by A K Lambert
Mandy wagged a congratulatory finger at him. ‘The boy does have a brain.’ She smiled at him.
‘Well, I don’t know what my feelings are for you, Miss Walker.’ Jon was still just about holding his nerve.
‘And, let’s just keep it that way, shall we?’ Mandy was close to him and still wagging her finger, but much more gently. The end of her finger was touching his chest each time, which he found very off-putting. ‘I don’t want to fall for the only boy I’ve ever cared for. I’d rather we stay mates—for now anyway.’
She moved her hands to his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Mates?’
Jon felt a flood of relief wash over him; he felt the same. He smiled meekly back at her. ‘Yes, mates.’
‘Great,’ she said, then slid her hands to the back of his neck and kissed him deeply. Jon was dumbfounded. He tried to say something, but his lips seemed to be totally in synchronisation with Mandy’s kiss. He was powerless to resist.
After a few moments, she pulled herself away, giggling. ‘But I still wanted to know what that would be like.’ She walked backwards away from him. ‘And Grace will want some juicy gossip when I report back.’ She turned and began to run. ‘Try and catch me when you come back to your senses.’
Jon didn’t follow. He wasn’t capable of running. Then he heard in the distance, ‘Not too shabby, O’Malley. Not too shabby, at all.’
Chapter 18
The Council Listen In
Preenasette - Bala Verceti - 2009
* * *
The Bala Verceti High Council leaders sat facing each other around the circular table in the meeting chamber. Bakta, Kam Major and Cascan Ofier weren't present. This wasn’t a full council meeting, just the four Councillors and the eldest Royal, Domeriette.
Bana Domeriette, the Council Elder, had a deep frown that highlighted her apprehension of the decision they were here to make. At seventy-nine, she was near the end of her tenure on the council. When not frowning she was still an attractive woman, maintaining an ageing beauty that only comes from ignoring the multitude of anti-ageing devices made available to those with a desire to look young at all costs. But she had a big decision to make—probably the most critical of her nine years as Elder—and it showed on her face.
“Quantum Quinary Psychic Vision.” Ventar had come up with that. He’d even given it an acronym and a name: The Q2PV Collective. The council had been working on this for the last sixty years in one way or another. It was the natural next step in their intellectual evolution and involved a process where the combined mental abilities of the four High Councillors and the eldest Royal were used to reach out over vast distances. The process needed five to complete the circle, so accordingly, the past four cycles of the council the eldest Royal had been invited to attend these psychic ability enhancement sessions.
The problem weighing heavy on Domeriette’s mind was the ethics of using these combined abilities. The training process, as a mental exercise, was exciting, but using it? It was akin to the mathematical and theoretical physics needed to design and construct a devastating bomb. It presented a fascinating set of problems to solve in the classroom, but using it in the field was a whole different question. Here, their dilemma was that they had created a way to impose themselves on other people’s thought processes, and if they started down this path, where would it end?
They had hoped that it would be a method to keep in touch with the three Royals in hiding, but to date, they had been unsuccessful navigating the vast distances involved. With the war going so badly, they were contemplating using it on the Trun Council to try to discover their tactics in advance and respond accordingly and redress the imbalance that now existed. Bakta had officially made this request to the Overseeing & Ethics Committee, a committee chaired by Cascan Ofier who sat just below the High Council and acted as a second conscience on such matters. They had given their approval—‘desperate times require desperate measures’ was their reply. But the final decision still rested with Domeriette.
The High Council had made the decision weeks ago, but she had delayed ratifying it until now.
‘Time for action. We shall do this,’ she finally decided. ‘Take your positions and prepare for mediation.’
They went to a white onyx table located in a curved recess in the southern wall. A large circular glass window and a glazed ceiling made it a magnificent setting, with an incredible view of the city and out to the sea, where the tiny islands were reaching up towards the sky like sharp little needles.
They sat down and held hands, the circle now formed. They closed their eyes and began the process of deep meditation.
