28
There are some things in my life
I'll never understand
But they become the force
That makes me who I am
"Nothing yet," Donley told me as I sat next to him. "I didn't have much of a chance to ask anyone this morning." It was then that I realized he was shaking.
"Don? You okay?"
"A kid pulled a gun in one of my classes." His eyes didn't seem to focus on his food as he picked at it, not eating. "Don't know if this other guy's going to pull through or not – ricochet off the door frame, do you believe that shit? He was sitting right next to me and got hit in the eye…" Donley's voice trailed off.
Apparently reality was not about to bend its rules today. Rosenkreuz ground onward as always, greased with blood. "I'm sorry. Did you know them?"
He said what I knew he'd say, what any of us would say. "No. Doesn't matter, does it? It's all the same after a while: one of us dies, we all feel the aftershocks."
I caught myself glancing around as though trying to see who was missing.
"Mind if I borrow Donley a minute?" Jaxon Norwood leaned in between us, his eyes warm with concern. Not waiting for an answer, he shifted to telepathic speech and nudged Donley to scoot over. I could tell they were talking by the way Norwood's forehead wrinkled up. He'd need to work on that, perfect his poker face if he was going to make it at Berlin.
I felt myself smile. I remembered my first meeting with the guy, how his future had not been fixed. Today I could See him graduating from medical, about three years down the road. He has a knack for putting telepaths back together, though he didn't know this yet. Donley was in good hands with him.
The rest of the day continued in the same logical, sensible progression of classes, conflict, and resolution, like a magnificent dance that only looks chaotic when one is caught on the outside. I checked my watch at random, had to keep from grinning when I consistently pegged the time within ten minutes. As my last class ended, I allowed myself a cautious smile. My brain had finally shaken off its yearly spring freakiness, leaving me with a lopsided sense of optimism. As long as I didn't do anything stupid, I should be fine until next March, and maybe by then Frau Sheffield would know what was happening with me.
My imagination handed me an image of the red-shirted boy, eyes like obsidian fresh from the heart of the volcano. This couldn't have anything to do with him!
Could it?
He'd made the visions stop.
He'd made them spin in the first place.
Shit, what if he was an illusionist? My paranoia swept into overdrive again as I dropped my books at my room and made my way back to the dining hall. I had just about convinced myself to leave it alone when Donley intercepted me. :Definitely need to talk, Crawford. Come on.: He hurried me through the meal line and off to a table with a clear view of the door.
"Keep your shields up and your voice down," he muttered, tearing into his dinner as though he were being timed. "I was right, that guy is trouble."
My heart seemed to stop. I didn't want to hear this! I wanted the impossible fairy-tale encounter to be just that, not connected with the reality of Rosenkreuz. I heard my voice whisper the simplest question I could think of. "So, what is he, then? A snitch?"
Donley snorted a harsh laugh, spitting some of his vegetables back to his plate. "No, not that kind of trouble. Black market. Like those guys that got to Trevor."
I forced down a bite of food without tasting it. It seemed to stick in my throat, hung up on my heart which still didn't seem to be beating quite right. I tried frantically to remember the guys in that redshirt patrol, the ones who had zeroed in on Trevor like sharks. Without a doubt I knew that the dark-haired boy had not been among them. "That wasn't him," I murmured, though I had no idea why I was trying to defend this guy.
"There's more than one crew, you know. Don't be stupid."
Stupid. I'd been stupid, all right. Handed myself over to a stranger on a platter.
He thought my eyes were beautiful.
"What else do you know?" I whispered, not wanting an answer.
"He's got a reputation. With the older telepaths." Donley glowered at me meaningfully. That look said it was only a matter of time before that group included himself. "And the teachers are watching him."
"What for?" This really bothered me. If they were watching him, did they know about last night?
Who were those guys chasing him, anyway?
Donley shrugged, apparently at the end of his information. "I don't know, Crawford. Why don't you ask your mentor?"
"That was low, Don!" I snarled. "I'll figure this out, all right?" I couldn't reconcile his words with my memory, unless – "Wait, he's not a mixed talent, is he? Not like an illusionist or something?"
"Not that I heard, but people really don't want to talk about him. He's a peke." Donley spared me the kind of look my brother used to give me when he thought I was playing dumb. "And I don't mean the dog."
Peke. PK.
Firestarter.
Oh shit. Everyone knew those guys were as crazy as they were rare – just like precogs.
Donley watched the comprehension dawn behind my eyes, then stood. "I have some studying to do. You got anything going tonight?"
"Another meeting with Sheffield," I murmured. I was still chewing on Donley's words, which were tougher and more bitter than the food.
"You coming right back after?" His expression was somber, more worried than I'd seen him in a long time. He'd make a good field leader, once he convinced the committee that a telepath could, in fact, be trusted in such a position.
