Guardian

by Matthew S. Cox

  Dorian released the manifestation. To Kirsten, he seemed to stop glowing and went solid like a normal person. To everyone else, he must’ve popped out of existence. The room dimmed. The young hostage screamed and strained against the metal around her wrists. Both men gawked; the dark-skinned man looked about ready to tear the pipe down to get away. He shouted a continuous, repeating cadence of, “Oh, Lord Jesus Christ!” while hurling his weight against his restraint.

  Urine spread out in a pool at the formerly ranting woman’s feet; pale faced and slack-jawed, she continued to gape at the air where Dorian had appeared.

  The boy held his hands up. “Please don’t kill me!”

  Appleton melted into a smear of color an instant before the sinewy woman blurred off the desk into a charge. She darted in front of Kirsten in time to knock the katana aside with her rifle. Kirsten hurried to the right, swiveling to aim at the Chinese guy near the boy who stared at her with too much concentration. His surface thoughts gave away his intent to light her on fire with pyrokinesis.

  She glared at him. What are you doing? It would take you hours to generate enough heat to melt this armor. Her eyes flared with psionic energy. “Surrender.”

  He raised his hands and got down on the floor.

  The swordswoman recovered her balance. Appleton ducked a half second before the woman even moved; the katana swiped sideways over her helmet in a wicked slash, unbalancing her from so much force striking nothing but air.

  Appleton lunged upward. She started a punch with her left arm, but grabbed her rifle in both hands and smashed it the other way forward into empty air; the sword-wielding woman jumped face first into the butt end in her effort to dodge. The strike knocked the insubstantial woman off her feet, blood trailing from her nose, and sent the sword flying.

  Kirsten floated off the ground. The skinny teen ran over, put his hands on her, and the air filled with the smell of ozone as little electric sparks danced about his fingers, but failed to have an effect thanks to the sealed Psi Armor. She pointed the E-90 at the blond man, who appeared to be the only one concentrating. When her surface thought skim confirmed him responsible for telekinesis, she shot him in the right thigh. The azure beam flickered for a quarter of a second, leaving a smoking hole on both sides of his pants and a glowing orange dot on the floor.

  Her weight fell back on her feet as the man collapsed, clutching the wound and screaming. The skinny kid pulled a knife. Kirsten pivoted, letting his strike skim across the abdomen of her armored vest, and put the tip of her E-90 to his ear.

  “Drop the goddamned knife.”

  Clank.

  “Good boy. Lie on your stomach.”

  Her suggestion overwhelmed his mind; protesting muscles shaking, he dropped to his knees like a malfunctioning robot before falling forward onto his chest.

  A ripple of energy swam over Kirsten’s brain. She latched on to it, trying to fight it off, but the incoming telepathy felt somewhat stronger than hers, slipping into her thoughts like a gradual loss at arm wrestling. Panic built up, but dissipated as the feeling stopped.

  “She’s not gonna hurt us!” yelled the boy. “Come on, guys. Stop.”

  “Bullshit,” yelled the blond man. “She fucking shot me.”

  “In the leg,” screamed the boy. “She could’a shot you in the heart.”

  Appleton pointed her rifle at the man by the terminal who’d gotten one hand on a submachine gun hanging over his shoulder. “Don’t even.”

  “No hablo Inglés,” said the man in the chair.

  She fired a green beam past his head into the wall. “Do you fuckin’ hablo laser?”

  Hands up, the boy burst into tears. “Please stop!”

  Kirsten shot a look at the whimpering teen chained to the huge pipe. Don’t be afraid of what you saw. It’s a ghost. He’s a friend.

  The girl looked up, dark brown eyes set in skin the color of a porcelain doll brimmed with terror. She seemed to sense the concern in Kirsten and stopped trying to tear the handcuffs apart, though they kept her grip on the pipe so tight she couldn’t slide down.

  “On the floor.” Kirsten’s eyes flickered as she fired a suggestion into the brain of the hacker.

  He slithered out of the chair and got down.

  Appleton cleared the distance to the howling blond man in three steps, kicked a gun away from him, and forced him over onto his chest before cuffing him and putting a psi inhibitor headband on him. He howled in pain the whole time. “Kirsten, you got any inhibitors?”