Princess Domeriette, or Dom-Bala as she was nicknamed—to avoid being confused with the older Domeriette—was responsible for forming the Conduit. Domeriette acted as a Seeker. Camcietti’s expertise was as a Reader of Thoughts. Tauriar would create the Channel home, and finally, Ventar, serving as the Evaluator would complete the circle to Dom-Bala.
The High Council were preparing to listen to the Trun’s Quarter Luna War Council meeting, which the Vercetian intelligence agency had established was tonight.
Dom-Bala started proceedings by opening up a conduit to the Trun capital Rizontella, the vicinity of the Council Building. This psychic tube was very short for her. She had, in training, opened them up into deep space. The tube was now ready for Domeriette, Camcietti and Tauriar to transfer their psyches to the War Ministry building.
Domeriette, as the seeker, took control of the far end of the conduit and began sifting through the invisible ether for a dominant voice. They wouldn’t be capturing words and sentences, but thoughts—not always the one and the same, especially from politicians. The dominant voice would have the highest density of data packages around it.
Domeriette guided Camcietti to these packages. Acting as the reader, he collected them and passed them onto Tauriar. They appeared to Camcietti as imprints of data surrounding the target. He could sense them, but he didn’t have time to process them. It was all he could do to grab them mentally and move them on through the circle.
Tauriar opened a channel back to the Verceti High Council room, following a route parallel to the conduit. He transferred the thought imprints through this channel, to an eagerly waiting Ventar.
Finally, Ventar, as the evaluator, started receiving the thought packages and tried to make sense of them and to get them into some coherent form. This analysis was passed on to Dom-Bala who, in turn, transferred it on to the other three who were operating psychically in Trun. They would hear the commentary as they were carrying out their duties.
The first speaker at the Trun War Ministry meeting began by introducing the principal dignitaries around the table and ran through the topics for the evening’s debate.
It was working well. The second and third speakers were picked up and their individual thought monologues captured. They were reporting on basic administrative affairs associated with the war. The Vercetians listened to the commentary from Ventar and at the same time could feel the passion in the Trun thoughts. They had a deep pride in their commitment for this war, still feeling the injustice done to them over three hundred years earlier. Domeriette was appalled that after all this time they still felt so strongly.
Haven’t they seen what we’ve done since those dark times? They knew how we felt and what we did to atone. With no contact and no dialogue, no wonder this war is never ending.
The third speaker finished, and the hall became quiet. Quieter than it had been all evening. Someone important must be readying themselves, thought Domeriette. After an extended pause, for effect perhaps, the next speaker’s energy source began to ripple into the ether, and the thoughts imprints started to form. Domeriette sensed the location of this psychic power supply and eased her mind towards it, creating a beacon for Camcietti and Tauriar. Camcietti opened his mind to the imprints, absorbing them as quickly as he could and packaging them up into nice neat bundles ready to pass on to Tauriar. Tauriar had just des
patched the first bundle when the imprints started to change. The cohesive flow of the patterns seemed to pause, somehow evaluating its surrounding space. A shadowy entity was aware of them now. They could feel it probing, assessing. Then it went completely quiet. They could all feel something coming.
The attack, an instant later, was brought with such venom and fury it stunned the High Council members. Camcietti took the full brunt of the vicious assault. His mind was wide open and was swamped by evil intent—there was no escape. He began sinking, drowning. His psyche was slipping away. The others looked on helplessly, stunned by their inability to act or help their besieged colleague. Camcietti felt he was falling into a well, his hand stretching out to an ever decreasing circle of light. Deeper, deeper, deeper. All went blank. His psyche had completely disappeared. The others felt it blink out.
Domeriette and Tauriar felt the peripheral effects of the attack on Camcietti; they also felt the evil. Tauriar, in a blind panic, released the channel and with Domeriette flashed back through the conduit that Dom-Bala was now struggling to hold open. A moment later their psyches had rejoined their physical forms back at the council chamber. They sat together at the onyx table, looking at each other. Their eyes were wide with shock and horror.
