The Islands - A novel novel

THE ISLANDS

a sub-tropical urban fantasy novel by Colin Meier

Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved

Don't steal my shit. :)

CHAPTER ONE

Meaningful coincidences are hard to explain, especially when they are not coincidences at all – but I only learned that later, of course.

This is what happened.

I was on the beach, shirtless, catching a tan. Well, actually, I was cruising for guys. It was very hot – as usual on our island – and I stopped at the ice-cream concession and ordered a vanilla fudge.

I was just walking away when a guy from nowhere tackled me to the ground.

I was about to get really angry – something I'm fairly good at – when there was a loud spat sound from the sand where I'd been, and then, about a second later, a sound only made by a long rifle firing a large-caliber round.

I have an unfortunate history that involves expertise in lethal weapons, including the maxim that son, the only good weapon is a lethal weapon. There was a corollary by my father that immediately afterwards I'd tried to forget as I looked at the intruder he'd killed. I was eight. He'd said fortunately, all weapons can be lethal in the right hands. He was holding a stained baseball bat.

I banished the despised ghost of my father more successfully than Hamlet and concentrated on the immediate.

Someone had shot at me!

"Run, Scott!" yelled the guy. He had a swimmer's build with a cute face. Then, after scrambling up in the sand, following him, I ran.

His tackling me was the coincidence that saved my life. Of course, it was not a coincidence. I didn't know that, and didn't even think to ask how he knew my name.

We ran straight for about about fifty meters on beach, and then into a grove of pine trees – islands often seem to be places that ignore climate and water tables, and shit like where plants are supposed to grow – and I stopped to catch my breath. My companion also paused, although I noticed he was not breathing heavily at all.

"You're in...good....shape," I panted.

He cast a sly grin at me. "Shape is everything, isn't it? Yours isn't too bad either."

Well, that was a come-on line if ever I heard one, but I was too exhausted to pursue it.

"Who was shooting at me?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "It's a very long story, but they're afraid you'll discover your....well, your talents."

"Talents?"

He lifted one mock-serious black eyebrow. Which was delicious. "I said it's a long story. We'll tell you everything, but right now, we need to get you somewhere safe."

I looked around. The grove was fairly dense. "This seems safe."

"It seems safe," he said. "If there's a ground team they'll be hampered by the trees but so will we. However, I doubt there will be a ground team. There's a pickup scheduled in...two minutes ten seconds on the north side of the grove by the road. We'll need to be moving fast because they'll have it covered, most likely with snipers. They like to keep their distance from us."

"Who will?" I asked. "Oh, wait, long story. Look, I don't even know your name. Why should I trust you?"

And then, inside my head, came his answer. You can trust me because I am your cousin...a few times removed. My name is Mike.

I shuddered. "That was creepy." I waited a few seconds before admitting something else. "Somehow it felt like the truth."

One cannot lie in direct mind speech. Let me show you. You're ugly. See? I lied.

He was completely right. I could hear the lie.  He thought I wasn't ugly. Well, I was twenty, tall, and fairly good looking. I was in good shape from my riding. Also money can do a lot to fix physical things and before I was twelve I'd had my first involuntary cosmetic surgery.

"Okay," I said, still breathing heavily. "Fuck it, I believe you. Can we talk normally now?"

He grinned. "I'm going to lend you a little of my strength. We need to move really fast to make the pick up and stay safe."

Over the next five seconds my fatigue disappeared and I felt like I did on my bike – which I rode everywhere. It was a glorious sensation.

"Now we run," he said, and started. Again, I followed.

We reached the north side of the grove. I wasn't even breathing hard. "That took us one minute thirty. You made good time." said Mike, without looking at his watch. Actually, now that I looked, I saw he didn't even have a watch.

"Wait here," he said, with a non-mock-frown. "There's about to be a...major distraction." He gestured upwards with his hands.

"You seem unhappy about it," I ventured.

"Innocent people might get hurt or die. It's unlikely, but still..."

"So why are you doing it?"

He grunted. "You don't think I make all the decisions on my own, do you? We vote...sort of.  But this is unfortunately very necessary to keep you alive."

I sighed. "Let me guess. It's a long story."

"When I say One, you will follow me to a beige van with the door open. Get inside anyway you can and the door will close automatically. It's heavily armored so we should be safe."

"Even from a .50 cal using depleted uranium rounds?"

He looked insulted, not impressed by my knowledge. Mike knew a lot more about me than I did about him.

"Of course. The only thing that could dent that armor with one shot is a tank. It's...very special armor."

It seemed very excessive.

"All this for me?" I smiled at him.

"You have no conception of what you are, or what you can do. None of us do, until someone wakes us up.  Not to add to your obviously extremely healthy ego, but there's a good chance you're very special."

"That's almost a line from the Matrix," I pointed out.

"You're good-looking, Scott, but you're not Keanu. Besides – three, two, one!"

And we were running again.

This time about two million shots came close, buzzing like bees, splintering bark and throwing up little clouds of earth. I might be exaggerating the number of rounds, but you try it and see what you think. 

The sound following each was like thunder, but I could tell rifle fire when I heard it. From the delay, they were firing from about a hundred meters or more. The delay between the impact of the round and the sound told me they were using supersonic rounds. No silencers.  From that distance silencers would make shots inaccurate, but more importantly, it's pointless to try to silence a supersonic round, anyway, since the projectile breaks the sound barrier as it leaves the muzzle and makes all the noise.   Even a regular gun with subsonic ammo makes a loud noise with a silencer.

The van was there, parked next to the side walk. The door in the side was sliding open on a motor.

As the door reached its fully open position, a massive cloud of smoke suddenly appeared a block away. The ground went thud, and the trees shook.  From its position I knew it was an abandoned building, but I also knew many homeless people looked for shelter there. I'd started several charities since my parents died so fortuitously, and I'd done my research.

The smoke was followed in half a second by a pressure wave and a sound that was so big my ears were ringing and I couldn't hear anything. 

I barely noticed the many smaller explosions of smoke from other nearby rooftops, and the occasional window. I certainly couldn't hear them.

Ok, they're dead or very distracted. Get in, Scott. Fast!

I obeyed, and scrambled into the van, which had no seating, but the floor and walls were covered with black netting. Mike got in and demonstrated – you wound your arms through the netting and held onto it with both hands. It took me about fifteen seconds, and in that time the van was doing nearly one hundred kilometers an hour, from what I could tell from the force and duration of the acceleration. 

I noticed Mike had taken a round to his upper bicep, which was really a pity since he'd be less symmetrically perfect until it healed and he got it back into shape.  I mean, I was really sorry for the pain he was going through to save me.

I tried sending Not your average delivery van to Mike.

He smiled, and nodded. See? You're learning already.

But what exactly was I learning? And who was Mike? And by implication the group he was with? Had that whole beach scene been a setup?

Did I really care?

I decided I did not. Part of that, I know, was that Mike was cute and interested.

Flattery killed the cat. Oh, wait, no, that's curiosity.

I decided to be less curious and let everything be explained.

The van turned through ninety degrees in about half a second, somehow without slewing, and then accelerated forward again at high speed.

I threw up what little ice-cream I'd managed to eat.

Then, apparently, I passed out.

Chapter Two

The Shadow Room

I woke up, but I deliberately kept my eyes closed.  I listened carefully for what I imagined was five minutes.  In reality it was probably closer to thirty seconds.  I'd forgotten to count heartbeats, like my prick of a father had taught me.

After that, I said "Hello?" and waited for a response, although I was really waiting for echoes.

About a minute later, much louder, I yelled, "Hey!" which had the advantage of being a short sound, which meant I might hear the echoes.   I did.  In my unenvied childhood this was a common practice exercise with my father, although in this case, pleasantly, I wasn't blindfolded.   I was in a space roughly the size of a US high school gym.  

I opened my eyes.  It didn't help.  Everything was still black.  I was halfway through an I'm-blind panic attack when a soft, diffuse, blue glow slowly filled some of the space, leaving mostly dark shadows.

"You must be Scott."

I sat up.  Well, leapt up would be more accurate,  but I was still sitting.  There was a short, thin woman dressed in black standing about a meter away from me.  I took a quick look around the rest of the room for threats - thanks, Dad - but there were only these oddly spaced columns of glass with what looked like blue liquid in them.

"There's a genetically modified marine microorganism in there that produces light under certain circumstances.  The only power we use is the motor to occasionally agitate the water, and the pump that keeps it fresh and provides food.  Highly efficient.  I just can't get used to the one spectrum of light...so we only use it here, in the recovery room."

I hadn't asked for a lecture on mono-spectrum energy-efficient microorganism-exploitative lighting, but I got it anyway.

"Oh," I said.  I said it in such a way as any listener would have realized my complete indifference.  "Obviously, you know my name.  May I know yours?"

