“Get back!” I shouted as the first of the officers emerged, the one who had bowling-balled the ATM. “I’m warning you, you don't know what I'm capable of!”
“Evade arrest, and we’ll take you by force,” he panted, his cardiovascular athleticism far less exercised than his strength. “Don’t kid yourself into thinking you can escape. Already you’re in deep trouble, and it’s only going to get worse.”
Beside him, the two other officers appeared, one a slim woman with close cut hair, the other a beanpole of a man, his uniform seeming to stretch impossibly to cover his entire frame. I lifted my arms once more, focusing on the car, creating a force point just powerful enough to start to pull weight off its tires and help the frame creak upwards.
“Don’t you even think—” he warned, but I roared, the veins in my neck popping as I flexed my arm muscles, all while coaxing the vehicle upwards, bringing the back two tires off the ground as I shook.
And before I had a chance to raise the other two wheels, the short-haired woman next to him moved. Except moved wasn’t the proper way to describe it – rather, she blurred.
The full force of her shoulder caught me across the chest so quickly my surprise was genuine, my breath lost before I hit the ground, spinning in midair as she maneuvered my arms behind my back. Cuffs latching around my wrists before I registered what was happening, cold metal tight against my skin. Then I was face down, my cheek biting into the gravel, her knee across my shoulder blades.
“Documentation,” she commanded, grinding her knee into me more than was necessary as I choked. “Telekinetic, mid-grade, mandated by section A114 of city law.”
“Screw you, and screw paperwork!” I retorted, trying to squirm away. “I’m not from here, I don’t have to listen to your rules! Just like Dad said before you carted him off from the farm, and just you wait, he’ll teach you!”
“Documentation, now.”
“Didn’t get none, don’t need it!”
“Damn, this one’s an idiot. Get the car, Jim; should be prime to keep rehab's hands full,” she said as the other officers arrived, then started reciting my rights.
Chapter 15
“Don’t you get any funny ideas,” said the officer as he slammed the back door shut. “This car is lead lined and built with reinforced steel, but I’ll crush it around you like a can if you get suspicious.”
“You think you scare me?” I retorted, trying to spin in the seat but receiving a face full of window glass. “Just you wait!”
Ahead of me, he crammed himself into the driver’s seat while the short-haired woman slipped into the passenger’s side, shaking her head at my comment. We pulled out of the gas station lot, leaving the lanky officer to speak with the owner, the lights on his car still flashing in the mirror.
“Urlich, Larissa,” crackled the radio from the front seat, and I recognized Officer Roland’s voice from when he had spoken to Arial's father outside of the apartment, and I tensed. “Where are you? You’re not in position. Why didn’t you radio in?”
“Had a call north of the city,” responded Larissa, reaching down into a cup holder and removing a handheld radio. I frowned, looking up at the separate police radio on the dashboard that had been buzzing with occasional traffic since I had been shoved into the back seat. “Mid-level telekinetic from farm country, nearly wrecked an entire gas station over a few candy bars and daddy issues. Figured he’d be a good way to get rehab off our backs what with the new vacancies. On our way back now.”
“Hurry up and drop him off, then. We’re doing sweeps in the next hour. Art wants the entire city combed. Sure he’s nothing worthwhile?”
“Couldn’t even lift a car, not worth our time,” she answered. “We’ll touch base in a few.”
Then she leaned forward and played with the knob on the police radio, static flaring from the speakers.
“Siri, you there? This is car 48, Larissa. We’ve got a mid-level telekinetic prime for some reformation. Is your new facility outfitted with an appropriate holding cell? He’s rowdy.”
“Just finished this morning. This will make for a good first run. We’ll have to keep him there over the weekend until we officially open,” came the response, the light tone of a young woman floating atop the crackling. “We’ll receive him out front. Documentation?”
“None apparent.”
“All the better!” the voice exclaimed. “We’ll be ready in five.”
“Copy.”
We drove into the city, hitting traffic that delayed Larissa’s original promise of five minutes, Urlich’s fingers gripping so hard around the steering wheel that it cracked when a car cut in front of him.
“Stop telling people I’m mid-level. I’m high-level!” I demanded from the back seat, kicking Larissa’s chair while Urlich snorted and spoke.
“Son, you’d be best to keep your mouth shut. You can talk all you want when they load you into the cell. High-level, my ass.”
“Let’s see, closest region for Telekinetics is a hundred miles to the north, near the hot geyser springs,” said Larissa. “With no documentation, your mother has no way to prove that you actually were born in a hospital, even if that is true. More likely she traveled out there on her own and had you in the dark, as I doubt you could afford it. And while that still may be practiced among the lesser civilized rural population, it still does bear the potential death penalty. So as Ulrich says, you’d best keep quiet. Or else your mother will be far more quiet than you’ll ever be.”
I shivered in the back seat as her steel eyes met mine in the rear view mirror, knowing that she had no idea the implications of what she had said. That for all I knew, that might be my mother’s situation.