I shook myself out of the gauze-like vision. "Yeah. Should I check in, do you think?"
"She'll know something's up, if you do."
I considered my options. The way Donley was talking, he was this close to following me himself to be sure I made it back tonight. "I'll be okay," I heard myself tell him. "If you get worried, you can always have what's-his-name call her office." I stopped myself from mentioning Frau Sheffield's laryngitis. If Donley needed some kind of lifeline for me, I wanted to leave him feeling more secure, not less.
"You don't like Pederson, do you?" Don asked, only slightly serious now.
"It's more that I think he doesn't like me. I make him uncomfortable or something."
"Well, you are The Precog, you know," Donley grinned around the words and ushered me out of the dining hall.
We studied for a while, until my appointment came up. Then I took the relevant notebook and my hall pass and headed out, Donley's concern a palpable presence at my back until the door swung shut. Heightened senses kept me jumpy as I hurried to Frau Sheffield's office. I congratulated myself on making it without incident and knocked.
Frau Sheffield opened the door and smiled in silent greeting. The vaporizer grumbled on her desk amid a tea setting for two.
She held up a pre-written note. I shall be using written cues tonight, as my voice is quite gone. Are you having any more success with control today?
"Yes, ma'am, thank you." I followed her to the desk, sat in the antique chair. "Things have been much clearer today, and I haven't lost track of time once since last night." I hurried to suppress the image that rose with that thought – he had nothing to do with this.
Sheffield smiled graciously and offered me some tea. As I sipped, she wrote: I am glad to hear that. Your well-being is crucial, Bradley. Did the mist help, then?
"I don't know if it was the mist, or just the talk we had. It's like I've –" found my anchor "– finally put something together," I murmured, unable to put last night behind me.
She wrote quickly, her handwriting slanting strongly to the right. Whatever you did that worked, keep doing it, boy! Each of us has their own method for staying in the now – if you've found something that works for you, that's exactly what I was hoping for.
I felt like I was blushing a little, though in the dim lighting I thought she wouldn't notice. "Thank you, ma'am. I don't know if it's just that April is over, or what, but I'm hopeful."
So am I, Bradley. She paused to drink some tea, then wrote, Just take this hour to rest and meditate. If you have any visions, write them down. If you have any distress, tell me. She left the notepad in the middle of the desk, facing toward me, and leaned back in her chair as though napping. Every now and then she'd give a small rough cough and drink some tea.
Seemingly random images drifted through my mind. I caught one and looked at it, then I opened my notebook and began to write.
It's something blooming outside the walls, not a cold. It will be worse next year, but you'll find the source and a remedy for it. I don't See it blooming anymore this year, so I can't figure out what it was. You should be feeling better within a few more days.
In April 2001, all the pieces will fall together in the Elders' grand design.
I paused, pencil hovering over the page. I hadn't intended to write that; moreover, I did not want to write that I would be one of those pieces.
I tried to turn my thoughts to other things, see what visions I might find along different lines. Something was interfering with my Sight; I couldn't focus, but it wasn't totally blocked, either.
Frau Sheffield had said that this vaporizer put off a field that quieted the Sight.
Then how had I Seen those two things, so clearly I couldn't mistake them for anything else?
"Ma'am? A question?" I cleared my throat and tried not to sound too nervous. "What does it mean if I get clear and orderly visions in spite of the electro-magnetic field here?"
Frau Sheffield smiled, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. In a bare whisper she said, "It means you're stronger than I am, Herr Crawford."
I knew her voice was raspy from the laryngitis, but something about her words sounded like the croaking of crows. I didn't want to be stronger than my primary teacher! What kind of trouble would that bring down on me?
Her hand moved quickly, reclaiming her notepad and scribbling a fresh message. Don't let it go to your head, boy. The Sight waxes and wanes. Strong today is weak tomorrow. She gestured for me to read, then continued writing: It always cycles. But I suspect that you will ultimately be more powerful than any other Esset precog. It is your destiny, is it not? YOU'VE SEEN THAT.
Her eyes did not allow me to ignore the last statement. They bored into me until I looked up, challenged me to admit the terrifying truth.
"Yes, ma'am. I have."
A/N:
There are some things in my life
I'll never understand
But they become the force
That makes me who I am
"The Different" – Melissa Etheridge Skin
Redshirts v. blueshirts, part of the dynamic that keeps Rosenkreuz alive. Predator and prey, supplier and junkie, guard and prisoner, pick a pair and it most likely fits. Most likely. In most cases.
And yet…I think Gramma said something relevant, didn't she? Or was that about something else? Never can tell with precogs.
Speaking of precogs, I wonder why Frau Sheffield told Bradley how strong he would become? What is her interest in him? She does seem awfully well-connected…