Guardian

by Matthew S. Cox

  The spirit pushed Vasquez’s chair, making it spin a little and squeak.

  Vasquez frowned at a dark-skinned boy in the front row. A second later, he looked confused. He gave a girl in the back row known to be telekinetic ‘the eye’, but again seemed perplexed.

  They’re not TK-ing your chair.

  The teacher paused at Evan’s telepathic message.

  Evan scooted down so he could hide his smile behind his arms. Abernathy the ghost pushed a plastic cup of e-pens off the edge of the desk. No one except Vasquez reacted, as they couldn’t hear the clatter over the audio streaming into their ears.

  Vasquez turned, grumbling, and paused when he faced Evan. The familiar tingle of surface thought skimming came on, but Evan didn’t fight it. No doubt, the teacher had seen his eyes glowing white and by virtue of mind reading, knew what Abernathy looked like.

  Rather than appearing scared, Vasquez took on a mood of exasperation. He left the pens where they landed, ignoring the event as though it hadn’t occurred. The ghost stuck a hand into the teacher’s terminal.

  Oh great. He’s messing with our homework again.

  Vasquez picked up a small microphone, something that would relay his words into everyone’s earbuds. “Five minutes.”

  Grumbling swept among the kids, with a few whines.

  “Mr. Vasquez,” yelled a girl in the middle. “Walter’s trying to read my mind.”

  “Walter…” Vasquez frowned. “You’ve been warned once already to stop that. You know the tests are randomized. A class of four hundred could take this quiz six times and no two people will get the same questions. Not only does it betray a galling lack of ethics on your part, it’s futile.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Vasquez.” Walter looked down. “I didn’t even get in; she’s got a mind block on.”

  “Hailey’s always got a mind block,” said Shawn, a stocky kid with mocha skin and a body that belonged more in fifth grade than third. “She’s so stupid she’d fail a pregnancy test.”

  Evan glanced at him sideways. That’s not fair. Girls have to take a test to get pregnant?

  The little black-haired girl whipped about in her seat and fixed Shawn with a glare that could’ve melted steel. Four seconds later, smoke began peeling from Shawn’s shirt, but stopped as soon as the teacher yelled.

  “Hailey West!” yelled Vasquez. “No pyrokinesis in the classroom.”

  She burst into tears and faced forward. “But he called me stupid!”

  Shawn swatted at his chest.

  Vasquez pointed at her. “That is not how we deal with these situations. I’m slotting you in for a session with Dr. Yaz this afternoon.”

  Hailey pouted.

  Shawn laughed.

  “Mr. Fields.” Vasquez’s stare knocked the smile off the big kid’s face. “You’ve earned yourself a debt of 50 citizenship points. Report to Sergeant Reed after class to clear some.”

  “Aww.” Shawn grumbled.

  “Well.” Vasquez folded his arms. “Normally, this presentation is given a little later in the year, but I think it’s probably close to time.”

  Abernathy wandered over to Evan and sat on the empty desk to his left. “Havin’ fun, kid?”

  “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Bah. You need to lighten up some or you’ll grow up a serious old man like I was.”

  Vasquez went behind the teacher’s workspace. As soon as he got within sight of his terminal, his face turned bright red and he looked about ready to vomit or faint from embarrassment. He jammed his finger on a holographic button like a manic woodpecker until the glow of the one-way hologram panel on his face dimmed.

  “What did you put on Vasquez’s screen?” Evan wasn’t sure what to make of a guy that looked like an old lawyer or banker, except for disheveled hair and sneakers that didn’t belong with his expensive, though shredded, suit.

  “Oh, just a few pictures with a farmer tending to his sheep and goats.” Abernathy cackled. “Nothing interesting.”

  Evan squinted. “Why’d Vasquez wanna get them off his screen so fast if it was just goats?”

  Abernathy whistled. “How should I know? Maybe the man doesn’t like goats. Never trust a man who doesn’t like goats, boy.”

  “Hey, look at Wren, talking to his ghosties again,” said Shawn.

  A few kids laughed, most remained disinterested. Hailey gave Evan an ‘I hate that kid too’ look.

