Awakening (TalentBorn Book 1)

by C. S. Churton

  He takes another sip of his coffee and watches me with amused eyes. But something he's said has caught my attention.

  “A handler?”

  “That's right. You'd be assigned an agent whose job is to make sure you're fully briefed, and keep you safe.”

  “Who would it be?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I don't know. That's for Gardiner to decide.”

  I chew a piece of lettuce and force myself to swallow, whilst resolving to eat around the rest of it. It turns out ruining a salad is easier than I imagined.

  “And I'd be working from the base most of the time?”

  “It's not exactly a nine to five job, but you'd be expected to log a certain number of training hours each week. We could sort you out with a car, or get you a flat closer to the base.”

  “I have a car.”

  “One that works,” he clarifies with a smile. I put my fork down.

  “Do you have any idea how creepy it is that you know so much about me? Any idea at all? Is there anything you don't know?”

  “I don't know why you sold your motorbike to buy a car that doesn't work.”

  I laugh despite myself. I'd loved that bike. Maybe a little too much. I'd particularly liked how fast it could go – until I got caught doing ninety-five in a fifty zone. I came within a whisker of losing my license, and decided I needed something that was less likely to tempt me to test the speed cameras. Of course, the car had been working when I bought it... just not for long afterwards. Just long enough, in fact, for the warranty to run out.

  “What's the pay like?” I'm not considering it, not really, but there's no harm in asking, right?

  “At least ten times what you get now. More, if you're on an assignment.”

  On the other hand, maybe I should consider it.

  “Give it some thought – sleep on it. Gardiner doesn't expect a decision right now, and you've had one hell of a day. But when you make up your mind, give me a call.”

  He slides a business card across the table to me. It has just his first name and phone number printed on the plain white card. I pick it up and slide it into my pocket.

  “Yeah, I'll do that.”

  *

  When the alarm wakes me from my restless sleep the next morning, I wonder if the entire thing was a dream, and then I roll over onto my side and see the business card lying next to my lamp. I yawn and burrow further into the duvet, but don't take my eyes from the card. It all seems so surreal.

  I spent half the night thinking about Gardiner's offer, and everything Scott told me about AbGen, which admittedly isn't much. But it’s enough to make me start questioning my future at The Glasshouse. Until now I've been content to plod along, one pay cheque at a time, carving out a little niche for myself in an anonymous town. And I like my niche. But now Scott has me wondering if I’m missing out on something more. The passion I'd seen in his eyes last night, the sense of purpose, of belonging. And I can't deny that it was flattering that they'd gone to so much trouble to recruit me: I've never been head-hunted before. It's not like there's a dire shortage of averagely-skilled waitresses.

  But he'd made no bones about the fact that it could be dangerous. What would I do if someone tried to kill me? Worse, how would I cope if I had to kill someone? I feel guilty if I get someone's order wrong at the restaurant, which sort of pales in significance to what AbGen might ask of me.

  The money, yes, that’s a pretty big deal. As a waitress I can generally make ends meet – if you don't count the slight cash flow problem I've been having for the last couple of months – but the sort of money Scott was talking about would make a real difference. If I'm still around to spend it.

  I sit up and push the duvet off, shivering as the cold air raises goose-bumps on my skin. What it comes down to is trust. Do I trust Scott? Yes, I think so; he's been pretty honest with me so far, and he's kept all his promises. But do I trust Gardiner? Not in a million years. The way he looked at me yesterday made my skin crawl. Like I was some sort of prize racehorse. He wants my talent, but I have no idea what for – or how far he's willing to go to get it.

  I shake my head and swing my legs off the bed. I'm being paranoid. They let me leave yesterday, and they could have stopped me – it's not like I have anything close to control over my ability. They've made it clear this is my choice.

  I'm going round in circles. I spent half the night worrying about the same issues, and I'd hoped some sleep would clear my head. So much for that.

