by Sarah Noffke
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Hey, George,” I say in a higher pitch than I intended. I reason my nervous tone is a result of awaiting a torturous lecture with Ren.
“Hey.” He sits tall and turns in my direction.
The expression in his dark brown eyes stirs me to fill the silence immediately.
“So how are you?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer but instead stares at me, seeming to take measurements with his eyes.
Of course my nervousness might also be from George. It’s been there since he “awoke.” Since his penetrating gaze fixed in my direction I’ve felt outside myself, saying and doing stuff that isn’t like me. He makes me uneasy, and I’m uncertain if it’s because he can read my emotions or because of the intensity that seems to accompany our every interaction.
I avert his stare and mumble, “I’m dreading training with Ren.”
“I understand,” he says. I can’t help but catch the force in his eyes out of my peripheral.
“I wonder…” I say mostly to myself.
“What?” he clips sharply.
His tone cuts me and I look around for a way to be rescued from my attempts to make conversation. “Never mind,” I say.
“You wonder…” He leans across the table daring to separate us by only inches. “What do you wonder?”
I take in the details of the table in front of me, speculating now if they’ll rescue me from this awkward moment. Finally I decide on honesty. “I was just wondering what you feel from Ren. He appears to be such an unhappy person. I was wondering if it’s as awful as I imagine, feeling his emotions.”
He grabs a pencil from behind his ear and lays it next to his notepad, looking serious. “I can’t tell you that.”
“It must be dreadful.” I sigh.
“No.” He turns in my direction. “I can’t tell you that or anything else about what other people feel. How would you like it if I broadcast every emotional detail about you to anyone who asked? It would be an invasion of your privacy. It would be an abuse of my skill.”
“All right, forget I asked.” I turn and face the front. Guilt and embarrassment shoot through me.
He takes the pencil back in his hand and twirls it through his fingers. “Honestly, sometimes I wish I could tell someone everything I feel. It’s a lot at times, but it’s my burden.”
“Yeah, I can’t even imagine.” I agree as Ren blazes into the room.
With a flick of a remote the projector comes alive. “Today, my little lambs, we’re discussing the most important subject yet.”
A picture flashes on to the screen and stares back at us. It’s a drawing of a man. He’s Asian, has a receding hairline, and a braided ponytail that trails down his back. His long black mustache and goatee only partly hide an expression of power and arrogance. The man’s dressed in flowing black and white kimono and holds a long curved sword. His eyes are black, hollow.
“Please meet Zhuang.” Ren’s voice echoes around the room. “You can rest assured he’s already met you. If you’re in this room, then when you’ve rested, traveled, frolicked with your friends, Zhuang has been there eyeing you, trying to understand how you could be a part of the team eligible to take him down. He’s probably as baffled about this as I am.”
Ren sits on the edge of the desk, pulls out his pocketknife, and begins picking at his fingernails. “Legend has it Zhuang dreamed he was a tiny serpent. He traveled to a village where he slithered into a person’s ear while they slept. Lustful for command, he wrapped his body around their brain, absorbing its power. When he’d taken their life force he slinked out the other side of their head, leaving them dead. Each time he did this he became faster and stronger, but always remained the same size, for this was to his favor. Zhuang awoke and wondered how he’d dreamed he was a serpent able to steal consciousness. At the same time an incorporeal voice offered to Zhuang that he was dreaming he was a man, but actually someone capable of much more.”
Ren interrupts his own speech with a loud yawn. “Legends are daft and full of a lot of bogus drivel, but this parable probably holds some truth. Our villain here is from the fourth century. He’s been pinching people’s ability to dream ever since he realized he could and using this energy to extend his life. Recently, Mr. Villain realized the more consciousness he stole the more power he could harness. Somehow he has been able to convert this power to abilities. These abilities are unprecedented.