  “Stuff it, Fields,” said Evan.

  Vasquez cleared his throat. He hit a button on his terminal and a massive movie screen sized holo-panel unfurled in front of the class. Abernathy chuckled as soon as the title card ‘Psionic Responsibilities’ appeared.

  “Oh, here comes the anti-bullying film.” Abernathy overacted a yawn. “Seen it.”

  The mini movie opened to show a small Hispanic girl, black hair, light brown skin, perhaps six years old trudging down the hallway of a school that looked much like their current surroundings. Words scrolled along the bottom announcing the following is a dramatization of actual events with actors. According to the voice-over, Natalie Hernandez was placed in the dorms after being removed from a bad situation at home. Her parents were not prepared to deal with a psionic child.

  Sullen, she kept her eyes aimed at the floor as she walked. Other kids teased her, pulled her hair, and seemed to want to give her a hard time.

  “All of you possess special gifts. These gifts can be dangerous.”

  Natalie entered a classroom and took a seat in the front row. Small objects occasionally bounced off her head, thrown from behind. She never moved, flinched, or spoke. The camera panned in a slow circle around her.

  “As you know,” said the voice-over man, “our policy prohibits the public posting of information concerning a student’s abilities, or past history.” The camera panned around to reveal Natalie’s face, her cheeks shimmering from tears.

  Shawn sighed. “She’s just sitting there and taking it. No wonder they pick on her. Crying never fixed anything.”

  About two-thirds of the class, and Evan, shot him a dirty look.

  The image changed, flashing past different scenes of Natalie scurrying away from other kids, sitting alone, and hiding to avoid being teased.

  “For most of the school year, Natalie hoped that ignoring the children tormenting her would make them stop. One boy in particular, William, sensed an easy target.”

  On screen, Natalie sat by herself at the corner of the outdoor play area while other students ran about in a light snowfall. William (or at least the actor playing him) stomped toward her with an enormous snowball. A few other boys got in his way, telling him to leave her alone.

  “While some came to her defense, little Natalie remained shy and afraid to interact with others. William did eventually lose interest, and stopped bothering her for a few months.”

  The scene changed to the hallway again, where the girl kept her head down as she walked among other students. William lunged out of the crowd, grabbed the little girl by the arm, and threw her against a row of lockers. He pointed at her face.

  “I almost got expelled because of you. You complained to the teacher,” yelled William. “You know what I do to whiners?”

  Natalie looked terrified and cringed. “I didn’t―”

  William drew his fist back, and the movie paused on his face, warped with anger and malice.

  “Psionic abilities are often intensified by emotion. What William did not know was that innocent, tiny Natalie Hernandez had become an orphan by her own doing. In an instant of fear for her own life, her telekinesis had surged, hurling her father against a wall hard enough to kill him.”

  The class let off a collective gasp.

  When the film resumed, Natalie let off a terrified scream and William rocketed into the lockers on the other side of the hall, denting them. He peeled away from a divot and fell to the floor along with three mangled doors. The girl dropped to her knees and bawled, oblivious to her bloody nose.

  “Walter survived, t
hough he suffered numerous broken bones and spent ninety-seven hours in a medical tank. Natalie stopped attending class and received individual lessons for the remainder of her schooling.”

  The scene faded to reveal a dark-skinned man in Division 0 officer’s blacks, marked by a single silver bar for a rank insignia. “I’m Tech-Captain Moses Winter from the Admin Corps. You are all children with psionic talents, and it is vital for you to understand that the harmless easy victim next to you might just be able to kill if pushed too far. We live in a world that does not understand us, full of people who may fear or hate us for no reason other than what we are. If you learn anything from our schooling program, your classmates here are your allies. Any one of them might have a troubled past. Any one of them could do something terrible if pushed too far, so please… work with each other.”

  Captain Winter smiled, and the screen faded to black.

  “Whoo. That man was angry,” said Abernathy. “Glad he finally gave up and left.”

  Evan glanced at the ghost and whispered, “Who?”