We pulled into the academy fifteen minutes later, two identical guards unbolting fresh locks on the front gate I had never seen closed, the fresh paint on the sign outside reading Rehabilitation 1E. Together they seized me from the car, their oversized hands gripping where my neck connected to my shoulder to guide me forward to the front door as the police car departed. Each of them wore white coats, their stature far larger than that of ordinary men, and their faces more blocky.
“Cut it out,” I said and tried to twist away as their grips drew tighter. “No way am I going in there!”
With a carefully placed force point, I slammed the door shut five feet ahead of us, jerking my head as if to direct it. The guard on my right cuffed me across the temple, and for a moment, I stood dazed, my vision filled with stars.
“Try that again,” he whispered into my ear, his voice low, “and you’ll see we're capable of much more than a simple beating.”
They ushered me inside, my sneakers squeaking on patterned tile floor as we passed a half dozen classrooms still in session. Dazed, I stared through the windows as we passed, only to be met with the shocked expression of a girl with brunette hair, her mouth open and brown eyes that widened as her gaze locked with mine.
Arial.
But in a half second, we passed her by, heading towards a door set in the back of the school, two thick metal bars placed across its frame. The guard hefted them upwards, grunting as they came free, and maneuvered the heavy door open to reveal a flight of stairs. I tumbled more than walked down them, the lighting poor, their hands practically shoving me forwards. And at the bottom, four doors jutted out from a central hallway, each made of varying materials with different locks.
With a creak, they pulled open the second on the left, throwing me inside so I fell upon the concrete floor.
“This room,” announced one of the guards behind me, “has been engineered precisely for a range of classifications such as yours. Trying to escape will only bring punishment, and you will find the reward of freedom beyond you. Only through hard work and good citizenship can you find true freedom.”
Then the locks in the door clicked into place, and I looked upwards to see two other forms in the dimly lit room. And one of the faces I recognized, clear as the first time I had ever seen it, the features unm
istakable. The same golden hair that curled over his ears, the same sharp eyebrows, and same stocky torso. Except this time, all the parts of him were still connected.
“Lucio, how – how can this be?” I choked on the floor, the memories washing over me, my throat swelling to barely let words pass. “It’s been five years since I saw you die.”
Chapter 16
“Lucio,” I choked again as I drowned in my thoughts, the memories flashing before my eyes.
How five years ago, we’d been on the eastern end of the city, at a crowded intersection clustered with cars ripping past far over the speed limit. We were playing marbles on a patch of dirt at the corner – hell, I hadn’t played marbles in years now, and the rules were fuzzy in my mind. Lucio had been winning – Lucio, who had been my friend for my entire life, who I had met every day after school, who had been my top companion.
I still remember how he had claimed my prized marble just a few days before – we had nicknamed it The Black Galaxy for the spotted white stars that coated its glossy surface, and now he had it cocked behind his thumb and ready to shoot. Behind us, our parents were talking, since they had been good family friends since before I was born. And they hadn’t been paying attention.
Instead of making the shot, The Black Galaxy ricocheted off of a rock when Lucio launched it, bouncing into the street where it made a kamikaze mission towards the storm drain. I’d jumped up to fetch it, but Lucio had beat me to it, leaping into the street to save our precious marble, his eyes never straying from the rolling sphere.
But Lucio hadn’t seen the bus. None of us had.
The impact ripped the limbs from his body, his head soaring clean over the traffic light in the center of the intersection, his eyes meeting mine one last time. I screamed as my parents rushed forward, my father grabbing me by the shoulder, his hand wrenching my gaze away.
“Don’t look!” he shouted, his dark eyes staring into mine. “Don’t—”
Back in the holding cell, I blinked, pushing the memories away. And I spoke to the two faces in the darkness, keeping my voice level as it threatened to crack, shaking my head.
“I don’t have a father.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, then the second figure shoved Lucio, cursing at him as Lucio laughed.
“Damn it, Lucio, do you have to do this every time we meet someone?” Then he turned to me, extending a hand. “The name is Darian. And his power is the reason he’s in here. He gets a kick out of meddling with other people’s minds.”
“Hey, he snapped out of it faster than most!” exclaimed Lucio from where he had fallen on the floor, his face still tugging at my memory. “What’d you think, was it real? A quality production? Too bad about your father. I could have kept it going much longer if you hadn’t noticed that and I had known. But hey, I can’t access memories – I can only plant them, and your mind fills in the rest.”
“Was the part with the head really necessary?” I said, rubbing my temple and thinking back on the memory, realizing I had never played marbles in my life. That the intersection had been at the corner of 8th and Memorial Streets, which did not actually intersect anywhere in the city. And that besides this one memory with fuzzed edges, I could recollect nothing about Lucio, just attributes my mind had assigned to him. “And I don’t actually know you, do I?”
“Now you do!” he exclaimed as Darian rolled his eyes. “Unless you want more of a back story? I can implant that as well! What do you think – maybe we met for the first time on a road trip or an adventure.”
“No, I’d prefer you didn’t,” I answered, scowling. “Not that I would know, would I?”
“You get used to it,” said Darian as he helped me to my feet. “Lucio has a very peculiar sense of style, a feeling to his memories. After a few times realizing that they are fake, they’re easy to spot. The emotions come too easy. The colors too bright. The tone foreign.”