"Mike warned me about you," she said, smiling a little. I thought her face would crack in half if she tried more than that.  "You are a handful, aren't you?  You know he's already sort of...fallen in love...with you."  The words sounded like a rote phrase she'd learned from a robot.

"Mike and myself are our business," I replied.  "But I will inform you that the interest is mutual."

"I'm so glad.  If anyone deserves happiness after so much pain, it's Mike."

I didn't respond to the obvious gambit to gossip - I doubted I'd learn anything useful anyway - and after a few seconds she said, "I'll have food and drink brought to you here.  We'll take you on a tour later.  You simply must think of this as your home."

I actually thought of my home as my home.

"Unless," she said, "Your stomach is still upset after my careful driving."

I bit down hard on the inside of my lips, and after a few moments said, "My stomach is just fine. Your driving was excellent.  But bullets make me vomit."

"Well, then you'll need to start either acclimatizing, or we'll find you medication.  Because there are going to be plenty more...bullets...before this is over."

Again, there was an obvious question, but I preferred straightforward conversations to this chess game, so I kept silent.

After about ten seconds she left into the shadows, presumably through a nest entrance.  

Checkmate, bitch.  

My satisfaction lasted until I realized I still didn't know her name.

Ten minutes later the blue light faded to black and previously unseen florescent lights flickered painfully into action.

"Ow," I said, closing my eyes.

"I'm the one with the bullet hole in my arm, tough guy.  And I hate those fucking blue lights."

It was Mike.  I opened my eyes and sat up again.  His arm was bandaged around his bicep, but he was still using that hand to hold a tray.  Warm food and coffee smells drifted from the tray and I was suddenly ravenous.

He grinned and lowered it to me.  I took it.  "Where's yours?" 

He stopped grinning.  "I ate in the mess.  I was hungry.  But as a nearly comatose victim of...nausea, you were excused.  Did you know, after you passed out, you kept vomiting?    Fortunately for everyone, you didn't choke on it."

"I'm trying to eat, big guy."

"You're taller than me, and a bit bulkier with muscle."

"Oh, was I talking about height?"  It really astounded me that I could flirt so openly at a time like this, when my paranoia was about as bad as it had ever been as an adult.  

That got a genuine smile.  Then he said, with evident relish, "I had to change your clothes."

I looked quickly.  I was wearing blue medical scrubs - like a doctor, not a patient.

"Uh," I said. "Did that include..."

"Your underwear?  Certainly."

"Well," I said.  I really couldn't think anything else to say that wouldn't lead to some sort of post-facto comparison.

"And you're right, I'm the big guy; but you're only one inch away."

I choked on a piece of toast.  Well, I pretended to, to cover the blushing.

"When you're finished eating, I'll take you around.  You'll meet the others individually.  I take it you've met Sylvia."

"So that's her name!" I yapped, spraying fragments of scrambled egg. Incredibly sexy look for me.

Mike laughed. "She loves appearing mysterious, but when she's on task, which is our way of saying on a mission, she's perfectly straightforward and incredibly reliable.  You'll learn to appreciate her."

"She seems important," I said.

"First amongst equals," he responded, with a nod.  Then he reconsidered.  "Well, for now."

I didn't ask for an explanation. There were only a few I could think of and none of them appealed.

I ate for about two more minutes, finishing everything.  My nausea had disappeared completely.  

"Okay.  I'm ready for the tour," I said.

"Don't you want your normal clothes for that?" 

"Not if they have puke on them."

"We do laundry here.  I prioritized your clothes because, honestly, they smelled really bad and were very damp.  I also showered after touching them."

I blushed, although, really, the way I saw it, it was Sylvia's fault for driving like a maniac.  Which reminded me...

"The distraction you guys caused.  Did anyone innocent die?"

He shrugged.  "Initial police reports blame it on terrorist activity, and report all the casualties were armed with sniper or assault rifles.  No civilian casualties.  If you believe the police on this island, which - " he waved his hand in the air, prompting me.

"Apparently we don't."

"We definitely don't.  We have some contacts who will follow it up quietly, since it's important to you.  To us as well, but you seem to have a personal interest."

"One of my charities supplies food and blankets to the homeless who made that building their shelter.  Usually at night, which I suppose is good."

"Oh, yes.  We'll talk about your money later.  Don't worry, we're not going to ask you for it - that part is completely voluntary.  But you need to learn not to draw attention to yourself."

I grew slightly resentful.  "I didn't know people were hunting me.  And besides, Bruce Wayne managed it."

"Did he?"

"Now I need two identities? And a costume?"

"We all make do with one identity, usually, although we have multiple passports, credit cards, that sort of stuff, with different names.  But for safety, we tend to stick around here, or at one of our other safehouses.  I'll show you the map."

"I can't go home?"

He shook his head.  "I took a quick look. It's booby-trapped twenty different ways. If you really need to get in I can manage it once, but I would prefer not to try it yet. They'll be watching it."

I considered that for a while.  My wallet had been in my jeans (back pocket to make a slightly sexy bulge).  So it should be here.  That was all I needed, apart from clothes.

"No," I said.  "As long as my wallet is okay, I'm fine."

"Good.  Now, if you're finished, and you don't want more, let's take the tour.  And it's not just a tour.  It's only fair I warn you.  Everything here is a test designed to provoke your unexpressed, or latent, talents."

Like this one, I sent.

Yes.  Remember you learned that under extreme stress.  There will be more.

"Real danger," he said out loud.  "It's the only way we've figured out how to trigger everything."

"Oh yay," I said, sarcastically, but, secretly, I was excited.  Danger had been an ever-present part of my childhood, and although I'd hated it and resented it, I was very good at avoiding it or neutralizing it. My father had seen to that.

"Ready?"

"Let me get dressed, if you have my clothes."

He left the room through what looked like a perfectly normal door, not a nest entrance or a spider's web, and returned in a few moments holding my clothes and a new T-shirt, for which I was grateful since I'd started this adventure shirtless.

I took them, and then there was a slightly awkward moment.

"Oh," he said. "Do you want me to leave?"

"You've seen everything already.  What do I have to hide?"

I did have something to hide, so I kept my back to him while I changed. I don't think it fooled him.

"Ready," I said, at last.

"A beginning is a time for taking the most delicate care," he said, in a soft, serious voice.

"That's a quote," I said. "It may be true, but you should work on original material.  I'm not even sure it's right.   Frank would be horrified."

"Remember," he continued, "Fear is the mind-killer."

I punched him in the arm.  "Fuck you. Let's start this tour of hell."

Chapter Three

The First Circle Of Hell

It began innocently enough, and yet the first test was more dangerous and fear-inducing than anything I'd known so far in my short life, and that was saying something.  The rest were worse.

Mike had led me from the recovery chamber out of a different door, which, after a short, curved corridor, led to a huge room whose walls were cylindrical.  After two meters, the floor dropped vertically to about five meters below the entrance.  The ceiling was high overhead.  Everything was blindingly white.

No exploited marine microorganisms here.

There was a bridge of sorts - it looked like metal, but it was about eight centimeters wide and fifteen meters long.  It looked thick enough not to bend, at least.

The door which I presumed was the exit was five meters further from the end of the bridge.

"I have to cross that," I guessed. I wasn't afraid of heights, really, but given the chance, I would avoid them.

"Yeah," he said.  "But not until this happens."  He gestured.

Water started cascading from previously unseen holes in the roof.  It wasn't just falling, it was being pumped.  Most of it fell on the bridge.

"I suppose I can't crawl," I said.

"You can do whatever you like.  But you need to cross that bridge in the next three minutes. Start now."

"What talent --"

"--Stop talking and move. If your talent activates, you'll know."

And if it doesn't? I didn't ask.

I moved up to the bridge.  I felt my heart rate increasing until I could hear it in my ears like a military tattoo.  I placed my right foot on the bridge.  It was quite obvious I could not put the other foot next to it.  I'd have to move my left foot in front of it.  The spray from the water reflecting from the bridge was covering me in dampness.  The next step I took would put me directly under one of the water pumps.

I was terrified, and I was elated.  If I died doing this, at least I'd have tried. And I wanted to try.  Blame my upbringing.  I do.

I put my left foot carefully in front of the right one, and shifted my weight forward.

The water column hit my head and almost pushed me off the bridge.  I put both arms out for balance.

And then the terror and the stress combined and something opened inside me. A pathway.  In my head.  It had been there all the time, I'd just never noticed it.

I pushed the water away from me.  I could actually see it move.  It dropped straight down and just before it would have hit my head, it curved to the left and dropped to the floor.

I've seen disgusting things, dead things, wounded things, blood - some of it my own, in quantities that required transfusion - thanks for being prepared, Dad - but this was the ultimate weirdness.  

Water just didn't do this.

I took another step, and moved out of the first column.  I could hear it hitting the bridge again.  

My balance was excellent - I rode a bike, often without holding the handle, and various childhood activities had improved it.  

I moved into the second water column and the same thing happened.

With new assurance, I completed crossing the ten meter bridge and arrived at the other side.