  “One.”

  “Sword girl’s probably the next biggest threat. She won’t stay out forever.”

  Kirsten opened the belt compartment containing her inhibitor, a two-inch box. At the squeeze of a button, segments extended from both ends and formed a thin metal ring. With the blond man contained, the sword-toting woman unconscious, and the other three hugging floor under psionic compulsion, Kirsten lowered her guard for an instant to put the sword-bearer in binders and fix the psi inhibitor on her head.

  “God sees through your lies.” The frazzle-haired woman glared at Kirsten. “You try to deceive us. Both of you are just as demon-tainted as the beasts who have abducted us. We shall not fall for your treachery.”

  “Shut up.” Kirsten glared at her, barely containing her rage at encountering Mother all over again, only without the burning, beating, and locked closet doors. She narrowed her eyes.

  A flurry of activity on the comm channel pierced the chaos of Kirsten’s adrenaline-jacked thoughts. The tactical team was inbound, and would be on site in fifteen seconds. She kept a wary eye on the psionics, not willing to relax even though the situation seemed neutralized. At any second, one of the suggestees might shrug off the compulsion.

  The boy walked over, keeping his hands up, and pointed at the blond man. “I didn’t wanna do it. My brother Carl made me.” Color faded from his cheeks. “Please don’t put one of those things on my head. I swear I’ll be good.”

  Dorian sighed. “The only way he’d be that scared of an inhibitor is if someone used one on him before… and left it there too long.”

  “Bullshit,” muttered the black man tethered to a pipe.

  Kirsten ignored the zealot. “I’m sorry, Stephen. Did someone hurt you with one of those before?”

  “I saw into the head of a girl they put one on.” He shivered. “I don’t wanna go crazy. Please. I swear I won’t do anything bad.”

  Feeling a bit like Nicole for her wanton disregard for personal ethics, Kirsten knocked at the boy’s surface thoughts, and felt both a little surprised as well as relieved that he wasn’t lying. She pointed at a desk. “Sit there and don’t make eye contact with anyone.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He climbed up.

  The interior double doors burst open, admitting over twenty Division 0 tactical officers in full armor with rifles. Since everything that had happened mostly went over comms and video, Kirsten holstered her weapon, confident the troops knew what to expect.

  “Ops, Wren. The male juvenile was coerced into using his telepathy. I confirmed intent with a shallow read. He’s another victim here.” She pulled her utility knife from her belt, a tiny Nano blade in a protective shroud, but couldn’t pry the handcuff chain binding the girl away from the pipe far enough to get the end of the housing under it.

  “Ow,” whined the girl. “I can’t feel my hands anymore.”

  “Dorian, is there anything in this pipe? Can I shoot it?”

  Stephen looked over. “Roy’s got the keys.”

  “Which one’s Roy?” asked Kirsten.

  The boy pointed at the Chinese man. After a few seconds of struggling with the two officers trying to secure him, one tapped him on the head with a stunrod. Roy went limp, blue lightning flickering from his eyes. Kirsten trotted over and fished handcuff keys out of his pocket.

  “That’s much safer than doing it with an E-90.” Dorian smiled.

  She hurried back to the whimpering girl, who tried to keep both feet on top of h
er one flip-flop to avoid the spreading urine puddle. The woman beside her continued glaring at Kirsten, face contorted from her mental battle against the order to shut up.

  “Wren, this is Chief Larson.”

  “Go ahead, Chief.” Kirsten stuck the key in the cuff around the girl’s right wrist.

  “Keep the hostages secure for the time being. Ashford is on the way down.”

  “Chief?” Kirsten blinked. “The scene is secure.”

  “We appreciate your effort, Agent. Unfortunately, given the volatile nature of the individuals involved, we believe it best for them not to remember this incident.”

  Kirsten stared at the cuff for three seconds, and turned the key anyway. “Chief, all due respect, but this girl’s hands are purple. She’s going to have nerve damage if I leave her here any longer.”

