Earth, NorthEastMetro, Old New York
Paul buried his face into his hands, trying to protect his eyes, as a flurry of stones pelted him. Years ago, his parents had had him tested for Talent, as all children are at some point or another, expecting him to fail that test, and go on to follow his father into the Navy as an engineer. The only problem was Paul not only passed the test for Talent, but he scored as a potential High Talent.
Of course, his parents were proud, but that wasn't what they wanted for their boy. So for years, they forced him to play rough and tumble games, ignoring his more pacific nature. They made him try out for the Rugby team, and when he was cut, his father called in a favor to get him back onto the team. When he wanted to learn music from one of the old neighborhood women, his mother made a discrete visit to the woman, explaining that no son of hers would waste his childhood indoors tickling ivory to see if it would giggle.
After some time, Paul gave in to his parents' will, and tried to emulate the other boys. He played their games, laughed at their jokes, and in general spent his time wearing a mask. Until one day, all that changed.
He was at school, trying hard to play the game properly. He was supposed to hit the ball, then run around the diamond, and get back "home", so he could score a point for his team. He had already been to bat once, and had struck out spectacularly, swinging at every pitch, trying to smash the ball out of the field, like he'd seen other boys do. That failure had cost him. His team glared at him, called him names, and did their best to get him to leave the field, saying 'if we lose him, it'd be like gaining another player.'
Standing above home plate, he eyed the pitcher, watching his eyes shift, focusing deeply, when suddenly it was like his mind expanded like a balloon.
I'll show this kid, a curve ball close enough to shave some skin off his belly'll teach him not to mess with me.
Shocked Paul didn't even flinch when the ball came zooming at him, missing his stomach by a close inch. The Umpire called it a ball. Paul's team rejoiced, thanking various gods that he hadn't swung. Their joy washed over Paul, leaving him slightly dazed.
Fine, don't swing punk. How about a fast ball?
The pitcher's arm went back, his body flew, and the ball came roaring at Paul, straight for the plate. Panicking, Paul wasn't sure what to do, he'd never really figured out when to swing… just as it seemed too late, he felt his team all think at once: Swing!
Putting as much muscle into it as he could, Paul swung the bat, sending the ball high and far. Shocked, he stood there, watching as it landed in the field, players chasing it, to throw him out.
"Run you idiot!" His team captain yelled, and was echoed by most of the boys on the bench.
Dropping the bat, Paul took off running, his legs pumping, his chest heaving. He'd never had to run for his base before. Before, he'd always been walked or hit by a bad pitch… he'd never actually hit the ball. A smile crossed his face, triumph, joy as he ran. As he rounded third and started down the home stretch, something went wrong. The catcher had the ball now. He was standing over Home plate, an evil glint in his eye. Shocked, Paul turned and ran for third again, hoping to be safe there. The catcher's arm was faster than Paul's feet, and the ball made it there first, allowing the third baseman to chase Paul back towards Home. Dimly, Paul was aware that both teams were chanting: "Pickle, Pickle, Pickle!"
Unsure what to do, Paul stopped, standing still directly between the two players. A wicked grin came to the catcher's face, as he walked up, and was about to tag Paul out, when suddenly, he crumpled to the side as if knocked over by a large man. Seeing his chance at a score, Paul ran for home, leaping over the fallen catcher. When he made it, he smiled at his team, looking for their answering smiles, but none were there.
"How did you do that?" "Are you some kind of FT&T freak?" "Talents can't play!" "Get him!"
That was when the rocks started flying.
Scared, Paul dropped into a fetal position, covering all the vital parts, crying softly. When it hit him.
I stopped the catcher from touching me, didn't I? Can I do it again?
Thinking really hard, screwing his face up into a contorted grimace, he thought… tapping into the energy stored in his brain, using a new set of "mental muscles" and reached out with them. All the rocks within two feet of his body halted mid-air, the new ones that arrived seemed to get stuck in thick jelly as they flew. Paul stood then, his body taught with stress and anger.
"Just because I am different does not mean you can assault me." His voice was deep, and menacing, his mental 'voice' carried the thoughts into all but the lamest minds. "Go now, before I decide to throw these rocks back at you."