I turned around in triumph to see Mike, but he wasn't there.  Somehow he was at the other door.  

"One more thing," he said, and gestured.

Fire bloomed all around me from what I imagined were gas jets.  I smelled my clothes and hair crisping.  Then I realized I already knew how to survive this.  I pushed it away.

The fire extinguished itself, and a gentle water spray took care of my clothes and my hair.  I wasn't happy to be wet, but I was thrilled out of my mind to be alive.

"First test passed?"  I asked Mike, who had a silly grin on his face.

"Flying colors," he said.  "We know you're telepathic, and now we know you have a significant telekinetic ability.  Most people either fail the water or the fire."

"And then they die?" I asked. I was very serious.  Although the thought of my own death in a good cause, or even for fun, was a light, easy thing for me, the death of others, especially innocents, caused me great pain.

Mike scowled.  "Of course not.  There are multiple safeguards in this room that trigger the instant it's apparent the candidate is failing."

"And if the candidate fails?"

"Their memory is erased to the point where they were conducted to this facility, and they are returned to their original departure point.  For you, it would have been the ice-cream concession on the beach - you look adorable shirtless, by the way.  This location is top secret.  Please remember that."

"So all the other tests - they have safeguards as well?"

He shook his head.  "No.  They cannot be made safe.  They are often lethal."

I waited a moment, thinking, and then I surprised myself by saying "Good."

He sighed. "Why am I always attracted to guys who thrive on adrenaline and danger?  They often die young."

"Yeah, I guess," I said.  "I'm just being honest with you.  But how many guys could there have been?  You're what -- twenty-five?"

His face was serious.  "A bit older than that." He winked.  "You'll learn the trick."  Then he grimaced and said, "If you live."

Chapter Four

The First Lethality

It became a game.  A serious, deadly game.  That was okay.  I was good at those types of games.  

The exit from the second room continued through another curved corridor to the third room, which contained the first lethal test.  Mike paused me in the doorway.

"This one is very dangerous.  People have died here. Not many, because it's quite new."

"Did they know the risk?"

He growled. "Do you think we'd let them proceed if they didn't?"

"I guess not.  Sorry."

He touched my shoulder. "Don't waste time apologizing.  That's not something either of us have to waste time on.  Apologies or thanks. They're a waste of time between two people who have the sort of instant connection we do."

He sounded like he was speaking from experience. Bitter experience. I didn't press him.

"Can you describe the test to me? Or do I find out for myself?"

"I have to tell you.  It's going to happen too fast for you to see anything."

Gee. "That's comforting."

"Scott, I'm only here to be comforting.  That was why I volunteered to take you through the tests."

I hadn't known that, obviously.  But I was very good at following instructions -- well, not really, but Mike was becoming very important to me -- so I didn't say thanks. I just put my hand on his forearm and squeezed for a moment.

"So, this test.  What talent is it testing?"

"It's still telekinesis, of a sort.  A far more intense test. And hopefully, a far more spectacular invocation of that talent.  Now, take a look and tell me what you see."

The room wasn't big - about six meters on a side, with a ceiling about four meters up.  Also white, like the last one.  I couldn't tell where the light came from.  

There was one subtle oddity.  Every fifty centimeters in a grid pattern on every wall was a dark circle about half a centimetre in diameter.

"I see...small dots."

He nodded. "Good.  But they're not dots.  They're holes.  Each is a electromagnetic muzzle.  This room draws more power than a skyscraper when it triggers, and that's just twenty-five milliseconds. We keep a very big, very fast, capacitor-based battery system charged for when we need it.  It's been charging for four days, which is about right."

Although it violated my curiosity rule, I had to ask. "You knew you'd be testing someone four days ago?"

"Scott.  We knew we'd be testing you.  Well, I did, and told the others."

So..."You can see the future?"

"I have feelings about people.  Specific people.  We've been observing you for a while, obviously.  Suddenly I got a feeling that things were approaching a climax. Two weeks ago, things became clearer."

"So you knew someone would shoot at me at the beach."

"I knew if I wasn't there, at just the right time, they would have shot you.  You'd be dead."

"I'm going to break your rule.  Thank you, Mike."

He smiled, and then resumed his serious face.  Both were sexy as hell.  Why couldn't I stop thinking about sex? Oh, yeah, I was twenty, and hot, and Mike was like a giant vanilla fudge ice-cream.

"Don't thank me until you've passed the tests.  I suspect this one will be easy for you.  The next is far more difficult, but it's more gradual."

"So what comes out of those....muzzles?"

"Nails."

Fuck me. "Nails?"

"Small iron nails.  But deadly.  Trust me, you won't even see them when it triggers."

"Will I know when it triggers?"

"You get a one-second warning from a buzzer. Try and get your adrenaline going now.  Think about the danger.  Let me know when you're ready to go into the room."

The only thing going was other, perhaps not unrelated, hormones. The trick, of course, taught to me by my evil father, was to focus on the immediate danger, and ignore everything else, even it could be dangerous soon. That had been a blood lesson, as I'd learned to call them.  Usually, it was my blood.

So I pictured myself in the middle of the room.  Someone had helpfully painted a small off-white X in the center of the floor.   I presumed all the muzzles pointed at the air directly above it, although from what I'd heard about their velocity, ricochets could kill me just as easily.

I pictured the so-called small nails, all puncturing my body at various points, passing through, trailing blood and gore.  I pictured myself lying on the floor, surrounded by the red parts of myself.  My head was particularly badly damaged.

And my pulse went up.  I was not just terrified.  I was angry.  My face.  I was proud of my face.  I was proud of all of me, actually.  Although another inch would have been nice.

"You won't be able to push them away," Mike said. "I'm not supposed to tell you that, but in this case, I care quite a lot."

"I know you do. Never mind. I know how to do it," I said. "If it's possible."

"As I keep saying, you're special.  If anyone can do this right, it's you.  I can't give you any more hints."

"I wouldn't want them.  Don't take that the wrong way, sweetie."

There was a pause as we both acknowledged silently that I'd expressed definite affection. Then, like straight guys, we ignored it, and after a light tap on his shoulder, I moved into the room and onto the X.

I had no idea when the buzzer would sound.  Seconds? Minutes? I had to be ready.  Fuck that. I was ready.

The buzzer sounded after about ten seconds.  I opened my talent again, but this time, I knew what I was doing, and I looked for the path I knew was there.  Because apart from immobilizing everything in the room, there was only one way I could think of doing this.

Half a second later the air in the room ignited. The room filled with furnace-level flame. It must have been over five hundred degrees. It expanded, moving up the muzzles at an incredible speed, certainly in less than the half-second left.

There was a solid chunk as the muzzles activated, but by then the deadly nails were blobs of molten metal stuck to the metal of the tubes.  Molten iron loses its magnetic properties.

The air temperature was suddenly freezing and I realized this was a protection mechanism that was part of my talent.  It kept me safe, and spread out again, turning the air cold.  Frost appeared on the surface of the walls in places where it was slightly, imperceptibly, rougher.

Suddenly worried, I turned to Mike.  He'd taken a pace away from the door and was standing behind a Mike-sized shield of ice, which had melted halfway through.

He gestured, and it collapsed into water.  Neat trick.  I hoped I'd learn my own gestures.

"That was perfect," he said. "Except there were two ways to solve the problem, and obviously you chose the most dramatic."  He grinned. "Sylvia will be unhappy.  Everything will have to be repaired."

I thought for a moment. "Ah. I could have frozen everything.  That was the other way."

He nodded.  "But I enjoyed watching you do it your way, babe."

"How quickly did you build that ice shield?"

He laughed. "I did it while you were walking into the room.  As I said, I get feelings about you."

"I may not get feelings about you," I said. "But I certainly have feelings for you."

"I know that already, dummy.  And it's returned.  I'm just explaining my logic about the ice-shield."

"What happened to the oxygen?" I asked. "I turned the air into fire."

He shrugged.  "We don't know yet.  We'll test that with you, if you're willing."

I thought about that for a while. "You're telling me I'm the first person to survive that test."

"Yes. Sorry."

"I feel sorry for the others, but speaking for myself, I'm thrilled to be alive."

"Yeah, it's being so close to danger, and surviving. It...does things."  He looked into my eyes.  "Even to me."

He couldn't have been clearer.

"When do we get to take a break?"

He blushed for the first time that I'd seen. "I want nothing more myself.  But only after the next test. Then we'll know for sure that you're practically equal to me. Although I don't know if I could have passed this test like you did.  I'm not pyrokinetic.  I could have frozen everything - I don't know the name for that.  Cryokinetic?"

"Sounds about right.  So we're fire and ice?"

That got me a hug, which I returned, being careful of his wound.

It was very nice to feel affection and warmth while  having survived potentially horrible death, from snipers, from falling, from fire, from nails.  

It was more than nice.  "Next test, quickly," I said. "I'm not sure how long I can wait."

