by James Morcan
Turning back to the orphans, Kentbridge spotted a mistake. One, the firstborn and oldest child, was struggling to drop the twins, Five and Six. Although he was bigger and stronger, the twins were resisting his every attempt. Kentbridge blew a shrill blast on a whistle that hung from his neck. The orphans immediately ceased their activity.
Numero Uno flinched as Kentbridge strode toward him. Treating the boy no different to how he would a grown man, the agent expertly sweep-kicked his legs out from under him. One landed hard on his back on the padded floor.
“Always use an opponent’s weight to your advantage,” Kentbridge shouted for the benefit of all the orphans. Satisfied he’d made his point, Kentbridge blew his whistle again and the activity resumed.
Trying to hide his embarrassment, but failing miserably, One pushed himself to his feet. He steeled himself for a better effort. Lesson learned, One immediately upended Six then set about trying to do the same to Five.
Nearby, Nine was matched against Number Seventeen, a blonde girl with icy-blue eyes. Although sixteen months Nine’s junior, Seventeen was far from intimidated. She’d been taught never to give credence to age, size or gender. Kentbridge had instilled that in all his charges, and that was one lesson Seventeen had taken to heart for she had no wish to be upstaged by a boy – especially not by Nine. She lunged at Nine who made clever use of a concrete pillar, interposing it between himself and Seventeen to avoid her blows.
Angry, Seventeen grabbed a broom that was propped up against the same pillar. Pulling the handle from the broom head, she used the broomstick as a weapon, flailing at Nine who continued to make good use of the pillar and remain unharmed.
Using props such as pillars and broomsticks was entirely within the rules. Like Ninjitsu, Teleiotes encouraged its exponents to make full use of any props that could be turned into a weapon. For this reason Kentbridge, whose full attention was now on Nine and Seventeen, did not intervene. Only if the girl broke the broomstick in half and tried to spear her opposite would he step in.
The agent noted the ferocity of Seventeen’s attack and the evasive skills of Nine. He’d long since identified them as two of his most advanced students and they were doing nothing on this occasion to make him think he’d misjudged their abilities.
Seventeen swung the broomstick at Nine who ducked. The broomstick struck the pillar, snapping in half. The half Seventeen was left holding had a wickedly sharp, splintered end. Fully aware she now had a deadly weapon in her hands, she looked impassively at her opponent.
2
For a split second, Nine imagined he saw murder in Seventeen’s eyes.
The girl surreptitiously glanced around to see if Kentbridge was looking at them. He was. Disappointed, she immediately cast the broken broomstick aside and resumed her combat with Nine who couldn’t help but wonder what the outcome would have been had their master been looking the other way.
Kentbridge was having similar thoughts. He knew there was no love lost between the pair and made a mental note to keep an eye on them.
The head of the Pedemont Project turned his attention back to the other orphans. Floorboards creaked as he paced in circles, scanning all three hundred and sixty degrees of the gymnasium. He stopped when he saw the youngest orphan make an elementary mistake.
Twenty Three, a Caucasian boy, had failed to defend a straightforward kick from Twenty, a black girl. Kentbridge strode over to the pair and turned Twenty Three toward him. He then began to kick the lad repeatedly in the chest – not viciously, but hard enough to cause him to yelp as he felt the impact of each blow.
Twenty could only look on as her fellow orphan took a beating. She felt sorry for Twenty Three and could see tears were beginning to well in his bright blue eyes as Kentbridge continued to kick him. The other orphans took little notice and remained engaged in their own private duels. They’d seen it all before, and on occasion they’d each been on the receiving end of their master’s wrath.
“C’mon, son!” Kentbridge shouted as he urged Twenty Three to defend himself correctly.
Winded and sore, Twenty Three was becoming desperate as kicks rained down on him from every angle. He knew what he needed to do to defend himself – such was the extensive training he and the others had received – but he lacked the confidence to put what he knew into practice.