The threat was an idle threat, as he was already near exhaustion from that little demonstration, but none of the boys on the field knew that, nor did the boy filling the role of Umpire. They all fled, but that wasn't the end of the problem. When Paul arrived back home, his mother and father were both sitting on the sofa, in the family room.
"Paul James McHenry, come here. We have something to discuss with you." His mother's voice was iron cloaked with silk. She was angry, and he could tell it.
"Yes, Mother? Father?" He said quietly, as he stood in front of them, like a soldier waiting for undesirable orders, or a prisoner waiting to hear if his execution was granted a stay.
"I just received a call from some of the mothers of the boys you played with today. It seems their boys all came home telling a story about how you're a Talent, and how you cheated in the game and then, when they exposed it, you attacked them. Now, tell me the truth, what happened?" Her tone was sharp as knives, and her eyes even sharper, so Paul gave as quick an accounting as he could, hitting all the details, even about his use of Talent.
It was his Father who spoke next.
"What, you weren't able to win using your own wits, so you had to cheat? No boy of mine cheats to win a game." He snarled, "You're not going back to play that game until you've apologized to every boy on the other team. I expect you back in the park playing tomorrow afternoon. Until you have apologized, no Vids, no music, and no leaving this house, except on pre-arranged trips with your mother or me."
"But it's not fair! They were stoning me! Stoning! That's barbaric!" Paul's voice shot up an octave, as he tried to defend himself.
"Well Paul, if you hadn't cheated, they wouldn't have reacted as they did." His mother cut in. "You will do as your father said, and you will not use that Talent again." Her voice soured on the word Talent, and Paul knew there was no hope of changing their minds. They had already set his life in motion, planning out every detail for him. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd already chosen a spouse for him.
He politely asked to be excused, and was granted permission to go to his room, where he found all his vids, books, music, and writing tools gone. They hadn't even waited to see if he was really guilty.
Angry again, Paul stretched out with his mind, lifting the few things left in his room. It exhausted him, and every few moments he had to sit down to rest, letting his body build its stamina. After about two hours, he slumped into his bed, physically limp from the effort of all that lifting. As he laid there, his mind idling, thoughts drifted into his mind, like smoke carried by a breeze.
What will we do? He can't be a Talent and go into the Navy!
My only son, my only child, a freak.
He looked just like his father right then… so young, yet such a fool.
Retreating back into his own mind, blocking out those invading voices, his parents' voices, Paul sank into a shallow sleep. His body and mind rested, but he was still aware of what was going on around him. He knew when his mother looked into his room, to see if he was still there, he knew when his father came to stare at the freak he had helped make. That night, Paul skipped dinner, in favor of spending the evening in bed, recuperating from both his ordeal and his newly discovered powers.
When the morning came, Paul felt like a new creature. His body felt strong, his mind was fresh, and he was ready to face the day. The morning's rituals flew by rapidly as Paul tested his new ability. He could lift most things he needed to, usually things he could lift by hand anyway, but he needed to be able to see it. As for hearing other peoples' thoughts, that came and went as he raised and lowered his walls. At just before eight o'clock, Paul was ready to go to school, so he said a polite goodbye to his mother and father, and walked out the front door.
His path to school took him by a small coffee stand, where he bought a grande latte and a scone. Munching those delightful treats, he made his way to the large education center, where all the children and young adults from this area went to school. Paul had just turned 14, and as such, he was scheduled to take an aptitude test, to see where his talents and skills lay. That test was supposed to be in a few weeks, but when Paul arrived at the school, he was greeted by a Principal's aide.
"Mr. McHenry? I'm to take you to the counseling office." Her voice was a soothing alto, and from her slightly stiff movements, Paul knew she was an android. Sighing, he followed her, wondering why they had moved his test forward, worrying he wouldn't be ready for it.
When they arrived, the android opened the door and gestured for Paul to enter. Once he did, she firmly shut the door, and Paul could hear her heels clicking as she walked down the hallway. Inside, he signed in, and took a seat, waiting for them to call his name. Before he had even opened his bag to take out the lone book his parents hadn't confiscated, he heard his name called.