He understood perfectly. "Follow me."

Chapter Five

The Second Lethality

The fourth room was unlike the others in that it was long and narrow, about wide enough for two people standing together.  It was fairly tall.  There were slots along the wall at different heights. They obviously formed part of the test. There were also occasional blocks of concrete from about one-half to two-thirds body height. Obstacles or advantages?

"So, those slots, or holes, or whatever?" I asked.

He touched my arm.  It was becoming our equivalent of a kiss - until we could kiss. "Can't tell you, sorry.  You'll see soon enough."

"Can I ask what talent this is testing?"

"Oh, you'll know.  Within about five seconds of entering."

I took three quick breaths, enough to generate adrenaline and access to my talents.  It seemed I was a fast learner.  

Or just really lucky.

The problem with luck is, it can turn on you.  So I chose to believe I was a fast learner with unexpected talents.

My pulse was about one twenty.  Enough to get this done, whatever it was.

"I'm ready."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, I can tell, little one.  You're radiating heat."

"Who are you calling little one – never mind, I don't need to know the reason. Or rather, I do know the reason, I just don't want to hear you say it."

He raised his hands defensively. "What's one inch between friends?"

"Friends, babe? We'll see.  After this test."

"If you live."

"Don't you already know?"

"Not at all. This is a choice you're making.  I can see things other people will do to you without your choosing it.  But I'm as blind as anyone else if it's an active choice you make."

That opened up a lot of awkward questions. I chose the least embarrassing. "Then explain the ice-shield?"

"Oh, I know you very well, Scott.  I knew what you would do.  And if you'd frozen everything, I'd just have wasted some water.  I hope you get to know me that well too.  By the way, this is the second to last actively offensive test.  Just one more after this - after our break, which you've certainly earned, just by surviving.  Then we'll do the other, gentler, tests tomorrow."

I was a little disappointed.  Gentle tests sounded boring. How would I bring my adrenaline-powered talent to bear on them?  Something to think about tonight, I guessed.

Right now, I had to get through a narrow room.  Easy, right? Right.

Without a word, I walked slowly into the room. Immediately I discovered what the room contained.

From each slot, one at a time, as I advanced, came a long, curved blade, at just the right height to either cut my legs below the knee, bisect me, or decapitate me.

But my talent had this handled.  The paths in my head were there, and I was opening them.  I could melt everything again, but that was already a talent I knew – a fairly cool one, if you'll pardon the expression. Also, it wasn't elegant. Elegance is nothing, survival is everything. Yeah, fuck off, Dad.

The new pathway revealed that I could see which blades would come at me. I could see the path through them. It involved moving at a certain speed, ducking, jumping, and at the last, hurling myself between a low blade and a high blade that came at me simultaneously, as I had known they would, about five seconds before.

I was seeing the future.  Not a general future, a very specific one. And I got a better idea of how Mike's talent worked.

It was a lot like parkour, except for the rotating, swirling, curved blades. I used the blocks as necessary. I took twenty-two seconds to reach the safe zone at the end.  It didn't even really feel like an effort.  More like a dance.

As usual, Mike was already there.  There had to be a system of passages or tunnels he used.  I didn't ask. I could be patient.  Eventually, I'd know everything he knew - including the pain he'd suffered that colored his growing love for me.

"That," he said, "Was the most elegant and beautiful thing I've seen you do."

I had to tell him. "I could see a few seconds into the future.  I could also see the path I needed to follow."

"Yeah," he said. "You've got my talent.  It will grow, just like the rest, now that you know it's there."

I grinned evilly at him.  "Do we get our break now?"

He looked very sad and disappointed. "No.  Sylvia, probably due to the destruction of her precious nail room, has insisted you complete the final lethality test before we can rest.  You don't have to actually listen to her, of course, you can just leave.  I'll show you how, if you want."

"But that would mean leaving you.  I'm not doing that. I'm ready for her."

"I appreciate that, but this, despite everything, is the most dangerous test you've faced.  Remember, she is extremely reliable and highly motivated."

"Motivated to do what?"

He waited a good few seconds before answering. 

"To kill you, if necessary."

I projected the confidence I'd felt after the blade test, even if I wasn't actually feeling it.  "Let her try."

"This isn't really a physical test, except in one aspect. I can't tell you, but it will become immediately apparent once you enter the final room. You'll need a new talent for this one."

"Let's go.  I'm eager for our break.  Do we get good coffee here?"

He laughed again.  I was deeply loving that sound. "Yeah, we do.  It's a perk, due to us all being extremely wealthy."

"You too?"

"Yeah.  My parents...well, they died when I was young. But they left me a lot.  Not as much as you, but enough that I could devote myself to this."

"That means something.  Something to me, as well." I couldn't work it out right now, but it felt important.

"We'll talk about it.  After our break.  Tonight.  There are a lot of things you don't know.  Including why we do all of this."

Wow.  "I hadn't even thought about it."

He punched me on the arm, fairly hard.  "That's because it was dangerous and that kept you moving forward. It's an addiction of which I need to cure you.  If I can."

"Actually, it's mostly curiosity.  About what I can do, and how."

"And when.  That is the most important question."

Then we moved to the final lethal test.

Chapter Six

The Final Lethality

Mike, according to Sylvia, had to leave me at the beginning of the curved passage.  So I proceeded alone. I felt very alone, for the first time.

The final lethal test was in a small room, painted beige. There was a bluish metal table in the center, and two chairs placed on either side.  There was something...chunky...about the nearest chair.

Sylvia sat in the furthest chair.  A sand-glass lay on the table next to her left hand.

In her right hand she held an automatic, and clearly she was familiar with it.  It would hold fourteen rounds, and I'm pretty sure one was chambered, which would take it to fifteen.

Obviously I was supposed to take the other chair, so I did.

"Sylvia," I said, just to be polite.  Always a good policy with someone holding a gun, even if it is not pointed at you. Yet.

"Scott," she said, speaking in her eerily robot-like voice.  She indicated a sand-glass on the table.  "When I turn that over, it will count thirty seconds.  At that point, I will point the gun at your forehead and pull the trigger. Any attempt to push anything or melt anything or freeze anything will result in your immediate death."

She gestured, and suddenly clamps I hadn't noticed locked my arms and shins into the chair.  It took less than a second.

"That chair is connected, fortunately, to quite a different battery system, but with the same power as the nail room battery. I assure you your death would be unpleasant for you, and for myself. I personally hope you survive this test, but hope is a poor substitute for reality."

I acknowledged her words on one level of my mind, while on quite another I was triggering my adrenaline and my power.  

I was exploring paths.  Desperately.

How could I stop her without using one of my known talents?  Even seeing a few seconds into the future would only reveal her pulling the trigger.  Could I see the moment of my death?  I wouldn't really want to.

There's always a way.  You just need to think.  My father again, having again placed me in intense peril, which was only a reminder of my current situation.

Who has control? Again, my father, this time, a treatise on politics and war.  But it seemed a key question.

Sylvia turned over the hourglass - or more accurately, the thirty-second-glass.  The moments of my life were suddenly sand.

I didn't want to die like this.  If I went, it would be in a blaze of glory, and people would talk about it.  Or it would be a spectacular accident.  Not an execution, in a small beige room, with a woman I had started to intensely dislike.

These were not productive thoughts.  What had I been thinking earlier. There's always a way. Also, who has control?

Sylvia did.

When the sand finished she would shoot me in the head.

I thought about that for about five seconds, and then explored the paths in my mind that had remained dormant all my life.

Oh.

I had to take control to stop Sylvia from killing me. I could see how.  

I separated my mind into two pieces.  One part started verbally begging Sylvia not to shoot me. It acted quite convincingly terrified - partly because it was.

She listened.  She even cocked her head.

Now.

Using the other part of my mind, I thought into her mind.  Her defences dissolved like mist.  Using her body, I lifted the gun, and put it into her mouth.

At that point, I really wanted to pull the trigger.

But she was just another test, and I'd passed.  Pulling the trigger would just cause another set of problems. People, for some reason, seemed to value her.

I released her.

She took a deep breath.  I was quite surprised to see a tear or two leak from her eyes.  She pushed a hidden button and the chair released me.

She put the gun down and looked up at me.

"Thank you for not killing me," she said. "You have an extraordinary talent.  That is what we hoped for, once Mike had a clear lock on you.  We know who your parents were, and your grandparents, and all the way back, to when we came to this island."

"You knew my parents?" 

"Not personally.  We're all related, you know. But we keep detailed genealogical records - people, talents, dispositions, that sort of thing.  DNA reveals potentials.  Yours revealed something incredible, but it had to be resolved from potential to actuality.  That is the point of the tests you underwent today."

"I kinda figured that out," I said.

"Scott, I'm sorry if I seemed unfriendly earlier.  But I knew if you survived the earlier tests, this one would remain.  I had to keep myself detached.  Mike would have shot himself before harming you.  As I imagine you saw in my mind, I would have carried out my threat."