  I step into the shower and let the warm water wash over my body, giving myself over entirely to the relaxing sensation. The scent of ylang ylang and roses hangs in the steamy air, joined by honey blossom as I shampoo my hair. The morning ritual makes me feel halfway human again, and by the time I'm dressed I'm ready to make a couple of calls.

  The first is to Lloyd. I put on my best croaky voice and tell him I can't make it in today. I feel horrible lying to him, but I’m sure Janey will appreciate the extra hours, and I have somewhere I need to be.

  The second is to Janey herself. If Lloyd tells her I called in sick after everything we spoke about two days ago, she’s going to panic. I owe her some sort of explanation, not that I’ve got any idea what I’m going to tell her. Hey, Janey, it’s okay, it turns out I’m a mutant with super-powers and the government wants to recruit me! Yeah, that conversation would go well. I mean, depending on how you feel about men in white coats.

  “Anna, how are you?” she answers almost before it’s had time to ring. “I was getting worried when you didn’t call.”

  “I know,” I say with a grimace. “I’m sorry. Things got a little crazy.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay. And I’ve been talking to someone about my… blackouts.” I hope she doesn’t notice my hesitation. I want to tell her everything, of course, but I can’t drag her into the middle of this.

  “And?”

  “He’s got some theories. I think they’re going to run some tests.” Though probably not the sort of tests Janey is thinking of. I hate this! I hate that I can’t be honest with her. Maybe I should just tell her anyway. I mean, she’s my best friend. She’d understand, right? Right, and then what? Scott was pretty clear that AbGen was some national secret. Until I know more about them, I can’t tell anyone. Especially not Janey. And there’s only one way I can find out. “I’m going to call him in a minute.”

  “Anna Mason, are you stalling?”

  “Well, maybe just a little,” I confess.

  “Don’t think I’m going to sit here being your enabler,” she says, her voice playful. “I’m going to hang up now, and you can fill me in tonight, at my place, got it?”

  “Got it.” The prospect of a girly night puts a smile on my face – though it falters a little when I realise she’s going to want answers that I won’t be able to give.

  “And Anna? Call him. I’m serious.”

  The line goes dead. I pull the phone away from my ear, take a deep breath, and then dial again.

  The electronic ringing sounds in my ear for a long moment before Scott picks up.

  “Hello.” I wonder if not identifying himself is a security thing, or if he just has really bad telephone manners.

  “Hi, it's me.” Two can play at that game, I smile to myself, and then let the expression fall away. “Can we talk?”

  “Yeah. Meet me at Arundel Corner in an hour.”

  The line goes dead and I kick around the flat for as long as I can stomach before grabbing my coat and heading for the door. I get to the Arundel Corner early, and loiter on the street, trying hard not to look too obvious as I watch the traffic coming and going, looking for Scott's car. I thrust my hands into my pockets and lean back against the wall, enjoying the sun warming my skin. This is a definite improvement on the damp greyness of yesterday.

  The occasional car drives past, but none that I recognise. An engine snarls and a shiver runs through me. I recognise the sounds of a well-tuned bike. I miss t
he freedom of racing along the tarmac, chasing a sequence of white lines that lead to some place in the distance that matters less than the journey. Cars are okay, and they have their perks – heaters, for one – but they're too confining, too restrictive. A bike is like an extension of your body, but in a car, your body is just an extension of the vehicle.

  The snarling eases to a rumble as the bike – a big, shining black beast – slows, and the rider looks around. It's a Suzuki Bandit, a beautifully elegant machine that looks the part and performs even better. I've always loved the design of the machine, big brother to the Suzuki EN, the first bike I'd ever ridden. The rider looks straight at me, though I only vaguely register it because I'm still too busy eyeing up his machine, and wondering if I can get credit for one.

  The bike eases across the road and idles beside me. The rider pulls of his helmet, and I do a double take. It's Scott, but I hadn't figured him for the biker type. You know, in case it messed up his suit. He's wearing full leathers, gloves and boots, and has a second helmet at his elbow, with his arm pushed through it. He pulls it off and passes it to me with a smile.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  I grin and pull it on, then hop onto the back of the bike. There's no pillion grab bar – which must be a customisation, as the standard model comes with it – so I wrap my arms loosely around his waist.