“For instance, you will all remember that here at the Institute we have the GAD-C which generates your body from anywhere on the globe. Zhuang can do this on his own. We also have the modifier, which embeds and recedes thoughts in a person’s consciousness. Zhuang can do this on his own. We have a screen attached to the GAD-C that allows us to see pure consciousness in the waking state. Are you getting the hang of this yet? Zhuang can do everything we can, but he doesn’t need one of Aiden’s little gadgets to do it. Actually, I think Aiden gets his best ideas from Zhuang. If that bloke can do it, then that scientist wants to figure out a way to copy it using a device.”
I jerk, sudden anger flares up in me at this accusation. Ren doesn’t notice, but a flicker from George’s eyes tells me he’s picked up on my eruption.
“Not only can he do all this fun stuff, but he’s also an expert in kung fu, telepathy, and telekinesis. He’s fast.” Ren suddenly stands beside Whitney’s desk. He leans down, his face inches from hers. “He’s faster than a shark in the ocean, a cheetah on land, or an eagle in the air. Whatever the terrain, he’s quick.” Whitney looks like she’s on the verge of crying as she tries to look away from Ren. I hate when he bullies people, especially her. He thinks it’s so much fun to use his dramatic lectures to scare all of us, like we aren’t all on the same team.
Standing suddenly, Ren holds up one finger. “There’s only one area where Zhuang has a weakness. It’s our only real strength against him. It’s hardly enough and we’ll probably all die, but at least we have this and he doesn’t.
“The one area Zhuang lacks is clairvoyance. He can’t see the future, can’t remotely feel the right direction the wind will blow. He’s forever and ever stuck in the present moment, because his own hunger for power caused his third eye to go blind. For this reason, we’re hopeful a surprise attack could sneak up on him. You’ll excuse me if I’m doubtful. Because even if I could sneak up on a cheetah, when I did they’d still be fast and strong enough to kill me.” Ren now stands over me, his eyes beading with disdain. I fake a yawn and then rest my hands in my lap nonchalantly.
Ren narrows his eyes briefly before charging to the front of the room. “Today, you’ll have homework. As you go about your day doing all the repugnant things you do, visualize a metal door in your mind. Close and lock it.” Looking up from the lint he’s picking off his suit he focuses on us. “Work on shutting Zhuang out from your thoughts. Push his presence out behind the metal door. If you’re successful with this then maybe, just maybe, he won’t be able to spy on you and learn about the attack, however lousy, we have planned.”
♦
“We need to work on weapon retrieval,” Mario says shortly after we’re all gathered in the kung fu studio. “Trent, you will telekinetically send Roya weapons while she spars with Joseph and Samara.” He turns his focus on me. “Roya, you will not know when a weapon will be sent or what weapon it will be so remain aware while also fending off attacks. Take your places and let’s begin.”
Samara and Joseph take turns throwing punches and kicks at me. I do my best to block them. It’s challenging to defend myself against two people. Too often I’m blocking Samara’s kicks when Joseph’s fist drill into my sides, not hard, but enough to let me know I’m losing this fight. I whip around to block him and miss an attack from Samara. It sends me to my knees, but I’m back on my toes in half a breath.
And then all at once everything slows down in my mind. Their attacks take a back stage and my hands automatically deflect them. There’s a flash: Two sticks connected by a short chain s
oar through the air. If I reach my right arm across my back and down this is the ideal position for obtaining the weapon.
When I return from the momentary flash, my hands are still deflecting attacks. A countdown goes off in my head. At first I’m unsure why. I just listen and witness the quickness of my movements. One. I move forward, pushing off their assaults. Two. I step to the side, causing Joseph and Samara to rethink their formation. Three. A cord tugs at me and I copy the visualization, reaching my arm behind my back, outstretching my hand until the rounded wood connects with my palm. I close my grasp and pull the nunchakus around my body with a jerk and a flick. This is enough to break Samara’s nose.
There’s an explosion of blood. My brief moment of pride and accomplishment is immediately overwhelmed by people rushing onto the scene.
