon a group of human beings. They were standing around a third, bigger human, who
was bleeding from his head and unconscious. The males were shouting at a female with blond hair and took a weapon from her hands. There was some kind of crude mental suppressor broadcast over the area, which, while annoying, did nothing to diminish his powers as he secretly penetrated the minds of all living things in the area. He hovered and observed.
“You idiot!” Clyde shouted, “This guy was a class A, and you just executed him. What in hell are we going to tell Harrison when he gets back? What do we tell Dr. Grauer?“
“Who cares,” snarled Heidi, “Have you forgotten that this piece of garbage here broke my sister’s legs, then killed Ray in the bridge-tunnel?”
Clyde shot back, “I hate him as much as you do, but he didn’t shoot Ray, his girlfriend did. And we all are pulling for Ericka to recover, but she will be all right in time. However, this poor schmuck will be dead forever, along with our careers.”
At that point one of the soldiers moved and the bloody face of the large man became more visible. Interesting, Talon noted. He knew the injured man very well. His name was Adam.
Several doctors ran up and kneeled next to Adam’s body. The older one checked a few things and turned. “You only grazed him. We need to run a few tests, make sure his brain isn’t bleeding or swelling, but he’s very much alive.”
“Impossible!” Heidi exclaimed, “The barrel of my Glock was aimed dead center on his forehead from less than two feet away. No way was that only a graze.”
Chuckles from the men only served to enrage her more, but she clamped her mouth shut before destroying what little was left of her reputation.
Clyde ordered the doctors to do their tests quickly, and they worked together to hoist Adam back onto the gurney and wheel him away to the radiology lab. Talon drifted down the now empty corridor, contemplating the significance of the injured man. When he was younger, he had often dreamed of Adam and his life. He knew about Gus and St. Jude’s. He spent many evenings in the casinos of Detroit. The significance of these dreams was never clear, but now this…this was no dream. He may be in a spiritual form, but this was reality. Somehow this human named Adam had summoned him here at the moment of his injury. To help, perhaps? There could be no other explanation. Should he help? Certainly nothing on this primitive world could pose much of a threat. Yet, a faint echo of fear warned him about the folly of such arrogance. Even so, he thought, the human needs my help, and bothered to summon me all the way here, so I will provide whatever assistance I can.
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