  “Hang on,” he calls as he clips his helmet back into place, and then revs the engine. The bike shudders in anticipation and then we pull away, changing gear twice before we hit the corner, and then twice more once we've rounded it. I see now why he chose Arundel – we're straight onto the back roads to Ryebridge, and we both know there are no speed cameras around here.

  The lane is deserted, just a grey expanse, and trees whip past on either side of us. Scott leans the bike and takes us smoothly through a wide corner, and I concede he's a good rider. Which is good, because there is nothing more terrifying than being on the back of someone's bike when that someone can't ride. Not even Gardiner’s laboratory.

  I settle down and enjoy the ride, laughing with exhilaration as Scott kicks it up a notch. I peer over his shoulder and see we're clocking way above a tonne. I guess stripping off the pillion bar wasn't his only customisation. The wind snatches away my laughter and the scream of the bike makes any sort of conversation impossible, leaving us isolated in the moment, connected only through the touch of my arms at his waist. My every thought is drowned out by the noise, so that I'm completely in the moment, with no thought of what happened yesterday or might happen tomorrow. Nothing more than just the next three seconds, and the next, and the next.

  The bike vibrates beneath us, trembling with its raw power as we roar across the tarmac. I've lost all track of where we are, and I don't care.

  Scott eases off the throttle and kicks it down a gear. We're passing a trickle of traffic travelling in the opposite direction to us, and I suppose we must be joining the main roads again soon. I'm wrong, though.

  We swing round a sweeping bend, and then a tight one in the opposite direction, and Scott slows the bike to a crawl. The smooth tarmac turns to loose stones that crunch under the bike’s wheels, and then to mud. I look around me and see green hills overlooking a wide lake whose water glistens in the sunlight. Scott kills the engine and I hear birds crying as they circle over-head and swoop periodically at the water. It couldn't be more different to where we'd come from.

  I climb off the bike and pull the helmet from my head.

  “It's beautiful.”

  “I like to come out here to think,” he tells me, pulling off his own helmet and gloves, and I can see why. It's so peaceful, so tranquil. It's a world away from the crashing waves of the Essex coast that had been my getaway when things got too much. There's something about water, though, whether calm or turbulent, that has a soothing effect on the soul. Or so my meditation teacher told me. I'm really starting to think she may have been on to something – and if anyone’s soul could use a little soothing right about now, it’s mine.

  “What?” Scott asks, catching my smile. I sit back on the grassy bank and tell him about the coast, though I don't tell him about the hours I spent screaming into the wind because I think that might give him the wrong impression about my sanity.

  “This is much more peaceful,” I conclude.

  “I thought peaceful might do you some good, after the weekend you've had,” he says, picking up a stone and skimming it across the surface of the lake. “Although I don't know how I'd have explained it to Gardiner if you'd shifted right off the back of the bike,” he adds with a frown.

  I lie back on the ground and stare up at the clouds drifting across the blue sky.

  “Do you ever regret joining AbGen?” I ask him.

  “Never.”

  “You don't get sick of all the training, or worry about the danger when you're on an assignment?”

  “The training prepares you for the danger, so it takes a lot of the risk out of it. Training might not be exciting, but when you think of it in those terms, you don't mind doing it. Everyone feels a little fear when they start going on assignments – that's natural – but most of the time there's very little danger involved. Our training prepares us for every eventuality.”

  I think about that for a moment, and it makes sense. I'm not really a gym person, and nothing appeals to me about running through the streets in the sweltering summer or freezing winter, but if I was training for a reason then I'd probably be a bit more enthusiastic about it. And I can't deny that I get a little thrill of excitement when I think about learning to control my talent. It turns to anxiety when I think back to the way Gardiner looked at me yesterday.