Kentbridge wasn’t averse to pushing the orphans to the limit and stressing them like this. He was a believer in the adage that pressure created diamonds. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he told Twenty Three. “One day you’ll be an operative in the field and it will be do or die. You’ll need to draw on every last reserve just to survive.” The special agent switched his attack from the boy’s chest to his head.
Twenty Three saw the blow coming and finally employed the correct defensive technique to block it, stopping his master’s shoe before it could connect with his right ear.
“Now you’ve got it, Twenty Three!” Kentbridge said. There was the faintest suggestion of approval in his tone. “Remember, for every problem, there’s always a solution.” He ruffled the boy’s hair then resumed his pacing of the gym to observe the other orphans in action.
Omega director Andrew Naylor chose that moment to enter the gym. He had a habit of arriving unannounced – something Kentbridge figured was intended to keep himself and his colleagues on their toes. Dressed in a stylish business suit, the short, stocky director wore dark glasses as he often did, even when indoors. While these hid his lazy eye, they couldn’t conceal his pock-marked face or his sour countenance. Yet despite his physical inadequacies, Naylor demonstrated not a shred of self-consciousness. He nodded curtly at Kentbridge.
The special agent blew once on his whistle. With that, activity ceased once again and, upon noticing Naylor, the orphans bowed to him in unison. The Omega director waved one hand dismissively then joined Doctor Pedemont and Marcia Wilson in the corner of the gym. Caesar-like, he motioned to Kentbridge as if to say, let the games begin.
Kentbridge blew his whistle again. The orphans resumed their combat.
Not for the first time, Kentbridge questioned his own role in the agency. Playing nursemaid to a bunch of ankle-biters, as he not so affectionately called his young charges, had never been part of his master plan. He’d been earmarked for higher honors, and not that long ago.
Yet, here I am, running a goddam kindergarten!
Nevertheless, Kentbridge was a professional, and as such he’d determined from the outset that he’d perform his role to the best of his ability.
Besides, no-one could do this job as good as me.
Naylor, for one, would have readily agreed with Kentbridge had he been able to read his subordinate’s mind. The special agent was without doubt the best man for the job. Withdrawing him from the field to take on his current role hadn’t been an easy decision for Naylor. After all, Kentbridge had been fast becoming his best operative at the time. However, the agency had a far more important role for him, even if he couldn’t see that. Fortunately, he, Naylor, could see the big picture.
Looking around the gym, the director wasn’t remotely fazed that it had seen better days and clearly needed a spruce up. The same could be said of the building itself and, indeed, the entire neighborhood. Thinking back to the late Seventies, when he’d purchased the building under the name of a private charity, Naylor recalled he could just as easily have chosen plush premises in a more desirable location for the Pedemont Orphanage. However, he had wanted his orphans to develop certain qualities: everyman qualities, he’d termed them.
Riverdale suited Naylor’s purposes admirably. It was a low income neighborhood with a predominantly African-American and Hispanic population; it was a good fit with the Omega Agency’s plan for the orphans to have the life skills to enable them to mix with anyone and to assimilate into any culture anywhere in the world.
“Pick up the pace, people!” Kentbridge shouted from across the gym, bringing Naylor back to the present.
The orphans increase
d their efforts to knock their opponents to the floor. Seventeen was a study in perpetual motion as she aimed a roundhouse kick at Nine’s head. He easily evaded it.
Naylor observed Nine. He was aware there was something about the green-eyed boy that set him apart from the others. He motioned to Kentbridge to approach him.
“Nine is too perfect,” Naylor said as he observed the lad fending off Seventeen’s latest attack.
Kentbridge followed his superior’s gaze. “Is that really such a problem, sir?” Before Naylor could answer, Kentbridge glanced at his stopwatch then shouted, “Two minutes! Make it count.” The orphans responded accordingly.
Naylor removed his sunglasses and attempted to eyeball his subordinate. As always when his boss tried to eyeball him, Kentbridge had to exercise extreme discipline to avoid laughing out loud: inevitably, Naylor’s lazy eye ended up focusing on some point several feet distant from whomever it was he was addressing at the time. While that unnerved most, Kentbridge found it amusing.