  As soon as the hasp opened, the teen fell to the side, and hopped a short distance to dry ground where she collapsed on her knees. Kirsten followed and unlocked the other cuff. She couldn’t imagine such a young face hating her for being psionic, though at the moment, the girl’s expression held only gratitude.

  “I understand, Agent. All I’m saying is make sure the members of that so-called church are still there when Ashford arrives.”

  The female hostage sneered. “You’re going to burn, demons, all of you.”

  The teen scowled at the woman, then whispered, “I don’t hate you. I just act like it so they don’t hit me. Please don’t tell them. My grandfather will kill me.”

  Kirsten squeezed her shoulder before glaring at the shouting woman.

  Cuffs rattled as the frantic, wild-eyed zealot pointed at her with both hands. “You’re one of them. Oh, we are doomed. Satan’s minions walk the face of the Earth. They have infiltrated the houses of power, and the masses are blinded by his charms and lies.”

  Kirsten glared.

  “K… don’t.” Dorian glided over.

  “Count down from one million.” Kirsten scowled. “In your head.”

  The brown-haired hate-preacher took on a look of intense concentration.

  Dorian chuckled. “That’ll wear off long before she’s anywhere near done, but nice.”

  A handful of tactical officers clapped.

  Kirsten examined the teen’s wrists and decided to give her a stimpak. A few seconds after tossing the empty autoinjector to the side, the nanobots did their magic, and bleeding lacerations faded to angry bruises.

  Ashford swept in the door like Count Dracula himself come to take his blood tax. The pallid man couldn’t have been forty yet, but he seemed older. Short, wavy black hair framed a face as pale as a dead man. Everyone in armor near the entrance shied away from him and found things to do in seconds. His too-serious expression softened a touch when he made eye contact with Kirsten.

  “Who’s that?” whispered the girl.

  “He’s our public relations man,” said Dorian.

  Kirsten smirked. “He’s going to make sure that the people who kidnapped you haven’t done anything to your heads. Implanted any long-lasting effects or anything illegal.”

  The girl shivered. “I’m scared. I’m only thirteen. Don’t you have to get my parents okay first?”

  Kirsten closed her eyes, feeling as much like a piece of shit as she ever had in her life. What they were about to do to these people, detestable as they were, bothered her enough. Lying to a child about it reached a new low.

  Lieutenant Commander Ashford walked over and stood beside them. “Agent Wren, a pleasant surprise. May I ask why you look so grim?”

  She didn’t expect much from giving the doe-eyes to a man in his position. Not that he was cruel, but he had a reputation for obeying orders to the letter. A flicker of telepathy caressed her mind, so gentle she almost didn’t notice. He looked at the girl, still sprawled at the floor, and smiled.

  Don’t feel guilty, Wren. This one’s not a problem. He locked stares with the teen for a few seconds, and she nodded. All set.

  Kirsten wanted to throw up. What did you do?

  Ashford turned toward the other hostages, but paused in mid stride. Merely asked her if she could keep what happened today a secret.

  Seriously? That’s it? Kirsten blinked.

  He smiled. I trust her. She is good at keeping secrets.

  “Come on.” Kirsten helped the girl up. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Okay.” The girl took off her remaining flip-flop and held it. She glanced at the others. “What’s he going to do to them?”

  “They won’t remember being kidnapped. That’s all. He’s not going to change who they are.”

  The girl looked down.

  “She almost seems disappointed.” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

  Kirsten looked around. “Where’s the boy?”

  “They took him out a few minutes ago.” Dorian gestured at the door.

  “I dunno,” said the teen.

  “Come on, kid.”

  “Ashley.” She rubbed her wrists. “Thanks for, uhh, saving us.”

  “You don’t believe the same as they do?”

  “No. They’re a bunch of assholes.” Ashley kicked at empty plastic cartons in the hallway leading to the main entrance.

  Kirsten glanced at Dorian. “Can we do anything?”

  “Out of our purview unless the kid is psionic. She could file a complaint with Div One.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to be psionic?”

  Ashley laughed. “Yeah right. My grandfather’s in the Fundamentalist Church of the Redeemer. If I was psionic, I’d have been killed already.”

  “Are you being dramatic?” asked Kirsten.