If I didn’t know how horrible I felt, at least George is there to remind me. “It’s okay,” he says. “We all know you didn’t mean to do it.”
Samara cries as Mario holds a wad of towels to her nose. The nunchakus hit the ground with a loud thud. From under Samara’s sobs I hear a small voice and I realize then I have my face covered. I pull my hands away to see Whitney standing over Samara, requesting she keep her hands down away from her face.
We stand silently in a circle around the two of them and watch. Samara’s beautiful, thick hair falls around her on the ground. The blood covering her face makes her pale skin look whiter than ever before. But it’s Whitney who looks out of place. She’s confident. One movement from her and Samara tenses. We all instinctively back away. She rests her hands over Samara’s face and gradually, as if sucking the pain out of the room, the whimpers begin to fade.
One uninterrupted minute passes as we stand motionless, staring. Samara lies on the ground, eyes closed. Whitney hovers above her in a trance, whispering. Samara is so still that a part of me wonders if I’ve killed her. Maybe the blow was worse than I thought. The nervous hush of the room makes my ears ring. I close my eyes and listen to the soft whispers coming from Whitney. They remind me of spring for some reason. Rebirth. Growth. Awakening.
A chortling erupts through the room, causing me to snap open my eyes. I hear it again and move forward. My eyes are open wide when I arrive at Whitney’s shoulder and witness the expression of relief plastered over Samara’s face. Her long pointy fingers trace across her blood-encrusted nose.
“You did it! Oh my God! Whitney, you did it!” Samara says, rising to her feet and wiping the blood off her face with her sleeves. “You freaking fixed my nose!”
A roar of relieved laughter echoes around me. Whitney’s usually meek smile spreads wider until tears swell in her eyes and then rush down freckled cheeks. I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until Trent slaps me playfully across the back and I cough out a nervous laugh. The guilt that had been building in my stomach shrinks with each new batch of oxygen I invite into my lungs.
I step forward and place a hand on Whitney’s shoulder. She’s of course taller than me, but only by an inch or two. Her eyes shine brilliantly through the red of her tear-streaked face.
“Thank you.” My voice is raspy, restrained. “What you did was incredible.”
Something flickers across her eyes. Disbelief maybe. She looks almost pained as she works her face into a smile. I want to say more to her, convince her she should be proud of herself, but Joseph rushes in right then, picking her up and hoisting her onto his shoulders. Everyone cheers loudly, like they’re at a football game, as he parades the healer around the room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next morning I train with George. We’re supposed to learn to work together seamlessly so he can relate Zhuang’s emotions to me. There’s a hope this will offer me insights and direction when the time arises.
Shuman hands me a small pin the size of my fingertip. “On this is a camera,” she says, pointing to my shirt, where she expects me to pin it. “George is going to be watching what you see and working to communicate emotions to you through this medium. It is no ordinary camera though. Aiden has equipped it with sensors and if they work as intended then George should be able to remotely read the emotions of the people you come in contact with.”
She hands him a portable television the size of the palm of his hand. “This may be difficult for you, George,” she says, directing her attention to him. “You are used to being present to read people. That is the reason you need to practice. You will not be with Roya when she is tracking Zhuang and the expertise you can use to guide her will have to come through the screen, the earpiece, and more importantly, this.” She holds up a small disk. “This is a receiver and if it works correctly, it will deliver the emotions Roya transmits from other people to you. Wear it on your chest over your heart,” she orders, handing him all of the equipment.
George places the earpiece in his ear, angling the microphone in front of his mouth. Then he hesitates, giving me a speculative glance before pulling up his shirt and ducking underneath to place the disk on his skin. I get a glimpse of the tight skin stretched over his hip bones when his shirt comes up, but I dart my eyes to the side before I see anything more.
Shuman gives us one last set of instructions. “Roya, walk around the Institute. George, practice trying to determine the emotions around her. Communicate with each other. You two are the only ones on the radio right now.”