She was right.  I had sensed that steely determination.

"What about your mental defences?"

She laughed. "I have weak psychic powers when it comes to defensive constructs.  Would you have preferred a stronger opponent?  The problem is - we had none."

"Had?"

She smiled at me.  A full smile this time. "Now we have one.  While you were invading my mind I was invading yours.  I couldn't get past your first wall, and offensively, I'm the strongest person here."

"I didn't even know I had a wall, let alone a first one."

She laughed again.  "You, Scott, are a perfect weapon."

"I'm a human being, Sylvia. I'm not your weapon."

She shrugged. "Not all the time.  But once you know our purpose, I think you'll be willing to act on our behalf, and with our support."

I thought about that for a moment. "It depends on the pitch."

"That comes tomorrow, or maybe tonight. Mike will tell you a lot." she said.  "I'm fairly sure he's is waiting anxiously for you.  Go to him.  He deserves a strong partner."

Again that opened questions I wasn't ready to discuss with Sylvia.

Instead, I reached down and took the gun.  She was obviously alarmed.

"Scott--" she said.

"Relax," I said.  I ejected the round in the chamber. I ejected the magazine, and every bullet in it.  I  completely dismantled the gun.  It lay on the desk, a collection of parts and gleaming hollow-point rounds.

The whole process took me about sixteen seconds.  Some things my father had taught me well. 

Sylvia looked at the pieces in front of her and then looked up at me.  

"Even better," she said.  "Practical knowledge of firearms is a very useful skill to have."

"Sylvia," I said. "Firearms, when empty, are useless. I know nine different ways of killing you where you sit.  Six of them are painless.  The others...not so much.  I have knowledge of much more than firearms."

She smiled again.  "Your father trained you well, Scott. It's time to let go of the hate.  But Mike will help you with that."

Trained?  Fucking trained?  All my father had done was torture me.

I opened the door, and walked out of the room, down the passage, where Mike waited.  He didn't restrain himself this time.  He jogged towards me, and we embraced in a tight hug, ignoring his wound.

"Is she..."

"I could have killed her," I said. "But it wouldn't have been a challenge.  And...perhaps...she has some value."

He laughed again, this time with relief.  "I told you. Did she mention your father?"

"You know she did," I said, releasing the hug.  I hated being manipulated.  "And you're supposed to help me with that."

"No, I'm not supposed to do anything, Scott.  I care for you as an individual.  If you want to keep hating your father, you're welcome to do it."

I looked at him.  You mean that?

Of course I do.

He was telling the truth.

He continued But hate is not a good motivator if the person is no longer around.  We could....redirect your anger.  If you'd like.  No pressure.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?"

"Our room?"

That was quick.  "Ours?"

"Remember, I've been looking at your future closely for two weeks.  I had a feeling I'd need a larger bed."

I smiled. "Are you still looking at my future?"

"I can't.  You're making the choices now, remember?"

"You are not a choice, big guy," I said. "You're a need."

He laughed again. Then we went to our room.

Chapter Seven

The Tale Told By Mike

Mike and I found our room.  The whole facility was a warren of tunnels and passages.  It was obviously underground.  That had some obvious vulnerabilities I would need to discuss with Sylvia, if she would listen.

It was a large room, surprisingly well appointed.  No blue marine lights.  Just standard LED lamps.  A giant bed.  A very well-equipped kitchenette area.  A door that presumably led to a bathroom.  A table with chairs.

"I imagine you'd like a shower," Mike said.

I smiled at him, and touched his arm. "I imagine you would too, but I need coffee first.  I'm exhausted."

"You'll get used to it."

There were still some questions about my experience and Mike's abilities.

"How did you share your strength with me when we were running?"

He waved a hand.  "You could do the same right now. It's just wanting it."

Okay. "All I want is coffee."

"Coming up."

It took a few minutes and I was holding a glorious cup of coffee in my hand.  I sat at the table with Mike, and took my first sip.

"That's really good coffee."

"Of course it is.  As I said, we're all extremely wealthy. We don't spend much, and when we do, we do it through multiple layers of proxies.  But coffee we buy like regular people."

That reminded me.   Until this morning, I'd been a regular person.  What was I now?  I had no way of answering that question.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looked at me.  "Anything, babe."

"This setup here.  It's obviously defensive.  And all the tests to trigger my talents.  Sylvia referred to me as a weapon."  He frowned at that. "I don't know how many of you...of us...there are.  But given the number of snipers today, and everything else, you...we...are obviously facing an enormous threat."

He smiled, in a way that indicated satisfaction. "I was wondering when you'd work that out. We are indeed. Sylvia was going to have this discussion with you, but I think I'm the best person."

"You're always the best person," I said, sucking up.

"Stop it, you dog.  This is serious."

"So is sex."

"Only once we've showered.  Or maybe while we shower."

"I like that idea."

"But you want answers first."

"I need them.  If I'm going to help, I need to know everything."

"I agree.  I know already telling you that it's extremely dangerous is only going to make you more interested."

"Yeah."

"More coffee?" 

I hadn't even noticed I'd finished mine.  "Yes, if you'd be so kind.  I'll have to learn how to use that machine."

He got up and moved to the coffee machine.  "I'll happily make you coffee at two in the morning, or three in the afternoon.  You can just rest."

"I appreciate that.  But I like to do things for myself."

He looked back at me as the machine hissed to itself.

"Well, that's another habit I'm going to train you out of.  At least in this room."

"Do your best," I said.

We both laughed.

He brought two cups of coffee back to the table.  He'd again added creamer and two sugars to mine, which was exactly how I liked it.

"You know everything about me," I said. "I feel...exposed. And no riff on the word exposed, please."

He sulked. "You spoil my all my fun."  He put on his slightly happy face.  "I know you, not only because of my talent, but because we researched you intensely for six months, even though you'd been under observation since you were twelve. I know that seems unfair, an invasion or your privacy, but when you realise the nature of the threat, you'll see the necessity for it."

"We'll talk about this threat just now.  What I meant was the imbalance between us.  I want to know you as intimately as you know me.  I don't even know how you like your coffee."

He pushed his cup toward me. "Black, one sugar."

"You know what I mean.  You obviously know my history with my father.  I've guessed you've been hurt by loss."  He nodded sadly.  "I'm not asking you to tell me about that, not yet.  But I need to know you, Mike. In part, for protection."

He was surprised.  "Protection from what?"

"Well, from everyone here, and especially from you.  You know me so well, it would be easy for you to manipulate me in certain ways."

Even like this? he asked.

Truth can be partial, I responded.

"Your father definitely molded you a bit too much. This level of paranoia is extremely unusual, especially in a relationship like ours."

I opened my hands outwards, to indicate non-aggression.  "You see, that very statement could be a manipulation.  I have no idea what level of paranoia is appropriate in this situation.  I don't want to feel paranoid, but when good things, or bad things, happen, it's my default response. I'm not trying to be unfair or nasty, I'm just explaining myself."

He tilted his head to the side. "I know that. I'm trying to think of a response.  The best I can think of right now, is to wait and watch. Maybe your paranoia is good.  You might well consider us a cult who slowly brainwashes you - but I know that can't happen with you, precisely because you're being paranoid. If you see signs of manipulation, which I think you would recognize quickly, talk to me, or Sylvia, or just leave."

"I've already told you I'm not leaving you."

He looked very serious. "Scott, if you decide you can't trust me, eventually, I'll leave you."

He could obviously see the shock on my face.  "Of course, I don't see it coming to that.  I'd hate to do it. We need to talk about your past, and allow you to see the advantages it has given you, as well as the damage it did.  From what I've read, your father did the best he could.  And from the way you passed those tests today, he did a really good job.  But I think he went too far.  You see it as abuse.  It was really training.  Training for all of this."  He raised his hands, indicating the facility, our abilities, and our future.

"How would he have known to do that?"

"He was like you in many ways, as was your mother. That's why you have extraordinary abilities.  Passed down from parents to child.  But your mother died young.  He was left to raise you alone, and he knew he had limited time."

"Was he sick?" I couldn't square that with my mental image of my father.

"No.  He knew about the threat.  He knew how powerful he was and that he would be eliminated, as soon as it was practical.  So he crammed as much useful combat training into you, starting at very young age.  He didn't expect to survive as long as he did."

"He died when I was fifteen," I said. "A car accident."

Mike shook his head.  "Actually, a very good sniper shot him while he was driving on the mountain road."

"What the fuck?" This sudden pang of sympathy for a figure I'd hated for my whole life was a very unwelcome sensation.  Or was it?  "I'm feeling very...what's the word...conflicted, at the moment."

"Good," said Mike.  "Now let's shower, and we'll talk in bed."

"Can we get some food too?"

"Anything you like.  We have a great kitchen staff, and supper is not a formal meal like lunch, so we can eat in bed, too."