“Hey,” responded Lucio, standing back up and brushing dust off of his shirt from the floor. “If I wanted a critique, I would have asked for it! Besides, I’ll get plenty of that when I make it back to Hollywood. It’s where I was born, you see. The land of stories and motion pictures! And I’m going to be the best director you’ve ever seen. That’s why I practice so much.”
“And because you’re a mischievous knucklehead,” added Darian. “Anyways, we never caught your name. Looks like you’re locked in here with us, so we might as well get introductions over with.”
“SC. I’m a telekinetic,” I answered and cast a look around the solid concrete room, a single light strip dangling from the ceiling, a series of bulbs rigged with low voltage, the walls polished to a fine finish. “How long have they kept you here?”
“Two days now after they pulled us off the streets,” said Darian. “They caught Lucio here planting memories of having already paid for his lunch at a fancy restaurant we shouldn’t have been at either.”
“And neither should they!” Lucio exclaimed. “Two police officers, undercover, sitting one table over. We were being followed, Darian! They were trying to catch us doing something. And besides, I told you, that waitress was acting. I wasn’t using my power.”
“Sure you weren’t,” answered Darian and rolled his eyes again. “Either way, since I was there too, I was an accomplice. Anyways, SC, think you can get us out of here? Pull some telekinetic tricks?”
“I need something to throw or to move around,” I answered, shrugging. “The walls here are bare, so I have no handholds. My best bet would be the lights, but they are too massless to cause any damage.” Then I thought back to what the officer had said when I entered the back of his police car. “Besides, this room feels lead lined. I can’t reach through it.”
“Just like me,” said Lucio. “Same here. All the minds on the other side are blurred. I can’t focus on any of them.”
“Then I suppose we wait,” huffed Darian, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, sighing as he threw back his head.
“Don’t worry,” said Lucio, his eyes glinting. “We have movies for entertainment.”
Chapter 17
“Hey, what about lunch?” demanded Lucio as one of the guards opened the door to our cell and tossed in a stack of uniforms. “You forgot it today!”
“You would be best advised,” answered the guard through his teeth, “not to attempt such an action again.” He brandished a notebook, flipping open to a page showing a daily timetable. “I already fed you today. Your power can't change what is written on paper.”
He checked his front pocket, then his back two, and finally his shirt pocket before finding the key as Lucio grinned, and locked the door behind him after slamming it.
“Damn, worked yesterday,” Lucio said. “They’re starting to get smarter.”
I’d spent that night in the cell, shivering against the concrete and using my arm for a pillow. Lucio had snored for the majority of it while Darian had been silent, so quiet I couldn’t tell if he slept at all. And I realized that for all I knew about him, he might actually be a Narcolept.
“What is your power, anyways?” I asked him when I awoke.
“Well, you and Lucio certainly share a disregard for manners,” he answered, yawning.
“Oh, come on, Darian, why do you always have to be such a stickler?” needled Lucio. “It’s not like you can use it effectively down here anyways.”
“I’m a stickler because I like to avoid situations such as these, and I’d like to get out of them as soon as possible,” said Darian in his deep voice, then turned his gaze back towards me, the whites of his eyes showing as he rolled them. “But to answer your question, I’m a Mimic. Born near a parrot sanctuary, because that’s likely your next question. An illegal one, mind you, next to my hospital – the minor influx of Mimic children clued in the police. Typically, we’re only from the tropics, but there were thousands of birds being smuggled in. Enough to bring a piece of their location with them, and influence children nearby.”
“Interesting,” I said, feigning curiosity, the hairs on my neck standing up as a chill rushed over me and I remembered the description of Mimic from the Directory. “What exactly can you do?”
“For a limited time, I can replay the powers of others as if they were my own. With far less strength, but still capably,” said Darian. “But there are those that are more difficult to reproduce.”
“Like mine!” spoke up Lucio. “Because mine requires a certain frame of mind and tons of practice. Because it’s art. Not simply something that can be replicated.”
“More because I don’t have the obsession with it that you do,” Darian retorted and kicked the door, the knock echoing in the room.
I stared at him as he sat back down against the wall, wondering about the true extent of his capability. Knowing that if he chose to replay my power, Darian would be far less skilled than I would be.
And that it would look nothing like telekinesis.
Over the next day, we heard the other doors outside opening and closing, sometimes accompanied by voices. Once, there had been a crash followed by a roar, and each of us pressed our ears against the door until the concrete started to heat up and we backed away, another roar quickly being stifled a few moments later as it was accompanied by shouts.
Another time, the entire room shook, dust falling from the ceiling as Darian paced and Lucio giggled.
We spent the next night in the holding cell, and the next, occupying the time with conversation and guessing games. For a few hours, Lucio broadcasted his movie ideas into our minds – one of which I found myself actively awaiting the sequel. And like Darian said, I started to pick up on the ticks and tendencies of each of his memories, finding myself able to sort through what was real and fake at a moment’s notice. But as grateful as I was for the entertainment, his interference always made me uneasy.
Star Child: Places of Power Page 6