  “The father.” Abernathy gestured at the holo-panel. “He came here looking for her. Course, by the time he figured out how to leave the place he died, she was all grown up. Guess it took him awhile to get his butt out of that wall.”

  Vasquez touched his terminal, and the enormous holo-panel disappeared. “Would anyone like to offer up a thought on what that presentation means?”

  “Don’t make Hailey mad, she’ll burn down the school… or at least my shirt.” said Shawn, to a few hesitant chuckles.

  “Well.” Vasquez leaned against the front of his desk. “Despite your intention to make Hailey the object of ridicule, you come close to the point. There’s something like ten or twenty thousand people to every psionic, and far too many of them are one bad experience with a psionic away from hating us. The point is, we shouldn’t be hostile to each other.”

  “The point is,” said Shawn, “if we’re gonna pick on someone, make sure it’s a kid like Wren who can’t hurt anyone. What’s he gonna do, see more ghosts if he gets mad?”

  Evan shot him a dirty look.

  Abernathy stood. “I wonder what that boy’s friends would think if they knew he couldn’t fall asleep without clutching his teddy bear.”

  “Really?” muttered Evan, glancing at the ghost. He pictured everyone laughing at Shawn, but felt too guilty about announcing that fact out loud.

  “No, Fields.” Vasquez frowned. “There’s no room for mistreating your fellow psionics in this school. The last thing we want is for anyone to get hurt, and you never know the full extent of what someone might be capable of.”

  “His mom’s a mind-blaster,” whispered Raven from the back row. She seemed afraid to even say the word.

  “So?” Shawn laughed. “She’s not his real mom.”

  Evan leapt out of his chair and got in Shawn’s face. “She is!”

  Shawn stood, towering over him.

  Mr. Vasquez cleared his throat. “Boys…”

  Evan narrowed his eyes up at the bigger kid. “What’re you gonna do Shawn, hit me? Go ahead.” Flashes of his stepfather’s beatings replayed in his mind. This kid wouldn’t even come close to that. “She is too my mom. Leave her alone and go hug your bear.”

  “Stop, Shawn,” said Raven. “He’s really not scared of you. Not even a little bit.”

  Shawn’s bravado evaporated to a worried stare at Evan for a half-second before he laughed it off and pointed a thumb at the back row. “Oh, yeah… empaths. They’re wimpy too, like astrals.”

  Raven raised an eyebrow; her fluffy hair wobbled as she cocked her head. “Wanna have everyone see you sucking your thumb and crying for your mommy?” She examined her purple-painted fingernails. “I could probably scare you enough to pee your pants.”

  “Uhh.” Shawn looked between them.

  “Fields… You’re earning an appointment with Dr. Yaz as well.”

  A tingle of telepathy hit Evan’s mind. He clamped down on it, resisting. Walter, Shawn’s best friend, put a hand on the big kid’s shoulder.

  “Dude, let it go. Little guy’s old man let him have it big time.” Walter pulled Shawn back to his seat.

  Evan backed up to his desk, unsure if he should feel angry or embarrassed, and clueless how to react to one of Shawn’s buddies taking his side. No one knew about Mick but Kirsten and Doctor Loring. Now he had Walter to worry about telling everyone his crappy stepdad beat the hell out of him. He wanted to shrink into himself and hide, but never expected Walter to tell Shawn to back off. Maybe the other boy came from a similar situation. He looked to his left, but Abernathy had vanished.

  “Mr. Vasquez,” asked Mai, a girl on the far right of the room. “Is that movie real? I didn’t think telekinesis was strong enough to kill someone.”

  The class got quiet.

  Vasquez smiled at her. “That’s an excellent question, Mai. Jerome Harmon is the strongest telekinetic ever recorded, and was able to generate enough force to lift a small transport truck, or about twenty thousand pounds, at a slow crawl. He held it a few inches off the ground for nine seconds before the effort left him exhausted. It is true that Jerome could easily throw a person around with his ability, and he probably could inflict a fatal injury given enough room for the victim to accelerate. However, Jerome had been using his gift for forty or fifty years by then. What happened with the girl in the movie was the result of a spike of extreme emotional distress, built up over months and months.”