Ventar, shaken, slowly said, ‘Before the attack, I picked up one thought, a thought directed at the Trun Council...’
“Oh, how I am going to enjoy the slow and painful deaths of every single one of you.”
The others looked at him, appalled.
Domeriette’s senses slowly returned. She looked at each of her devastated friends’ faces, and finally, her eyes settled on Camcietti. He had slumped to the table, facing her, eyes glazed over, and he was obviously quite dead.
‘The Vercetians psychic power was most surprising. I was able to neutralise one whose mind was wide open to a neural attack. I’m sure my identity remains unknown.’
‘The speed and ferocity of your attack would have caught them by surprise. But the level of skill they have shown is very concerning.’
‘Yes, if they try again, they might be much better prepared to defend themselves. And possibly detect our true nature.’
‘They were using a psychic corridor technique? They need five, then. They will be a member short and incapable of replicating the psychic bond with only four. It would take years to train a replacement.’
‘Perhaps. But the Vercetians method of replacing ruling council members means that one of the exiled Royals has already received most of that training. And, if it is one of the older ones, they would be ready to assume the fifth position almost immediately. Detection at this stage would be a great inconvenience to us and might compromise the advantage we hold in the Game.’
‘It could cost us this Game. I will not allow that to happen. Our hold on this planet is not by any means secure yet. We mustn’t be detected. The prevention of their return is now of utmost importance. We know the locations of two of the three. Arrange visits. I will not accept an interruption to our long-term plans.’
Chapter 19
Jon Leaves University
Earth - Cork, The Republic of Ireland - 2009
* * *
Grace loved Jon every bit as much as any sister loved her brother. She loved Amanda as well, but Jon had always been there for her. When Mandy went back to England after the holidays, Jon still visited most weekends. He would cycle in the morning with Peter and spend time with Grace and Krankel in the afternoon. After a while, he had his own bedroom at Harewood Hall, for Saturday night sleepovers. The Faulkners had invited Jon’s parents over a few times and had gotten to know them well. Jon treated Harewood Hall as a second home.
Grace was keenly aware of her future position on the ruling council of Verceti and took her training and responsibilities deadly serious. She was, though, still a child moving into adulthood and she enjoyed the company she could only get with friends of her age.
All of this came to a head when Jon announced that he was considering going to university, should he pass his school exams sufficiently well.
Grace wanted to go too!
* * *
Prime and Temper finally gave in, after two months of relentless pressure from Grace. There were some caveats, though. Firstly, she would need to come back at weekends and “enjoy” a couple of intensive training days. Grace was happy with that; it was what she had expected. She also had to cover some assignments during the week, over and above her university work, easy though it was. Secondly, Peter and Helen were to accompany her there, and she wouldn’t be allowed to stay in Halls of Residence. They needed a place that could be made secure. Grace was not so happy with that, but it was non-negotiable. The Walkers were drafted in at very short notice to help find a suitable property.
So, in the autumn of 2008, the two of them began university life in Cork. Grace was studying Astronomy and Jon, Sociology.
Grace and Jon were nearing the end of their first year and were at the University College Cork lecture theatre listening to the middle-aged professor talking about the role of police in modern society. It was Jon’s sociology lecture, and Grace, who had left her lessons for the day, was here to shuffle Jon along because she wanted lunch.
‘And, if we are to believe Professor M K Gollins in his 1982 paper: The Role of Police in a Changing Society, we could come to a conclusion..’ Professor Thorpe droned on.
Grace, who was sitting two rows in front of Jon, could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head.
“Grace!”
“This Professor Gollins hasn’t got a clue, Jon-boy. He should be teaching elementary school kids.”
“Get.”
“Come on Jon. I’m bored and I’m hungry.”
“Out.”