So, after a long, tender time, we found ourselves in bed eating Chinese food.  It was a lot better than anything I'd eaten before.

"This is really good," I said. 

He shrugged. "I'm used to it.  You will be too, eventually.  Unless you die."

"Oh, God, you have to stop saying that.  I thought you can't see my future anymore."

"I can't. That's what makes me worry."

"You know, sweetie, I have an odd attitude toward my death.  It won't make you more comfortable, unfortunately, but I have to tell you.  I don't care if I die, as long as I'm doing something good, or dangerous, or fun."

"Which describes pretty much everything in your immediate future, and would leave me very alone. Again."  He said the last word very softly.

"It's not like I have a death wish.  I'd love to grow old with you.  But the way my mind and body work, it seems a bit unlikely.  Or at least, it did.  But with your support, and all of the resources we could command, we could make it a lot less likely."

He looked up from his food.  "Do you really mean that?"

"It seems sensible."  I shrugged, and gestured around. "What's the point of all of this if it doesn't make us safer? If it doesn't keep us safe until we need to fight?  And we're going to need to fight, aren't we?"

He looked disturbed. "That's what the argument is about.  Sylvia wants to fight.  I think we have to, as well.  But there are others who want peace and safety at any price."

I snorted. "They won't get it."

"No, they won't."

I thought a bit.  "Once I know the full scale of the threat, I can help to plan our side of things.  A period of time to build up our offensive strategy and equipment, and then, at the right moment, we throw everything we have at them. In a smart way."

He laughed. "You almost sound like Sylvia, except you've been a normal human until today, and you sound a lot more convincing.  We're having an early meeting tomorrow.  I think you should participate.  You're one of us, now."

I nodded.  I could see, vaguely, the shape of things to come, and the forces that would need to be deployed to move things to our advantage.

For the first time, I was grateful for how I'd grown up.  

"I'm not your weapon," I said. "But I know tactics and strategy."

He shrugged.  "Sylvia thinks that.  Having seen you in action today, and from what you've just said, she might be right.  It's still enormously risky."

"Risky? Staying in one place builds a siege mentality.  Any defensive structure can be overcome by an enemy with enough men or weapons.   We need to keep mobile."

He smiled. "You've already convinced me.  Keep thinking about it.  And then convince everyone at the meeting."

"So what now?"

"We go to bed,” he said, with a straight face. Then he giggled.

Chapter Eight

Preparations To Convince

I woke at about 6am. There was a subtle clock timer projected on the ceiling, which was useful. I didn't yet have Mike's innate sense of time, although I could feel it the pathway to it. I left it alone for now. It would probably form one of the tests today.

Mike shifted next to me and opened his eyes. They were a startling bright blue. His black hair cascaded onto to his forehead. He was even more attractive in close-up. Not that I limit myself to attractive guys. Some of the less attractive, in my experience, have been the more interesting. But Mike had definitely been interesting last night. He wanted to do things I'd never thought of, and had no hesitation accepting.

“You know,” I said, “I'm falling in love with you. And it's not just the sex. It's you.”

“I can feel it too,” he admitted. “And I want it to last.”

“The feeling will be there until I die,” I said. “And I hope that happens later, rather than sooner, because this is really, really, good. I didn't dream about blood last night, for the first time in months.”

He sat up. “That's important. It means your feelings about your father are changing.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Or maybe it's you.”

“Well, I know what your father did, and as you may  have realised, I have an idea of how to counteract your negative feelings toward him.”

“Not going to happen,” I said. “I was a child. No child should have to go through what he put me through.”

He clenched his fists and frowned. “But look what he gave you. He knew your talents wouldn't manifest until you'd faced the ultimate tests, after puberty. He taught you ways to survive without your talents. That, in itself, is incredibly valuable. The threat we face possesses the ability to negate our talents.”

“What the fuck?” I said. This was the first I was hearing about it.

“Yeah,” he said. “That's the subject everyone tiptoes around. But you can bring it up at the meeting, and people will listen to you.”

“Why would they do that? Sylvia is older, and so are you. I'm just a newbie.”

“With incredible training. You saw our weakness here on day one. Siege-craft. I should tell you, all your tests were recorded and everyone has seen them.”

“It's not rocket science,” I laughed.

“But it is,” he said. “Most of us depend on our talents to get through difficult situations. We only employ natural means when we have to, when it's necessary to eliminate our enemies.”

“Yeah, you blow up buildings.”

“Only the roof of a building, to remove snipers. Sometimes there's collateral damage.”

I thought for a full minute, and the question I had didn't change. “Is it worth it? What exactly are we preserving? Ourselves?”

He looked horrified. “No. Nothing would justify that. But the threat is not just to us. It's to normal humans as well. We've just managed to keep that in check for the last fifty years. Now they're becoming too powerful for our techniques to work.”

“Who are they, exactly?”

“We don't know, precisely. We can make educated guesses. But you have to have seen that they employ mercenaries, mostly snipers. The current batch is dead, thanks to our explosives manufacture. But there is someone, or multiple people, who hire them.”

“Why snipers?”

“Range,” he said, simply. “Our powers have a range, and they stay out of it. You may have changed that. We'll find out today.”

“A gentle test?”

He grinned. “Maybe not so gentle. Hopefully not so gentle. But yes, that's on the schedule for today.”

“Do I get to see this schedule?”

“It's verbal, for security. I know some of it. But only Sylvia knows all the tests.”

“You place a lot of trust and power in one person's hands,” I said. This had been bothering me since yesterday. “If she is suborned, or blackmailed, it's easy to execute all of us.”

He frowned. “Hence the fight/peace argument. But you'll see. We need breakfast. The meeting is at nine.”

I smiled at him. “I need another shower, after last night.”

“Be quick,” he said, smiling back. “I need one as well.”

“We could take one together,” I suggested.

“You have two-track mind,” he said. “One track is just sex. The other is danger.”

“Combine them and I'm in paradise,” I quipped.

“If we showered together, where would it lead?”

I saw his point. “Okay, I'll be quick. Can you get breakfast in the meantime?”

Hurt. “You need to ask?”

“No, I was just phrasing it politely.”

By the time I'd showered, and put on a completely new set of leather clothes – all in my size and my favourite color, black – breakfast was ready. I ate while Mike showered, and then spent a wonderful ten minutes watching him eat.

“You're making me self-conscious,” he said, after a few minutes.

“There's nothing else worth looking at.”

At eight-thirty, according to Mike, we started preparing for the meeting. He wanted diagrams and presentations.

“If I can't convince them by speaking,” I said. “There's no point in any number of silly pictures.”

He bowed slightly, which I'd learned was a tell when he disagreed with me. But I was convinced.

“Mike, they need to listen to me. No pretty pictures are going to convince. Only my obvious knowledge of tactics and strategy.”

He groaned. “Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll let Sylvia know she won't need the projector.”

“Unless it's projecting your face, there's no point.”

That got a shy smile. Mike was lustful and enthusiastic but not openly affectionate in front of others.

“Okay,” I said. “I'm ready. Where do we go?”

“I'll show you,” he said. “There's no drawn or printed map to these tunnels or chambers, for obvious reasons.”

It took fifteen minutes for us to get to the meeting room. It was one of the larger spaces I'd seen, at least thirty meters square. There was a short stage. I'd avoid that, if I could.

No-one else was there yet.

“They'll be here,” he said. “Be prepared for some hero worship, and for some extreme skepticism. You're...um...divisive. Polarising.”

“Good,” I said. “That will make this easier, believe it or not. Get the skeptics on our side, and we win the hearts and minds.”

He sighed. “I don't get tactics, or strategy.”

“And yet you saved my life, and took a bullet for me. You're incredibly valuable to me for other reasons, as well.”

He shyly smiled again, and took a seat in the front row.

“Sit further back,” I suggested. “That stage is a performance area. I need people to know I'm real, and not reading a script.”

“Oh, they'll know that. But don't use mind speech, that's just one-to-one.”

Was it? I felt more pathways opening. But I intended to talk. And almost certainly more.

“Can you get me a gun? Loaded?”

“Um, sweetie--”

`”Seriously,” I interrupted. “It's just a prop.”

“Then why will it be loaded?”

“So it has the right weight,” I said, in my most sincere tone.

He didn't look convinced, but he left the room. About ten minutes later he returned holding a serious-looking automatic. It was much larger than Sylvia's had been.

“A .45,” I said. “I'm impressed.”

“Just be grateful I didn't bring the Barret .50.”

“Good to know we have one.”

“We have sixty,” he said. “That's about two per person, at the moment.”

I began to see what this much money could buy. Vehicle-disabling sniper rifles were not sold at convenience stores. Getting hold of just one would be an exercise in proxy payments and outright smuggling. And we had sixty?

“You should show me the weapons afterwards. They won't be much use in a serious fight unless we use them extremely carefully. But I need to know about them.”

“I'll show you,” he said. He handed over the automatic. “Please try not to shoot anyone.”