"Paul McHenry?" The receptionist said it as if she'd never heard his name before, as if she wasn't the one he'd just checked in with. "The advisor is ready for you now."
Grumbling, Paul grabbed his bag and walked back to the Advisor's door. Ms. Addams-Self had been helping Paul schedule his classes since he was 10 years old, and as of yet, she'd never managed to place him in a class he would actually like. When her door opened, Paul was surprised to see the advisor and a man in a deep green FT&T uniform.
"I am sure the testing will go fine, Mr. Gren, you needn't be here… Oh, hello Paul, please, come in. This is Mr. Gren, from FT&T. If you don't mind, he'll be sitting in on your test today." Her voice was sickly sweet, as if she thought the kids she dealt with weren't smart enough to see through her vapid facades.
"Why would he want to sit in on a routine Ap-test? I'm sure he took one once." Paul tried to keep the sarcasm under control. He normally wasn't an antagonistic person, but he disliked Ms. Addams-Self with a passion, and couldn't stand her presumptuousness.
Paul could feel her ire leaking off her mind, as she tried to think of a suitable explanation. Mr. Gren seemed to not leak at all… as if he was holding his mind back. Blood rose to Paul's cheeks when he realized why Gren didn't leak, because Talents can control that.
"Yes Mr. McHenry, we can. I assume you could too, if you tried." Gren's voice was firm, yet soft, polite too. Paul blushed deeper, and tried to stammer out an apology. "No need, for an apology or the test. Ms. Addams-Self, I can see Paul has the requirements we want, I'd like to take him to our testing facility. He will be back by the end of the day."
Without waiting for her answer, Gren guided Paul out of her office, out of the building, and into a waiting parked car. Inside, Gren spoke to the Voice Address system.
"Take us to Blundell." With a soft whir, and a quick rush, the car sped off, heading for the sea. "Now, Paul, I'm sure you have questions, and I can answer them, but let me try before you ask any." He winked at Paul, and then took out a file.
"This report was filed yesterday evening, by a certain woman whose son you are acquainted with. She claims you attacked him using Talent, and that you are a menace to others." Paul started to speak, but Gren just smiled. "When I interviewed the boy, to see if the story checked up, it was obvious he was lying, so the case is dismissed, and the woman will be paying a hefty fine for filing a false incident report."
Replacing the folder, Gren looked Paul in the eyes. "Now, the one thing the boy was telling the truth about is that you are Talented. Obviously, too. From what I saw back there, you've got both telepathy and telekinesis, a good combination. FT&T is always looking for people with that combination to station at Towers all around the league. We need people like you to help keep our planets connected, and we need to get as many as we can yesterday." Here he paused, and looked out the window.
"Nothing says you must, as a Talent, serve in FT&T, it's voluntary, and paid. You have rights as a citizen, and as a minor. However, if you sign on for training now, and move into Blundell Tower, you will begin earning your salary now, and be able to be placed at a functioning Tower by the time you reach your majority. First, before we begin that process, we need to test you."
On the word 'you' the car came to a stop, the doors whooshed open, and they were standing outside a massive cube shaped building.
"This is Blundell. Here is where Earth Prime does his work, where FT&T is administered, and the center of our universe." He said the last part with a wink, and little barb of mental sarcasm. Gren lead Paul through a gate, and into a security check station. Pausing long enough to hand them his card, Gren began talking again.
"This is security, these men are T-8s, trained to read minds of people entering Blundell, and to search their bags for dangerous items." He watched as Paul was quickly interrogated by an older looking T-8, who grumped at some of Paul's ambiguous answers. Eventually, the T-8 handed Paul a plastic badge, with his photo and a serial number on it.
"This badge is good for life, you are cleared to enter Blundell whenever you choose, though, some areas are restricted still." The 8 said firmly. "Return the badge before you leave the premises or you will be fined for trying to steal FT&T property."
Gren motioned for Paul to follow him, and kept his chuckles inside until they were far enough away. "Paul you have to let them be as serious as they are, or else they'd lose all self-respect. I think what was bothering Nick there was more about how tight your mind is, than how you answered questions. He can normally read anyone who checks in there. He only has problems with 4s and above. That speaks well of you."