“I hear his brilliance is leading to jealousies,” Naylor said of Nine. The director glanced at Marcia Wilson, or at least in her direction give or take a yard or two. Marcia pretended to be preoccupied watching the orphans.
Reading between the lines, Kentbridge figured his young colleague must have said something privately to Naylor as the director didn’t know the individual orphans that well. Kentbridge inwardly cursed Marcia. He hated having to explain his methods. After all, he knew the orphans better than anyone, and that included their creator, Doctor Pedemont. “Well, what d’you want me to do?” Kentbridge snapped. “This is not the place to reward mediocrity right, sir?”
Unable to resist, Marcia interjected. “Nine is dividing them. He’s the best at everything. The other orphans are starting to feel inadequate.”
Kentbridge didn’t even bother looking at her. He answered to Naylor, nobody else. Glancing at his stopwatch, he turned back to the orphans. “One minute to go!”
The adults watched as the orphans went at each other, no holds barred. As if on cue, Nine almost imperceptibly switched from defensive mode to attack. He swept Seventeen’s legs out from under her then pinned her on the mat. It was an identical maneuver to the one Kentbridge had demonstrated minutes earlier.
Naylor and Marcia looked at Kentbridge as if to say, I told you so.
Seventeen tried in vain tried to free herself from Nine’s iron grip. Incensed, she swore at him, spat in his face and tried to bite his hands.
Kentbridge blew his whistle to announce the session had ended. Nine released his fellow orphan and wiped the spittle from his face. Seventeen glared at him, hatred in her blue eyes, as Nine walked over to the nearest window to distance himself from her.
Looking out at Little Calumet River in the distance, Nine could sense Seventeen wasn’t the only one whose eyes were on him at that moment. He suspected his Omega masters were watching him and, in all likelihood, talking about him.
Naylor stood up and prepared to leave. Turning to Kentbridge, he grumbled, “As I said, that kid is too perfect.” Donning his sunglasses, he looked pointedly in Nine’s direction. “See that he fails at something. And make sure all the others witness it.”
A speechless Kentbridge could only watch as Naylor strode toward the exit, closely followed by Doctor Pedemont and a smug looking Marcia Wilson.
3
Nine fiddled impatiently with the ruby on his necklace and checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. He felt concerned knowing night was fast encroaching.
Where the hell is she?
Kneeling in the tree house Kentbridge had built for the kids years earlier, the boy peered through a narrow gap in its rear wall as he wistfully studied an apartment building that was just a few feet beyond the orphanage’s back fence.
Nine was grateful he had the tree house to himself. Now that his fellow orphans were, like him, almost teenagers, none of them bothered climbing up the old sycamore tree anymore. Nine however, appreciated the solitude the tree house offered. It was one of the only places he could ever truly be alone.
In fact, he wasn’t entirely alone on this occasion. At his feet, the Pedemont Orphanage’s resident pet, a Japanese Spitz, chewed on one of his boots. Nine patted the dog’s thick white coat thoughtfully.
You’re my only friend, Cavell.
As if hearing Nine’s thoughts, Cavell stopped gnawing the boot and looked up into the orphan’s eyes.
A light from the nearby apartment building caught Nine’s attention. Sitting by a second floor window, was the girl he’d been waiting for. He involuntarily sucked in his breath as he studied the unsuspecting girl.
What a Goddess you are.
Clearly of Mediterranean origin, the girl appeared to be in her early teens – a year or two older than Nine at most. Yet she already had the poise of a woman. On this occasion, she was wearing a blue dress that had white polka dots all over it. Her jet-black hair, which Nine had previously observed to be waist length, was now tied up in a bun.
Nine crouched low in the tree house to ensure he couldn’t be seen. Copying the orphan’s body language, Cavell also squatted low. The excited orphan used the gap in the tree house wall to spy on the dark-haired girl who sat at the desk by the window.