“Dude, I've been shooting since I was six. Look at this. You left the safety on, and there's no round in the chamber.” I flicked the safety, racked a round into the chamber. “Block your ears,” I said to Mike. I pointed the gun, holding it with two hands, at the wall, and pulled the trigger.

There was an incredibly satisfying Bang! and some delicious recoil.  The best part was there wasn't a hole in the wall. Well, there was, but that part of the wall couldn't really be called a wall. The concrete had shattered in a wide circle around the bullet hole, and the crater was impressive.  But I'd hit exactly what I was aiming at.

“Ah, fuck,” said Mike, sighing, removing his hands from his ears. Mine were ringing in a deliciously familiar way.

“Hey, I had to know it worked,” I said, reasonably, I thought. “Any potential traitor could have tampered with our weapons. They'll all need to be tested."  I indicated the hole in the wall.  "That's a great visual, don't you think? Better than fucking PowerPoint.”

Chapter Nine

The Meeting

    Sylvia was there first, holding a small projector under her arm.  She had pursed lips and wasn't smiling.  I guess she'd heard or seen the gunshot, but she quietly ignored the crater in the wall.

    Mike took the projector from her and placed it on the table on the stage.

    I'd placed the gun in the back of my waistband, where it was unfortunately heavy.  But I had to grin and bear it until the time came.  Which I had a certainty it would.  No seeing the future, just teasing apart the logic of the ambush that almost killed Mike and myself yesterday.

    I stood, arms folded in V-shape behind me, legs slightly apart.   Almost parade rest.  The black leather was making me feel completely cool, but also quite warm.

    With my corn-yellow hair, and the fact I already knew I going to be the tallest person in the room, I let a natural authority project itself, as the others began to dribble in, in ones or twos.

    "No-one in the front two rows," I said.  "I'm a fighter, not a politician."

    "Which is why I asked our new--"

    "Thank you, Sylvia.  I'll introduce myself."

    Sylvia looked liked wanted to murder me with a look but she'd already discovered that couldn't work.   Mike was just grinning.    

    Eventually everyone was there.  A curious thing was happening.  An almost subliminal feeling of everyone in the room was passing through me; I guessed the others felt it as well.  It helped me identify one of the people I was looking for.  It wasn't instinct.  It was more than a guess.  It was logical.

    "You've seen the vids of me passing the lethalities," I said.  "Any comments?'"

    A young, slim Asian guy with glasses, said, "Dude, you're awesome.  The blade-room.  The nail room.  And uh, the final test."  He glanced nervously at Sylvia.

    I asked the only question I'd come here to ask.

    "How many people in this room can kill someone without using one of their powers?"

    A woman stood up, spiky orange hair.  I realised, from the subtle link we were all building together, that she was Sylvia's chief opponent.  In everything.  I'd have to be really quick, before this link became a group mind with the ability to foresee my actions.

    "We don't encourage our people to murder others," she said.  "In fact--"

    "Sit down," I said to her, in a voice that sounded a bit like my father's.  Then I spoke to her in mind speech I will kill you right here if you don't sit down and shut up.  You'll probably have your turn to talk.

    I hated not being able to lie.  The rest of the sentence was : well, if I don't kill you first.    

    "Everyone will have a turn to speak, if they want.  But as far as I'm concerned this is my meeting, and we will follow my agenda.  I only want to protect us."

    I glanced at Sylvia.  She waited a while before answering, obviously to let everyone take the time to look at her.   Her cropped grey hair was quite becoming, actually, but she looked thirty.  I had feeling that was a lie.

    "Scott speaks for me, and I hope, for my policies."

    "Thank you, Sylvia," I said, with a nod.  I'll listen - I don't promise to agree - but I promise you that much.  Thank you.

    Her head went back a bit in surprise.    

    "I have some catching up to do," I said.  "I don't even know what most of you can do.   I also need to know more of the specific nature of the threat we're facing.  Mike, will you help out here for a bit. On my right, just behind me."

    He frowned.  He detested public speaking.  But he came.  He always came.

    I indicated the young woman with the spikey orange hair and cold blue eyes. "You're up.  Tell us all what the enemy can do, and why we'd throw away lives, including innocents, by getting rid of them."

    Mike, take the gun from under my shirt at the back but do NOT show it.  When I hold out my right hand, place it in my hand immediately.

    Mike didn't even query my instructions.  He was already a good soldier.

    Spike-hair stood up in surprise, furious. "I've already made my position clear.  If we don't fight them, they won't fight us."

    Suspicion confirmed.  I pushed into her mind, violently.  Unready for the onslaught she dropped onto the chair, half-on, and half-off the plastic chair.  

    Mike, gun! 

    He could only have been imagining I'd mind-raped someone he'd known, probably since childhood.  She had that bratty, privileged sense of entitlement I'd never learned.

        He didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat.

        My right hand was slightly out, palm up and Mike, my boyfriend, my bodyguard, my first soldier, dropped the gun in. I took half-a-second to check the safety was off and there was still a round in the chamber.

        I raised the gun, pointed it at her spiky orange head, and pulled the trigger.

        Dead centre forehead shot, minimal exit spray, but that would be due to the subsonic hollow points.  Still quite a lot of spray, though.

        She slumped off the chair and lay on the floor.  Even her blood was slowing.  Her heart had stopped.  It was over.

        The room erupted into chaos.  I safetied the gun and handed it to Mike.

    "Thank you, Mike," I said.  "For trusting me."

        Sylvia was displaying genuine emotion for the first time, and it wasn't butterflies and puppies.  Although I've always butterflies in close-up were really disgusting.

        She walked up to Mike.  She slapped him across the face.  He was still in shock from the shooting, and I doubt he even heard her when she "Twenty-nine, now, Mike, thanks your boyfriend."

    She's quite right I sent to Mike.

    He just stood staring at the body and the room which had emptied in about five seconds.

    I turned to Sylvia.  "Can you place this facility in a complete, psychokinetic-proof lockdown for a few hours? No one leaves."

    "Why should I?  So you can hunt us down one by one?"  She looked at the body. "Pretzel always argued for peace, but she was a good person."

    "No, she wasn't".  I'd somehow mentally recorded my deep dive into -- fuck me, Pretzel's brain -- I really hoped that was a nickname.  I took my recording in my mental hands.

    "I'll show you what I saw."   If you tell me afterwards I took the wrong action, I'll eliminate myself. "But first the lockdown, before anyone reaches the exit or a communication device."

    Ok, it's done, she said. I heard vague clangings and floodings and electric buzzes.

    "Can you keep track of who tries to use a phone?"

    "Not yet," she said. "Sorry. But all the landlines are cut off and cell reception is jammed. Fire doors in place, electrical shorting, telekinetic-proof armor over every door."

    "Great."

    I opened the bound-mental-link pathway I'd discovered earlier.

    Ready? Mike, you should see this too.  Both of you touch one of shoulders.

    They both touched, Sylvia lightly on my left, Mike with a tighter grip.

Chapter Ten

Pretzel

    It wasn't really her fault. She'd only made one bad choice.  She'd accidentally sat down in a cafe, one table away from one of our enemies. I do believe everyone should get a second chance.  But,  I explained to my audience, we couldn't afford that.  Not at meeting about war or peace, and almost certainly a discussion of strategy.

    Why? asked Sylvia.

    She didn't know it, but she's been in contact with one of them. Given everything I saw yesterday I became certain they had a spy in here.  It's a bit more complicated than that, though.  They have two talents we don't have, at least.  The first is the neutralizing effect.  Minimal range, so not wonderful for them unless they get up close quickly.  

    The second talent is the ability to plant some sort of mental...virus?...in someone's brain.  Perhaps it only works with us, and not normal humans.  I didn't have time to work everything out.  But at moments of stress it begins transmitting...and the range is very large.  Hundreds of meters, perhaps kilometers.  They station themselves as relays - I could easily tell there was someone on the street above this place, relaying to the next person even further way.  I managed to find the end of the chain, and that's where Mike and I are going next.  But this facility is no longer safe.  Sylvia, you need to evacuate everyone, within about thirty minutes.

    Pretzel was broadcasting at high strength when I shot her.  I couldn't see any trace that she knew what she was doing.   She'd seen my face, though; and our enemy would know how well trained I am, and that the argument was swinging your way.

    "It was," said Sylvia, "Until you shot one of them."

    "Sylvia, I leave the politics to you.  You are my superior in those.  But, as you said, I'm your weapon.  If so, you pulled the trigger.  Meantime, the rest of the day is cancelled, Mike and I have a bad guy to catch.  They need a name, really.  Neutralizers?"

    "This isn't a comic book, Scott," said Mike, with a quick grin to take the sting out of it.

    "So, Neutralizers, it is."

