“But someone did,” said Zoey, her curiosity growing by the minute.
She felt Stuart’s creepy blue eyes on her but ignored him and turned her attention to Tristan again.
“Did Agent Lee find out who took it? Do they have any leads and theories as to why they took it in the first place?”
Tristan hesitated then shook his head. “No. It was really bad. There were bodies everywhere, mystic and human. It was horrible. Who ever took it must have had an army or something—they got through the agency’s toughest security. We don’t know how they found out where it was.”
“But why would someone steal it?” asked Zoey, aware that Stuart was slowly making his way closer to their table. It was so obvious he was trying to hear what they were talking about.
“To travel without being detected,” answered Tristan. “To let the hostile mystics who hate us in. There’s no way we could keep track of all the mystics traveling to Earth if someone had their own interloper.”
Zoey frowned. “You mean like, illegally?”
“Yup,” said Simon. “I mean we do get illegals from time to time. They slip through the cracks, so to speak. Usually they use other transporting devices, but those things don’t work very well, and most of the time the mystics die trying to get across. But a single interloper could let thousands of undetected mystics through at one time—thousands of big, ugly ones.”
“So who would want to do something like that?” asked Zoey.
“Hostiles, probably,” said Tristan.
An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Zoey’s stomach. “So whoever stole it has big plans for it, like something really bad, right? I mean, that’s the only thing that would make sense, right?”
“Yup,” agreed Simon. “Like a nuclear explosion of hostile mystics. They’d come here and destroy every last human being. They would probably eat us, too.”
Agent Barnes had said that whoever had stolen the interloper must have been an insider. Someone with Agency connections must have stolen the device. But who had it now? And why did they take it in the first place?
When they were finished eating, Zoey pushed her seat back and got up.
“Okay, what’s next?” she asked.
“Now the fun really begins,” said Tristan excitedly, sharing a look with Simon. “Now it’s time to see if you’ve really got what it takes to be an operative.”
Chapter 6
Mirror-Port
Zoey hadn’t expected to see a Viking when she returned to class with her new friends, Tristan and Simon. A giant of a man with angular features and muscles that bulged through his white shirt stood at the front of the class in place of Agent Ward. He looked to be in his late fifties, but still as fit and strong as an ox. His long, blond hair was tied in a neat braid. She had read that horned Viking helmets were a myth, but she couldn’t help picture one on his head. It seemed to fit him.
He stared at Zoey without blinking.
“You must be the Drifter, Zoey St. John,” he said in a deep commanding voice. Stuart and his gang laughed.
Zoey stood frozen in the doorway; she suddenly felt very small and insignificant. She saw Tristan and Simon take their seats, and she willed herself to her place and sat down, doing her best not to look at the Viking.
But then something happened that changed everything. The Viking smiled.
“Welcome, Zoey,” said the Viking.
“You may call me Agent Vargas. For your practical training, I’ll do my best to teach you the art of combat, weapons training, and self-defense. I will teach you how to catch and restrain illegals. If you are not physically fit, then you cannot do your job. You can know everything there is to know about hostiles and the mystic world, but if you can’t fight or defend yourself—you’re just as good as dead. Might as well quit while you still can, and go work in the kitchen. Quiet down everyone. I’m going to make agents out of you, if it’s the last thing I do.”
He winked at her, and she felt her face get hot. She felt even better when she saw the disappointment on Stuart’s face.
Agent Vargas smacked his great hands together, making everybody jump. He rubbed them eagerly. “Well, today’s your lucky day, my little colts. I have a special treat.”
He surveyed the classroom. “I just got a report that there’s a major power outage in Broken Hill, New South Wales, Australia, and we’ve been assigned the job.”
The classroom erupted in cheers, as though the fact that Broken Hill had no power was very good news. Zoey was a little confused. Were they going to learn how to become electricians? Australia wasn’t around the corner—she figured they would have to fly. She looked forward to a group trip—it might be fun. She had never been in an airplane before.
Agent Vargas stood up. “I want everyone ready downstairs in the main hall in ten minutes. Don’t forget your sprays.”
Zoey watched as everyone jumped from their seats and ran to the collection of weapons and tools that filled the shelves along the wall. Not sure if she should join, she stood up but remained close to her desk.
Agent Vargas walked over to Zoey. He was even bigger up close, and his bulging muscles were distracting. “There’s no better way to assess a new operative then to throw them into the lion’s den. I believe in hands-on training, so you will participate with the rest of your comrades today. I hope you’re ready for a little excitement.”
Zoey’s face brightened—she was going to become an electrician with the rest of them. It wasn’t what she had dreamed about, but it was a start.
“But first,” continued the agent, “you must come with me. We need to scan you.”
Zoey stared at Agent Vargas as he headed towards the door. Did he just say scan? Her heart pounded in her ears. Did he mean a brain scan?
Her excitement started to wane. She looked over to Tristan and Simon, who were happily conversing with one another as they stuffed their pockets with what looked like hair spray canisters.