  “And do you ever worry...” I hesitate, not sure if asking is the smart thing to do. Subterranean offices and firing ranges, highly trained agents on secret missions… that’s a lot of power for one person to wield, especially when that one person is an aging guy in a suit who sends chills down my spine, in the bad way. Scott is looking at me curiously, his expression open and eyes non-judgemental. “How do you know you're working for the right side?”

  He treats the question with the seriousness I intended it, not trying to laugh it off or change the subject, which I take to be a good sign. I sit up and look at him properly.

  “When Gardiner recruited me, AbGen was much smaller, just a handful of people. I was one of the first absas and I didn't understand what was happening to me. A lot like you, actually. He took me into his office and offered me a job, and I asked him the same question. He told me that humanity is hard-wired to believe it's in the right, and our perception of justice is skewed by wherever we're standing at the time. Every dictator throughout history has believed that they're serving the greater good, and even Jihadists believe that they're serving a higher calling by cleansing the world of infidels. All we can do is fight to protect our way of life, and preserve the lives of as many as we can. At AbGen, that’s what we do. We protect people. We protect their freedom.”

  I nod slowly, turning the words over in my head. If we all believe we’re right, all the time, then it’s true: whatever we think is the greater good is a moot point. But if they’re saving lives, not taking them, how bad can they be?

  “Okay, I'm in.”

  Chapter Seven

  By midday, I'm back at Langford House, waiting outside Gardiner's office like a naughty school kid while Scott speaks to him behind the closed door. I've agreed to sign on with AbGen, but I have one condition. There’s no way I’m prepared to trust my safety to someone I've never met. I've told them that I want Scott as my handler, or I’ll walk. Gardiner has asked me to wait outside, and here I've sat for half an hour. I think Scott is trying to sell him the idea, but the door is thick and it's impossible to make out what's being said. If I put my ear against it I might be able to hear better, but that could be tricky to explain if someone happens to come down the corridor.

  I start to fidget, getting uncomfortable on the chair, and wonder if maybe I've pushed t
hings too far, if I've misjudged Gardiner's desire to have access to my talent. Maybe he'd rather turn me away than have me laying down stipulations. Or maybe he's realising that he could just force me to do what he wants. My anxiety has been growing over the last thirty minutes, and I can feel my stress levels rising. Don't shift, don’t shift, don’t shift, I chant silently, which isn’t helping, because now I'm panicking about shifting right out of the corridor, which is just making it more likely to happen.

  I force myself to take a deep breath, and then another. It doesn't matter if Gardiner doesn't like it, because this is a deal breaker. If I can't have Scott as my handler then I'll gladly go back to waiting tables at The Glasshouse, and just as I'm starting to think that maybe I should have just stuck to that in the first place, the door swings open. Scott walks through and gives me a wink. Gardiner stands in the doorway. I scramble to my feet.

  “You have yourself a job, Miss Mason,” he says, extending his hand to me. I shake it and try to remind myself that he's one of the good guys.

  Scott leads me to the lift, and presses a button marked ‘Lower Basement’.

  “What's down there?” I ask him.

  “Promise me you're not going to panic and shift.”

  “I promise nothing,” I warn, eyeing him suspiciously, but I've got no intention of going anywhere, if I can help it.

  “We're going to the labs. Gardiner wants you to see our scientists, and one of the doctors, to see if they can get to the bottom of what's causing your blackouts.”

  “Right.” I nod, and sag against the back wall of the lift. The scientists. The lab. Tests.

  “You can trust us, Anna,” Scott says softly. I look at him and he holds my eye, locking me in the moment. “They just want to help, and I won't let anything happen to you.”

  I nod again, but before I can reply the door rolls open. The lift opens directly into the lab, which is vast, easily the biggest room I have seen at Langford House so far. The whitewashed walls and white tiled floors give the place a sterile feel, and it's spotless to a fault. Men in white lab coats are working at computers and checking readouts from a hundred pieces of equipment that wouldn’t have looked out of place aboard the Enterprise. Harsh lighting reflects off the stainless steel lab tables. I don't see any scalpels or restraints, which is something, at least.