  “Is that why people are afraid of us?” asked Hailey. “Because they think we can hurt them?”

  “That is a large part of it.” Vasquez nodded. “Most people would be afraid of young children carrying firearms too. By law, a person has to be eighteen to carry a firearm… but they can’t take away your abilities.”

  He zoned out as Vasquez droned on about how they should feel safe at the school, and learn how to control their talents. Evan spent the next ten or so minutes searching the school network for any mention of Abernathy, but nothing came up. Eventually, the period buzzer announced lunchtime, and the students queued up at the door and filed out.

  On the way past the teacher’s desk, Evan paused. “Mr. Vasquez?”

  “Evan…” Vasquez looked up from his terminal, smiling. “What’s on your mind? Is Fields giving you trouble?”

  “Naw. I can handle him. Who’s Abernathy?”

  “Who?”

  “The ghost.” Evan crouched to pick up the spilled light pens. “You acted like you expected him to be messing with you.”

  “Oh, him.” Vasquez chuckled with a slight shake of the head. “He’s been around here forever. As far as I know, he’s the first person to be killed by a mind blast.”

  Evan’s eyes widened.

  “He died over seventy years ago. I think they’ve got his brain in the archives.”

  “What, like in a bottle?” Evan squirmed.

  “Something like that. They studied it for some years to try and understand how sensory overload burst telepathy-induced neuropathy worked.”

  “Huh?” Evan stared at him.

  Vasquez grinned. “A hundred years ago, give or take a decade either way, that’s what they called it. Well, scientists often use abbreviations in their notes. Someone had taken to calling it ‘mind blast’ for short, and it caught on. There’s still some labcoats who hate the term ‘mind blast,’ thinking it sounds too much like something from a holo-vid… but no one wants to write out, or even say, its proper name.”

  Evan rolled his eyes around with a nod. “Yeah. No kidding. Do you think Abernathy wants his brain in a jar?”

  “It would probably bug me if I were him, but I’m not the astral sensitive… why not ask him?”

  “Thanks Mr. Vasquez.” Evan waved and scurried to the door, stomach growling. An idea came out of nowhere halfway to the cafeteria.

  Mom helps ghosts all the time. I’m gonna surprise him! He got up to an eager run, following the smell of chicken parmesan.

&n
bsp; irsten guided the patrol craft down and hovered a few feet off the road surface while the mechanical drone of the ground wheels unfolding vibrated the frame. At the reassuring clunk of them locking in place, she nudged the stick and landed with the car at a slight tilt, the passenger side tires up on the sidewalk to keep the driver side even with normal-sized civilian cars.

  Before she could even shut down, passersby gave her annoyed looks as the width of the vehicle crimped a six-foot wide stream of pedestrians to four feet for as long as it took them to pass.

  Dorian leaned his head into his hand, one finger up to his temple while glancing at her from the passenger seat. “You know, you could’ve ordered.”

  “I could have.” Kirsten opened the door, pushing it up on its hinge with a soft hiss. Cryonic mist rolled out from under the patrol craft. “But this place doesn’t deliver. Even if they did, it tastes better fresh.”

  “Like a two minute ride in a bot does that much damage.” He chuckled. “Can you really tell?”

  “Yeah. I can. Be right back.”

  Dorian waved her off. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  Kirsten knew he teased, but couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. The somber mood didn’t last but a few seconds, gone by the time she walked into Cabrera’s, the same place Nicole swore by for breakfast.

  “La habitual?” asked a short apron-wearing man behind the counter. His thick black moustache parted with a warm smile.

  “Sí. Claro. Gracias José. Gran mocha así, por favor.” Kirsten took her place at the end of a five-person line, behind three middle-management types and two university students. All gave her fearful looks, though their reaction struck her as simple trepidation of police. She put on her most unassuming smile. “Morning.”

  The other patrons seemed to relax, somewhat, but their body language continued to radiate nervousness. None acted so far from normal that she felt tempted to eavesdrop on their thoughts, and soon she walked out with a jalapeño omelet sandwich in a plastic clamshell carton and a large mocha coffee.