Tristan caught her eye and frowned when he noticed her panic. He started forward, but Zoey looked away. She didn’t want him to think she was a scared little girl. Whatever this scan was, the others had probably gone through it already, so she would too. It was part of the program after all and she was determined to see it through no matter what, even if it meant to have a few brain cells fried.
Resolute, she followed the big man out of the room and down the hall. As she marched behind him, her legs felt like metal posts and didn’t want to move forward. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other to keep up with him. Despite the heat, a cold sweat gathered on her forehead as she imagined a group of mad scientists poking and probing her brain with glistening tools as they lobotomized her.
Before her panic could choke her, Agent Vargas stopped in front of a great metal door and waited for her to arrive. She put on her best poker face and joined him. The sign in black letters at the top of the door read “Militia and Defense, Room 1B.”
Leaning forward, she strained her ears but she couldn’t hear anything from the inside, which was even more unnerving. Her mouth was painfully dry.
“Every operative needs to be scanned,” he said. “You can’t travel unless you’ve had a full body scan these days.”
He reached inside his pocket and withdrew two miniature beige cylinders.
“Put these in. You’re going to need them. I wouldn’t want you to go deaf on your very first day.” He smiled, but Zoey wasn’t reassured.
She stared at his palm. “Earplugs? Why do I need earplugs?”
When he didn’t answer, she twisted them in. The world around her dulled immediately, like when you stick your head underwater. She noticed that Agent Vargas didn’t use any earplugs.
He turned the doorknob. Zoey braced herself and followed him in.
The noise hit her first, even with the earplugs. It was like stepping into a war zone. Explosions, like firecrackers, detonated at the far end of the room, and purple and red toxic-looking smoke clouded the air. A red lig
ht flashed, then a sonic boom thundered, and another volley of smaller explosions resounded in the air. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs. Her eyes stung and watered.
“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” someone shouted, and another shower of explosives ignited. The room shook like an earthquake.
Zoey blinked through the smoke. The room was large, twice the size of the academy home room 1D, and crowded with people. To her left, ten men and women stood with weapons ready and shot laser guns at moving holographic targets that looked a lot like the Duyen demon that had tried to kill her.
“Did you see that, Andrew?” said a young woman in a helmet and goggles that covered most of her face. She held a giant gun. “It exploded with just one shot! God, I love my job!”
In one section of the room, agents appeared to be defending themselves from a mystic attack upon a mock house. Their guns were fake, but a real group of dwarf furry mystics seemed only too happy to be harassing them. Zoey realized that the agents were playing Mutes, and the mystics were actually rescuing them.
There even more weapons in this room than back at the academy room. Shelves were stacked with swords, hand guns, rifles, grenades, flamethrowers, and more medieval looking weapons such as, spears, staffs, battle axes, crossbows, and spiked clubs. One section was full with bags of salt. It was a massive library of weapons.
Agent Vargas looked at her.
“This is where we test new weapons,” he raised his voice over the explosions. “It’s not always this busy, but due to certain recent events, we’re doubling our defenses. All our agents have been called back to duty to test new artillery and to freshen up their skills.”
Zoey knew exactly what he was talking about—the interloper—if the agency was this worried, the situation was even worse than she thought. She was itching to know more, but Agent Vargas didn’t elaborate any further.
“Come along, Zoey.” Agent Vargas walked through the explosions as though it were merely a walk in the park. He didn’t even flinch at the explosions right next to him.
He took Zoey to the far right of the room where the largest mirror Zoey had ever seen was hung on the wall. She thought it was a miracle it had not been damaged by the explosions. The rectangular, white oak frame had an arched top and was highly ornamented. The mirror itself was made of some sort of crystal, and it gleamed in the room like liquid diamonds.
Next to the mirror was a cubicle made of glass and metal. It was like the screened off area radiographers stood behind to protect themselves from radiation. Someone sat in the cubicle with his back turned to them, typing with spaceman-like gloves.
“Agent Franken,” said Agent Vargas, and then louder, “Agent Franken!”
The man turned. He was wearing a silver, full body HAZMAT suit, complete with hood and visor. He looked ready to work for the Center of Disease Control or walk on Mars. With a little difficulty, he slipped off the seat and stood up. He was only about four feet tall, and he looked like an old hobbit on his way to the moon. The suit restricted him from any fast movements, so he moved like a puppet with half its strings cut.
Finally, he stood before them and removed the headgear. He had a mass of white, stringy hair and thick glasses that magnified his eyes to the size of grapefruits. His bushy white eyebrows topped the rim of his glasses like caterpillars. He waddled over to Zoey and inspected her carefully. He stood so close that she could smell the coffee on his breath. After a moment he broke into a grin, and Zoey noticed he only had four front teeth.
It wasn’t so noisy at this end of the room, so Zoey removed her earplugs and stuffed them in her pocket.
“Is this the new recruit?” said Agent Franken in a squeaky voice, still examining her.
“Sure is,” answered Agent Vargas. “Came in last night with Agent Barnes.”
Zoey felt uncomfortable being discussed in the third person, like some post office parcel.