A few hallways later, Paul was distinctly lost, but still with Gren, until finally, they reached a door. It opened with a soft sigh as Gren palmed the press plate, and admitted them into a 'soft' feeling room. Everything about the room said comfort, and immediately made Paul feel drowsy. He sat in the cool metal chair Gren offered him, and suddenly, his mind focused again.
"Now, Paul, I am going to test you on kinesis. No one expects you to have it mastered, and what you do isn't as important as the readings we get from your mind. Just do as I do." At that, Gren went silent, and 'lifted' a small table from the other side of the room, bringing it to his side. Paul strained, reaching for a duplicate table, and when his mind found it, he 'lifted' it as gently as he could, setting it down just as gently.
Next, he had to fold a paper airplane with his mind, then fly it in a complicated pattern. That was followed by containing a ball of water when the glass was pulled off of it. Creating steps out of thin air was next, and that was followed by lifting himself into the air.
Gren smiled and sighed. "Now, we're going to test your 'path ability. No more verbalizing until I tell you it is alright."
Now, explain to me what happened yesterday in the park. Gren's mind voice was as firm and strong as his vocal one.
It took a few minutes, but Paul relayed all the details he could, listing them out, until it came to him.
May I just show you? He asked. At Gren's smile, Paul drew the man's mind into his own, bringing his memories to the front, playing them in order of importance, in chronological order, and in order of emotional strength.
When it was done, Paul let Gren's mind go, and collected himself back into his own mind.
"You're good at this Paul. Almost too good. Are you sure you've never trained before? Was yesterday your first use of Talent ever?" His tone was firm, but not cruel.
Yes, I've never used Talent… it was always ignored at home. Mother and Father hate it.
Gren's eyes filled with sadness, but he kept his mind firmly shut to the boy. "It's OK to use your voice Paul. In fact, whenever addressing anyone, first use vocal means, mental only if vocal does not work."
The man walked to the door, and picked up a clipboard, writing a few things into the LCD screen, he then turned back to Paul.
"Tomorrow, I want you to report here to Blundell. Consider yourself hired. I will be sending your parents a letter via courier, so they will know about this when you get home. Now, back to school with you." Paul felt Gren's mind wrap around his own, and suddenly, with an odd use of kinesis, Paul was back at school, dropped safely in front of the building.
Gren walked quietly down the halls of Blundell, his long time home, and place of business. Entering the Functioning Tower, Gren waved at a watchful T-4 guard, and reached for Jeff Raven's mind.
Jeff, are you available for a quick consult? Jeff never insisted on formality unless there were others near by, his wife included.
Sure Gollee, just let me set this freighter down with my lovey, and I'll be with you shortly.
Gollee Gren looked about Jeff's outer office, scanning the desk, making sure Jeff was up to date on all he needed to be. The far door opened quietly, and the thick, graying frame of Jeff Raven walked into the room.
"Gollee, what kind of trouble are you stirring up now?" His voice was stern, but his eyes were filled with mirth. That Denebian farm boy never grew out of his love for danger.
"Well Boss, we received a request from the local PD, asking us to check into a possible Talent Violence incident…" Jeff cut him off there.
"Not like the riots again? We can't have people trying to kill Talents just because they're different." Anger and pain filled his voice, and his mind, which was still wide open from his day's labors.
"No, nothing like that. The PD was told that a Talent had attacked a bunch of boys at a park. I investigated, and found out it was almost entirely lies. The woman who reported it, merely told the PD what her son had told her, but she didn't even ask any questions. She assumed the worst of the Talented boy." Gren's teeth grit as he thought of that woman and her idiocy.
"Long story short, Boss, the Talent the boys were harassing is Prime potential. He's got good ability, put me through my paces when he's only been able to use the abilities for a day. I'm not saying he's got the skills, or anything… he's rough, really rough, but the potential is there. I want him here where he can be taught and trained. The problem is his parents are anti-Talent." Gren held his hands open, as if giving the problem to Jeff.