I give George a determined look after positioning the earpiece. Then I head down the hallway, moving farther away from him. I put my hand over my ear and say, “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he replies in a low chime in my ear.
“Great.” I feign enthusiasm. “So where should I go?”
“Go find someone to read,” he says dryly.
“Really?” I ask doubtfully. Didn’t he tell me emotions were private and he couldn’t share them?
There’s a long pause. “It’s unfair, but I don’t see any other way to test this.” His response feels too much like a retort to the question I’d asked myself.
“But—”
“What you learn, keep in confidence,” he interrupts. It’s obvious he isn’t pleased with this arrangement.
“Of course,” I say.
“All right, then let’s get started,” George commands.
“I do have another concern though,” I say, trying to inject power into my voice. “If you see the person on the screen, how do we know you’re actually feeling them, rather than remembering what you’ve already read of them in the past?”
“That’s a valid concern.” His deep voice is honest. “Maybe we should test this in a foreign place, one in which I don’t know anyone.”
I consider this for a moment. “No, it’s too risky right now. They’ve already limited my dream travel outside the Institute. There’s no way Trey will let us do that.”
I hear his exasperated breath reverberate over the microphone. “Well, I don’t know then.”
“What if I turn off the video feed?” I ask and then pause, working out the details in my head. “If this remote sensor really works then you won’t need the camera in the first place, right?”
“All right,” he gives after an obvious hesitation.
I set off down the corridor and stop at the first door I come to. It’s nondescript, about like everything in the Institute. There’s no placard beside the door. Most of the offices are like this on the fourth level. I freeze; a nervous bubble rises up my throat. I knock and wait.
After thirty seconds without an answer I sigh and move on.
“If it makes you feel any better,” George says as I stride to the next door, “I think the sensor works.”
“Oh, yeah. Why’s that?” I ask.
“Because I feel you,” he states vacantly.
My first attempts to swallow the tension in my throat are met with defeat. Finally I force out a whispered voice. “It doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t what?” George asks.
“Make me feel any better,” I answer, staring at the door in front
of me.
“I feel your nervousness.” He breathes and then pauses. “But what I don’t know is why.”
I wince from the acuteness of his remark. “Can you only read emotions? You don’t know the reasons,” I state, rather than ask.
“It depends on the person,” George says. “You’re more guarded with the details. And you’re in training so you’re accustomed to shielding yourself. Most people aren’t as vigilant.”
His explanation makes me feel somewhat relieved knowing I’ve succeeded in shielding myself, to an extent.
“You’re going to have to take down the guard though,” he says on the tails of my thoughts. “If this is going to work, I need to be able to discern your emotions from those you encounter.”
“That seems counterintuitive,” I say, stalking off from the door I’d been staring at through most of the conversation. I pace aimlessly. “Maybe I should wall myself up instead and that way you’ll know the emotions you feel are someone else’s.”
“You could try,” George says coolly. “But you’re burning useless energy, especially in battle.”
I stop and lean against the stainless steel wall. Why does it feel like I can’t ever gain anything without giving something up?
“Of course,” he continues, “if you do succeed in walling yourself up completely then you’ll be the first person I’ve met to do so. Emotions aren’t easy to seal off, unlike thoughts. Most can put walls up around their mind, but the heart has trouble being contained.”
“So you can always read someone?” I ask, astounded.
“I always get remnants. Most of the time I get more. Details.”
His words echo in my head long after he’s spoken. I begin strolling through the corridor, finally making the loop and arriving at the door I abandoned moments earlier. I give it a quick rap and wait. No one answers.
“So if I considered taking down the wall, how would I go about that?”
I hear a bristling over the headset and then George clears his throat. “It’s pretty easy. Once you take down the shield Ren taught you to put up, then you just have to allow your feelings. If you know them, then I will. If you don’t, then I won’t.”