“Well, well, well,” said Agent Franken. “It’s been a while since I’ve laid eyes on a Drifter. So this is her, huh—where do come from, girl?”
Zoey shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “Toronto.”
“Toronto!” Agent Franken tried to throw his arms in the air but only succeeded in a jerky motion like a robot. “Never liked that city—too many buildings, too many people. One could get lost just walking down the street. No, no, no—I don’t like big cities.”
Zoey tried to hide her smile.
“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” said Agent Franken. “Let’s see how brave you are, Drifter.”
He pulled out a syringe-like instrument and grabbed her hand. Before she knew what he was doing—he had stabbed it into her index finger.
“Ow! What was that for?” Zoey pulled her hand away. Blood seeped through a small needle incision on her finger.
Agent Franken put the syringe in his pocket. “Matter backup, just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“Never you mind,” said Agent Franken.
He raised his arm with difficulty and pointed to the mirror. “Face the mirror. Let’s go. Come on now—there’s no time like the present. I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to waste on little girls. Hurry up!”
Zoey’s legs were glued to the floor. She looked at Agent Vargas, who gave her a nod of his head.
“Do as he says, Zoey,” he said. “Face the mirror.”
How scary could a mirror be? It was just a mirror.
She couldn’t see how it could hurt to stare at her own reflection. Still, she walked carefully towards the giant mirror, studying the frame and examining her own reflection. What a mess. She tried to flatten the top of her hair, but it was useless. It looked a million times redder and crazier in this mirror.
And then something strange happened.
The more she stared at herself, the weirder she felt and looked. Strangely, she looked like herself, but different at the same time. It was like trying to remember a face that kept changing and fading in a dream. Could that be possible?
She stepped closer and inspected herself more carefully. She did look different. It was like her reflection was pixilated on a large television screen, with millions of different tiny dots of herself. She waved her hand in front of the mirror, and the hand moved, too—but slower, as though her reflection was catching up to her real self. Goose bumps riddled her skin. She took a step back and watched as her reflection stepped backwards a second later. She was suddenly very frightened of this mirror.
“Stay where you are, please,” said Agent Franken.
He made his way back to his seat. After some effort, he sat and replaced his hood over his head. “Voont Moo!”
“What did he say?” Zoey’s mouth was dry. Her stomach lurched, and she was tempted to bolt.
“VOONT MOO!” repeated Agent Franken. His visor began to fog up, and he waved his arms around in a weird motion, like he was trying to swim backwards against the rapids.
Agent Vargas walked over to the old man and lifted his hood. “We can’t understand you—what did you say?”
“Oh, sorry,” laughed Agent Franken. “Can’t hear a blasted thing with this on. What I said was, don’t move. If you move we have to start again, so don’t move. I’m powering up the mirror now, so stay where you are.”
“Agent Vargas, please stand behind the glass protector. We don’t want to have a matter mix-up again. It was a very messy business the last time that happened. It took months to find all the pieces of Agent Jones—may her soul rest in peace.”
“What?” said Zoey, and she felt a tide of fear cascading up from deep inside her.
“What? Nothing, nothing.” Agent Franken pretended not to hear her. “Stay where you are. Don’t move.”
Agent Vargas positioned himself behind the part of the cubicle with the metal wall.
“What exactly are you going to do to me?” she said, her fingers trembled and she curled them into fists. She fought the urge to look at herself in the strange mirror again.
“I’m not going t
o do anything—the mirror is,” said Agent Franken.
Zoey watched as he pressed more buttons on his computer. There was a sharp click and then a loud humming came from the mirror, as though millions of bees were trapped inside. The mirror vibrated, and then a light appeared in the middle. It was faint at first and gradually became brighter until the mirror was completely covered in blue light. It looked like blue energy.
“So, what’s the mirror going to do to me?” asked Zoey, trying to sound braver than she felt.
“It’s going to scan your genetic makeup first—your matter—then I’ll convert it to an energy pattern,” answered Agent Franken.
“Everyone has their own unique pattern, like fingerprints, and the mirror will always remember yours. The mirror dematerializes your matter—saves it to memory—and then rematerializes it at a specific target location or anchor. Anchors are usually other mirrors or reflective surfaces. It’s called mirror-port matter transfer, or just M-Mat. It’s mystic technology at its best, and we’ve been borrowing it for centuries.”
Zoey stared down at herself, “Is it going to hurt?”
“A little, yes.”
Of course it will, what a stupid question, thought Zoey. “So, this is like a teleport device, like in Star Trek and other science-fiction movies, right?”
Agent Franken shrugged. “It’s a form of teleportation, yes. Now, no more talking and be still—we don’t want a mirror-port accident.”
Zoey was afraid to ask but asked anyway. “What happens when you get a mirror-port accident?” She could easily imagine something horrible, like her body exploding in a soup of red mess.
“It’s when a person does not rematerialize correctly, some of their parts end up elsewhere.”
“And that’s what happened to Agent Jones, isn’t it?” said Zoey.
Agent Franken pressed his lips together tightly and didn’t answer.
Mystics #1: The Seventh Sense Page 7