    I turned to Sylvia.  "The big problem is that there are probably more than one of them.  Pretzel was just the most obvious.  You're strong offensively.  You can weed them out.  At the very least keep them contained and isolated.  Don't only think about the ones who disagreed with you.  If I were infiltrating I'd make very sure they paid good lip service to your position."

    She nodded.  I'll say this for Sylvia.  She could roll with the punches and keep her footing steady.  

    Mike asked her,"Will you be safe on your own?"  I suppose I should have asked the same thing.  He looked at me.  "Maybe we should stay until we've identified any others."  He looked very concerned for Sylvia. I realized that he was probably her second-in-command, and, also, probably had been her bodyguard.  Until the Scott Situation had intervened.

    "Yeah," I said.  "There's just one problem with that.  When I shot Pretzel in the head, she was pretty much gone anyway.  My talent interacted with the neuron soup of the virus.  I felt her brain turning her off, section by section.   It felt...deliberate."

    "Oh my God," said Sylvia.  Her iron self-control had collapsed.  Pale, sweat beading her forehead, she sank down onto a chair.  "A self-destruct?"

    I was feeling a bit queasy myself but considering what I'd done to the girl myself two or three seconds later, it would have been hypocritical to show my disgust.

    Mike said, "It wasn't really her fault, then."

    "No," I said. "But I had to--"

    "Yes, Scott," he said, and put an arm around my shoulders.  It was only then that I realized I was shaking.  "I know.  I'm not saying that.  I'm saying whatever we need to do to get rid of these fuckers, we do.  No hesitation, no scruples, no bargaining.  Just remove them."

    "I don't disagree, Mike.  But I think it's going to be more complicated than that."

    Sylvia raised an eyebrow at me.  "You mean, you're going to make it more complicated."

    I nodded.  "We need to kidnap one of them.  At least one, preferably more."

    Sylvia nodded.  "I agree.  There's no way I'm finding out more about their powers by losing more of our people."

    She got up from the chair.  She looked older.   Haunted.  But, again, I was impressed by her strength.

    "I'll visit the armory," she said.  "And I have talents you two chicklets have not the faintest idea about."    

    Then she vanished.  One second there, the next empty air.

    "Now, that is a trick I want to learn," I said.  Mike grinned at me. 

    "I've seen it before...but you should have seen your face."

    "You probably will.  How are we going to catch this Neutralizer?"

    "I saw him in Pretzel's mind, right before...well. My God, Mike, what was her real name?"

    "As far I know, that was her real name."

   "And here I was hoping it was stripper code, and referred to her athletic feats of prowess in the bedroom; Oh, Jesus, I can't believe I just said that. The poor girl."

    He took one step forward and hugged me for about ten seconds.

    I took five deep breaths.  I wasn't shaking any more.

    "We're going to need move quickly," I said, and he started moving past fallen-over chairs and a few discarded cellphones.  I followed.  "Do you have encrypted comms with Sylvia? We might move out of mind-speech range pretty quickly."

    He smiled at me - an odd moment of intimacy in carnage. "To the roof, Batman."

    "The roof?  Okay, never mind.  Weapons?"

    "Loaded in the transport.  You'll understand.  Although, here's the gun, if you want it again."

    About a minute later, we were faced with an elevator.  It opened as we approached, which I chose to assume was magic.  We got in and he punched the R button which I guessed mean Roof rather than Right.

    "I thought we were underground," I said.

    "For most of facility that's true.  But we need significant roof space for the transports and the solar panels. Also, people prefer to do business in places where they can see outside."

    "Business?" I asked. 

    "Cover business.  Plus it gives a lot of flexibility and room for a giant workshop."

    The lift stopped but did not open.   He pulled an earpiece mike from a pocket, and pushed on it to talk.   "Scout team waiting for egress, in position."

    "Scout team has permission.  Authority Reckless Unicorn."  It was Sylvia's voice.

    He didn't even look at me.  "In a lockdown situation, the outside crews are given a random, rotating code name on an hourly basis."

    The doors started to open.  "A whole hour?"

    He shrugged.  "Remember, we've had a lot to do to maintain security with an unwilling population.  They're us.  We can't hit them, or tase them, or even confine them to quarters."

    The door opened and a piggy-looking little man dressed in overalls looked us up and down, snorted, and went back to whatever he was doing.

    I ignored him.  There were six helicopters on the roof, 1 ancient but serviceable Huey, a sort-of civilian Blackhawk with odd stubs near the rotorhead, and 4 shiny new Bell 212s.  All in dark blue-grey.  No tail numbers were visible - more money spent in the right places.    

    "Which one do you want to take?" 

    "Something that can make a loud an impression.  Can we get a pilot for the Black Hawk? How the fuck do you get a civilian military helicopter?"    

    "Second-hand," he said.  "And as for the pilot, that's easy."

    We walked right to the chopper and he got into the pilot's side.  I got into the other side.  It was actually more full of electronic displays and dials and controls than I would have imagined.  The controls were duplicated on my side, but I had no intention of touching them.  I understood how a pilot controlled a helicopter, but there was a large gap between theory and practice.

    Mike flicked a few switches.  "Full tank.  We have a operational radius of about six hundred kilometers.  Will that be enough?"

    "Somehow I don't think we'll need to go that far.   Does this carry weapons?"

    "You saw them on the stub wings up top.  Each carries a 12.7mm gatling gun."

    "Oooh," I said.  "I think this is best day of my life."  Then I remembered everything that had happened.  "Actually, it's really not.  But this is still very cool."

    "This is a UH-60M.  It can fly itself, but where's the fun in that?"

    "I think I'm not the only one attracted to danger."

    "Trust me, the way this thing's armored, it doesn't matter how good their snipers are."

    Several more switches and turbines howled into life above us,  banshees on electric startup motors, and then that deepened into a growl as the fuel started igniting and driving the rotors around.

    As soon the rotors were going as fast as I thought they could, Mike twisted the power grip on the collective and pulled, very gently, upward.

    The aircraft hovered on its own ground-cushion effect until Mike was happy with it, and then, after gaining another few meters in altitude, he nudged the cyclic  joystick forward a little, and the chopper dipped its nose slightly, and we were flying.  Over streets and buildings and tiny little people.

    "Don't get too high," I said.

    Can't hear you.  Wear the headphones or use mind-speech.

    I found the headphones and put them on.  "Comms check," I said.

    "You're fine.  Now what did you want to say?"

    "I said don't get too high.  If I see this Neutralizer I'll know him."

    "And if he knows you?

    "I've already figured out why they keep their distance.  It's because the range of our talents is, by whatever margin, greater than the range of theirs."

    "Exactly.  So I'll keep us out of their range, which we believe - and bear in mind this is guesswork based on fifty years of never actually knowing who they are, but seeing their effect - is about ten meters.  You mentioned Pretzel sat down at the next table in the cafe?"

    "Yeah."  Ten meters. That was a lot larger than I liked.  "What's our range?"

    "Different for each of us.  Given what you did to the nail room, I'd say yours is easily double that.  The effect drops off exponentially and those are - were, heh -extremely long muzzles.  Looked like a fucking pipe organ while Sylvia and her crew were building it."

    "I'm guessing he'll be the other side of the city, probably in one of the fancy houses on the hill."

    "We'll, we're doing nearly 250 kilometers per hour, so that's about ten minutes.  And that's a guess based on what, by the way?"

    "They have a lot of money and they want to keep as far away as possible from us."  Something occurred to me then, something very important, but it vanished, like a fin disappearing beneath the waves.

    He would have punched my arm but all his limbs were engaged.

    "Cocky little bastard, aren't you?"

    "I swear you have to stop using the word little.  Otherwise I might equalize things with a knife...and I could.  Weapons deployed?"

    "Yeah and under your control.  We had the guns upgraded to sit on a motion control head so you can aim them about thirty degrees left-right, and ten degrees up or down. Beyond that, I'll have to point the chopper towards the target.  Use that little - heh - joystick by your right hand. The obviously non-standard one...actually I think we bought that at Radio Shack. The muzzle view is on that screen immediately above.  Please try hard not to shoot anything.  No-one knows this chopper is are armed.  How are you going to draw him out?"

    "He should know my face, right?  From that girl with unfortunate name?"

    "You mean the one with the unfortunate head injury?  Pretzel."

    "I'm gonna have to see a birth certificate before I believe that. Did I do the right thing, Mike?"

    He laughed, casually.  "I'd say yes.  Least of our problems.  They know we know about them.  That's a big problem."

    "No, that was exactly part of the plan.  We have to draw them out. Now, a very important question.  Did Pet...Pretzel...know ahead of time about your rescue operation  at the beach yesterday when you saved my life?"

    Mike stopped laughing.  "Oh.  She was in the room when the van exfil was being discussed."

    "Then that's how they knew where to position the snipers. My other question is, how did you know where to place the explosive charges to take them out."

    "Oh, we didn't.  We just picked the ten most likely locations and went really big. Pretzel was not at that meeting, fortunately."

    So it appeared luck was a thing, after all.