“I don’t know why you’re persisting with sociology; you’ll never be any good at it.”
“Of.”
“Are there any girls you like in this class? What about the cute blond on your left? I could send her a subliminal message that you’re interested in her.”
“My.”
“I could tell her you’re sexy and fun to be with.”
“HEAD!”
‘So, if you could read chapters seven through ten please, we can review the change of policing methods in the 90s next week. Thank you all,’ said Professor Thorpe, winding up.
Grace and Jon met up in the corridor just outside, and she put her arm through his as they strolled in a leisurely way to the Uni bar. ‘I find this subject hard enough without you continually wittering in my head,’ Jon complained. ‘Why couldn’t you go to lunch on your own?’
‘Then I would had to sit with Peter and Helen, and that looks odd. They look like my minders. Okay, I know they are, but half the university think I’m a bit different as it is. And before you say anything—don’t.’
Grace continued without letting him butt in. ‘And I need to rescue you from the torment of these lessons. Where would you be without your friendly, neighbourhood alien mate looking after you?’ She poked him in the ribs. ‘I want to “hang with the gang”, but it’s still a bit early for them.’
She got the chuckle from Jon that she was after. ‘That’s why everyone thinks you’re a bit different.’
‘Jon O’Malley.’ She feigned anger. “I have just one word to say to you.‘The inside of your brain sucks, and I’m out of it!” She started away up the corridor.
“Sex!” Jon replied in a feeble telepathic attempt... ‘Six, I meant six,’ he shouted after her. ‘That’s six words!’ but Grace was already halfway to the bar.
Jon caught up with Grace at the university bar and ordered some soft drinks and a bar snack. Grace’s home diet was very low in carbohydrates. On Preenasette all carbs were natural, not manufactured. The standard of food on Earth was not good, driven by corporate businesses questing for huge profits with scant regard for the health of the general population.
Grace was having sautéed fish and steamed vegetables, cooked especially for her by one of the ladies in
the cafe of the university bar. She was probably the only person to receive such special treatment. After her first week at uni checking out the food on offer and not taking anything, the ladies had taken pity on her. She had told them she had a food allergy that restricted her diet quite severely. They added a few simple dishes to Grace’s specification. Jon had sausage, eggs and chips, piled to overflowing on the plate. Grace didn’t know where he put it all.
Eventually, the others turned up. Anna, Nigel and Ken. Greetings exchanged, more drinks and food ordered, and a level of merriment that only seemed to exist on Fridays, when all lessons were over for the week.
‘You get away with murder, Grace Faulkner,’ exclaimed Anna, smiling. She was studying Astronomy with Grace but had stayed for the entire lecture, Grace having sloped off. ‘Professor Taylor turns a blind eye as usual to the star of his class.’
‘The teacher’s pet,’ teased Ken looking up ever so briefly from his deep and meaningful conversation with Jon about the new mountain bike groupset about to be launched by Shimano. Ken loved cycling every bit as much as Jon, but the sort of terrain Jon cycled on terrified him.
‘She left early, so she could come and annoy me at my lecture,’ said Jon in an exasperated manner.
‘How many times have we told you not to confuse that poor little brain of yours with lectures?’ Ken quipped, to the amusement of all.
Nigel piped up as always to defend Grace’s honour. ‘I’m sure there was a valid reason for Grace leaving early,’ and he waited for the said valid reason that never came.
Nigel, the “clever” one of the circle, had had a crush on Grace for most of the year. He fondly imagined his feelings were a secret, but everyone knew, including Grace. Jon had often thought, “If he only knew,” and felt quite sorry for him at times. But he was a gentleman and would never make the first move. He was, though, in heaven when debating with Grace. He would raise some obscure subject that went over the top of the others’ heads, and she would wickedly question some aspect of it. ‘I’m only guessing but...’ Or, ‘Yes, but what if someone did...’ She would lead him through a debate, and he would revel in the intellectual challenges she set him.