"By Jeeze, Gollee… I'm not allowed to just swoop in and kidnap a minor; he is a minor, right? Of course, otherwise you'd have him contracted by now. We can only do so much." Jeff's eyes unfocused, and he began to think again. "Gollee, why don't you go and meet the boy's parents? Try to talk them into it, if that doesn't work, we can try emancipating the boy… The lawyers will love that."
It was bright and clear out as Gollee arrived in front of the McHenry home. A voice command kept the car from leaving him, leaving it to circle the block while he was inside. Checking his watch, he noted that he should have an hour before Paul would be expected. Knocking at the door, he waited for an answer. Moments passed, and suddenly, the door opened.
"Please leave. That uniform will draw attention. We don't want anything to do with you." Mrs. McHenry said in a tight voice, and began to close the door.
"Ma'am, it's about Paul. Please let me inside." Gren said in a polite tone, radiating calm and peace using empathy in a way some would consider a breach of Talent ethics. Sometimes it was necessary to 'adjust' the feelings of others.
"Fine, please come in." She said with icy politeness, and then gestured to the living room. "I apologize for how untidy the home is, I was in the middle of my daily routine." And you interrupted it. Her mind said in the after thought.
"I'll be frank Ma'am. Paul is a Talent, as I'm sure you are aware. There was a small incident yesterday with some boys at the park. The incident was reported to the Police who asked that we, FT&T, look into it. After some research, I came to the conclusion that Paul was innocent, the boys were at fault, and that Paul has a large Talent." Her eyes got sharper with each word from Gollee's mouth, and her mind began to spew forth a river of venom. She was one of those people who were unaware of the fact that she constantly projected her thoughts. Most people only put their thoughts in their public mind, but Mrs. McHenry sent hers out in a continuous flow, assaulting the minds of Talents all around her.
"My Boy will not be a Talent, Mr.… Mr.… what did you say your name was sir?" Gren was sure he felt the room get colder as she spoke.
"My name is Gren, Gollee Gren, ma'am. However, the question is not if Paul will be a Talent, but rather if he will work for FT&T. You son is a Talent. He has Prime potential. That will not change no matter what you do. His Talent needs training, else he will likely become a Wild Talent and need to be sealed off from his mind. Before he got to be a Wild Talent, he'd probably do quite some damage to your home, your neighborhood, and maybe even the rest of the city before we caught him." His tone held just enough menace, and he could see the thoughts working through her mind. Finally she spoke.
"I won't have him living here while he learns that. I won't have him back in my home ever again. You house him if his learning this is that important." Rising to her feet, she walked up the stairs, leaving Gren alone in the living room. A few moments later, she returned carrying a small suit case. "Here is Paul's clothing. He doesn't own anything else he'll be taking with him. Pick him up at school, he's yours now."
Ice dripped from her words, and her eyes were glaring holes through Gren's chest as she gave him the case. Sighing, Gren tried to find the words to calm her, to help her, but before he could formulate them, she spoke again.
"I love my son, but he's not anything like what I thought he would be when I was pregnant with him. Now he's not even my son anymore. Send me the papers whenever you will, and I'll release him legally." Her voice almost broke, but she kept it under control. "Now, please leave my home, Mr. Gren, I think you've done enough."
Gren bowed his head and walked out. As he walked out, he couldn't close Mrs. McHenry's mental sobs out of his mind. Gren hoped Paul had inherited her mental strength of voice.
A short time later, Gren was sitting in the car outside the school. When he saw Paul coming, Gren sighed, and stepped out. News like this wasn't easy to deliver. When Paul saw him, he frowned, and Gren could feel the boy's mind clutching at his. Gren wouldn't let his mind into his own, instead forcing him to come to him for verbal communication.
"What did I tell you Paul? Verbal first, mental only if that fails." He smiled, to leech some of the sting from his words. "Paul, it looks like you're going to be working for FT&T, if that is what you want?"
The boy's face went from sullen to elated in a heartbeat. "You mean my parents are letting me go? Why? How? What did you say?"
"What I said doesn't matter. All that matters is that tomorrow, you begin your training as a Talent for FT&T." Gren spoke the words and opened the car's door, ushering Paul into a brand new world.