Although they’d never met, Nine felt he knew her well. He had first seen her from that same vantage point a few weeks earlier after she and her father had moved in to the apartment. He’d even learnt her name after hearing her father call out to her: Helen.
Since then, around sunset every day, Helen religiously did her homework at the desk by the window. When possible, Nine always made sure he was up in the tree house at that time. Sometimes he drew pencil sketches of her features. Other times he became mesmerized, staring at her for long periods without blinking.
So engrossed was Nine, he’d momentarily forgotten about the binoculars he’d brought with him. They lay close by on the tree house floorboards. He had borrowed them earlier from Doctor Pedemont’s unattended office. Suddenly remembering the binoculars, he lifted them to his face and focused them on the object of his attention. She immediately filled his entire vision.
Helen appeared to be concentrating hard on her studies. She absentmindedly bit her bottom lip as she wrote something down.
Nine adored her exotic features. She had full lips, high cheekbones and radiant olive skin. What he loved most about her, though, were her dark eyes. They reminded him of sparkling diamonds.
The other thing that transfixed Nine was her deportment. Helen’s presence seemed so contained it was easy to forget she was not yet an adult. Her posture, and the way she dressed and moved, all seemed regal as if she was a princess from some European monarchy.
Yet the orphan knew that as residents of Riverdale, Helen and her father were likely to be impoverished immigrants.
Nobody else would choose to live in this dump of a neighborhood unless they were flat broke.
As he continued to marvel at Helen’s beauty through his binoculars, Nine couldn’t help comparing her to the female orphans who resided at Pedemont. Although some were certainly attractive, they were nothing like Helen. Well, maybe, in the strictest definition of beauty they were. After all, the orphans had flawless genes and therefore everything about them was supposedly perfect, including their faces. Too perfect, in Nine’s opinion.
Helen, on the other hand, had certain imperfections. She had crooked teeth, for example, but that only made her more attractive to Nine. Secretly observing her each day had made him realize there was beauty in imperfections.
There was also an aura of freedom and purity surrounding her that none of the orphans – female or male – had. Nine was spellbound by Helen’s innocent femininity. How he would have loved to sit beside her and help her with her studies, or hold her hand and get lost looking into those sparkling eyes.
Nine stopped daydreaming when Helen suddenly looked up from her desk. She seemed to be gazing straight at him. Guilty, Nine crouched lower than ev
er. Cavell mirrored his orphan master and flattened himself on the tree house floor. Sensing danger, the dog growled.
“Shhh.” Nine patted the dog comfortingly. Risking a glimpse through the gap in the wall, he was relieved to see Helen hadn’t noticed him. She was absorbed in her homework once more.
Nine’s relief was not just to do with his remaining undiscovered. He didn’t want to do anything to make Helen curious about the orphanage as he knew that could endanger her.
A part of him, however, had wished she had seen him. He desperately wanted their eyes to lock so he could finally connect with someone in the real world. Knowing that kind of connection was highly unlikely filled him with deep sadness.
#
Kentbridge stuck his head into the orphanage’s sleeping quarters. They took up the entire first floor of the building. He did a quick headcount to confirm all twenty three children were present and preparing for sleep.
As soon as they noticed their master, the orphans knelt beside their beds as if to pray. Instead of praying, they recited an affirmation in unison.
I am an Omegan and a polymath.
Whatever I set my mind to, I always achieve.
The limitations that apply to the rest of humanity,
Do not apply to me.
“Great work today, everybody.” Kentbridge spoke in his usual encouraging, yet firm, tone. “Now take your White Gold Powder then it’s lights out.”
As Kentbridge prepared to leave, Doctor Pedemont and his assistant, Nurse Hilda, entered the room. The doctor carried a tray full of small phials, while the nurse pushed a stainless steel trolley that resembled a hospital cart. It was laden with medical charts and sets of headphones.
Kentbridge hesitated at the door and turned back to the orphans. “We have a big day tomorrow, people.” The agent looked pointedly at Nine then left the room. Over his shoulder, he shouted out, “Tomorrow we’re off to Montana.”