  Ashley padded along to the front door in silence, grimacing occasionally from stepping barefoot in something sticky. Once outside, surrounded by police, she stopped and looked up, shivering. “No. They wouldn’t care about going to jail. If anyone in the church got found out as psionic, they’d be killed.”

  That kid is terrified. She’s hiding… “If you’re psionic, you can tell me. I can protect you.”

  “I… no.” Tears ran down Ashley’s face. She bolted to a run in the direction of a pair of medtechs walking over.

  Kirsten fumed. “That kid is psionic.”

  “Did you look?”

  “No, but Ashford smiled. That’s gotta mean something, right? The man never smiles.”

  “Wren,” yelled Captain Eze. Fortunately, his tone sounded happy.

  “We can’t terminate custody because a dead man smiles.” Dorian grinned. “Besides, the girl’s just been abducted by people she’s grown up being told are evil incarnate. Of course she’s terrified.”

  Kirsten folded her arms, watching Ashley escorted off by the man and woman in white medical jumpsuits. “This stinks.” She trudged toward Eze’s gleaming smile.

  “Welcome back.” Dorian winked. “I missed you.”

  van swung his feet back and forth at his desk, cheek mushed into his hand while using one finger to drag circles across a holographic screen that contained answers to questions on the left side about how plants convert sunlight into food. With every correct answer, the terminal played a one-to-two minute animation of the process. He knew if he got one wrong, he’d have to sit through a much longer rehash of the concept. If he got too many wrong, the teacher would pull him aside and ask a billion questions about how things were going at home. Tests and quizzes all had the same effect on him: sick to his stomach.

  The teacher, Specialist Christopher Vasquez, paced back and forth in front of the desks, watching for suspicious gestures or fidgeting, which resulted in a surface thought skim to check for telepathic cheating.

  Evan frowned while his screen displayed an animation of carbon dioxide molecules crashing into water molecules, bombarded by yellow arrows (sunlight). Evidently, the ‘ethics’ of warrantless brain diving didn’t apply to school students suspected of cheating. Evan kept his head down, and guided chloroplasts into their place in the diagram. He concentrated on bending reality to his will, att
empting to stop Vasquez from looking at his head. No psionic could alter reality like that, but so much time in the Monwyn VR world gave him hope that some kind of magic might be real.

  Every time he took a test, the same fear came back… Too many wrong answers, too many questions about home. Mom used to have nightmares and she got abused as a kid… they’d assume something happened and no matter what he said, they’d take him away. He gulped down his fear. Can’t get any wrong… Why do they always think a failed test means problems at home? A scowl formed on his face as he identified chlorophyll as what’s necessary for the process to work.

  Calm down, Evan. Specialist Vasquez’s voice entered his mind. No one is going to take you away from your mother for a bad test score.

  He looked up, meeting the man’s grey eyes, wondering what he did to elicit a head poke.

  The look on your face could’ve melted stone. Specialist Vasquez put on his most reassuring smile. We can talk later if you like. It’s far, far more complicated than one bad test. Please relax.

  Okay. Evan let the air out of his lungs and tried to stop worrying about being taken away. The judge lady had said Kirsten was his mother now. Maybe Vasquez was right; maybe he did worry too much. He pressed his left hand into his gut, trying to push down the unease, and took a few calming breaths. Minutes later, he’d finished three more questions, earning a perfect score, and pulled out his earbuds before curling over his desk with his head on his folded arms.

  The classroom remained silent, save for the intermittent beeps of terminals registering other kids’ touch commands. His class was relatively small, fourteen students total, and they’d likely be together as a group until they finished twelfth grade. Teachers would change, but the students wouldn’t, barring new arrivals or ‘bad stuff’ happening.

  At a strange feeling in the room, Evan sat up and looked around. A few seconds of concentration opened his eyes to the astral realm, and sure enough, the semitransparent figure of an older man in a black suit ripped up as if he’d been dragged through a thorn bush.

  The ghost looked older than Mom’s father, about the same age as that creepy guy who had been trying to date her. Evan frowned at the memory of Konstantin as the apparition snuck up on the teacher. I’m glad he went away. Mom never said a word about what happened to him, but he stopped visiting and that suited him just fine.