by Peter Moore
“Oh, boy,” the teacher said to me before turning back to the kid. “You’re getting riled up already? I’ll be right over there, Choke,” she called. Then, to me, “That boy needs to work on his frustration tolerance a mite. I’ll tell you what, Brad. Why don’t you take a look at what the other kids are doing and just as soon as I get all of them up and running, I’ll sit with you and we can talk about what you want to work on in here.”
She gave me a big smile and went off to help the sallow-faced kid named Choke.
Everyone was involved in something or other: a couple were on computers, others were performing what looked to be physics experiments with steel balls. One guy was holding a metal bar in his bare hand, heating it over a Bunsen burner flame.9 In a corner was what looked like a big playpen, with straw on the floor and a large white rabbit that hopped around, constantly changing direction. A girl stood nearby, watching the rabbit and making hissing and humming sounds.10
Back then, I was basically shy. Or maybe insecure. Whatever you want to call it, I wasn’t great at mingling with people. So I stood around by myself for a couple of minutes, which felt awkward, too.
I went over to that girl Layla. She was sitting on a lab stool, her hands on either side of a desktop power computer, watching the screen. Something was wrong with the computer: it was flashing through different Web sites, then bringing up documents and scrolling through them, then switching over to a video game, and starting all over again. Her hands weren’t on the keyboard, so I couldn’t tell if she somehow thought she could fix the computer by placing healing hands on it. If that was the case, she wasn’t doing a very good job.
“So frustrating,” she said. She frowned and shook her hands out, then turned to me. “What are you going to work on?”
“Uh, I don’t know. What are the choices?”
“Depends.” She checked out my IDent tag again, looking at my colored power squares, of which there were pitifully few. And they were all pale in hue, meaning the few abilities I did have were pretty weak in strength. “Whatta you got?” she asked, pointing her chin at my IDent tag. “Blue 255-M. That’s intelligence, right?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s nothing incredible. It’s just M-level.”11
“Hey, that’s a lot more than I have. I’m just a G.12 What else do you have going on?” She reached forward and pulled my tag closer to her. “You can unbutton that jacket, you know. We’re pretty casual down this way. Let’s see. Flight? Nope. Strength? Not much. Durability? Uh, no. So…what’d you do to get sent to the A-program at such a late date in your academic career?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Not in any way that didn’t make me look like a complete loser. Well, it’s like this: as you see, I have no worthwhile physical powers, I can’t do anything exciting, and—oh, yeah—I got badly injured in PT class because I’m such a weakling. Uh, no, not the way I wanted to come across to her.
Not that I really believed I could have a chance with a girl like her, but still, I didn’t need to humiliate myself, either. “Let’s just say I wasn’t conforming to the standards of the Academy.” Suitably mysterious, I figured.
“Well, duh. Nobody in here conforms to the Academy’s standards. That’s why we’re A-holes in the first place. But okay, fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll find out my own way.”
Not having a whole lot of experience, I couldn’t be certain, but it almost seemed as if she was flirting with me. I felt my face get hot, and I worried that I was turning red. “Is that right? And how will you do that?”
“I have my ways. And why are you blushing? Worried that I’m flirting with you and you don’t know how to handle it?”
My face felt even hotter. And the more I tried to control it, the worse it got.
“Nice color,” she said. “You just keep trying not to be embarrassed. See how that works out for you.” She leaned back, her elbows resting on the table behind her, chest out. I tried to get a look at her tag, but she had dropped it down the front of her shirt, out of sight.
I was sure she had other squares on her tag. I just wanted to get a quick look at it.
“Ahem,” Layla said. I blinked and realized I had been looking for her tag a bit too long. She gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t you know that nice boys aren’t supposed to use their intersight to look through a girl’s shirt?”
“I wasn’t looking at your…no, I was just…” I shook my head. Better to just let it go.
She laughed. “Oh, I know what you wanted to see. Relax. You’re a guy. It’s cool.”
I couldn’t help but notice that her bra strap13 wasn’t made of shiny ViewStopper quartzlon fiber. Point being that she clearly didn’t even care if kids with intersight looked through her clothes.
“Hey, if you want to know what I have, just ask,” she said.
“What do you mean, what you have?”
“Powers. You’re wondering. Instead of being embarrassed and worrying that you’re striking out with me, go ahead and ask. Or just say it. You know what it is.”
And it dawned on me: Ah. Wow. She’s a telepath.
“Finally,” she said.
“What?”
“Took you long enough.”
And that was why my face felt warm. It wasn’t because I was embarrassed (or not totally that); it was because she had gotten into my head.
“Right,” she said. “And I pushed just a little harder than I needed to. Sorry. But it was funny. You were so flustered!”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. That’s a riot. So can you tell what I’m thinking right now?”
She squinted, and my face got hot again. “Now, now,” she said. “There’s no need for that kind of language. I was just playing.”
“Okay, fine.” It was hard to be mad at her. “And you can actually read and write?”14 I had never met a telepath before.
“Some, yeah.”
Given how severely illegal the power of telepathy is, I was stunned that she would let me know she had it.
“No big deal,” she said. “I’m not exactly worried that you’re going to turn me in to the authorities.” She laughed, and these crinkles showed up at the corners of her eyes, and she was just…better to think about something else, given that she had free rein of my mind.
“Listen…Layla, can you do me a big favor? Please? Don’t go into my head without at least telling me. It’s kind of a total invasion. If you want to know anything, just ask me. I’ll tell you, as long as you promise not to go strolling around in my mind whenever you feel like it.”
“Okay. Fair enough,” she said.
“Thanks.” I looked around at the other kids working. “Does anyone else know?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet.
“The trustworthy few, yeah, but it’s not like I advertise it. I don’t exactly want to go to jail.”
“So why tell me?”
“Because I can tell you’re trustworthy.”
“How?”
“By reading you,” she said.
“I can’t believe you actually use it.”
“Hell, yeah, I use it. One thing I should tell you, though.” She leaned close enough that I could smell pomegranate shampoo or something in her hair. “I didn’t look around much, I swear, but there are some things in your mind that’ll change everything for you.”
The voices. She found the source. I figured she probably found some mental illness, maybe one that was about to bust loose and completely take me over.
“Okay, fine. If I decide I want to know about whatever this mystery is, I’ll tell you. But right now, I’m asking you: don’t go in my mind and look around. It feels like a—you know—like an invasion.”
“Fine. I promise. But trust me: this is something you’ll want to know. And when you do want to know, tell me. I’ll help you with it. Until then, I’ll stay out of your he
ad.”
I could see she meant it sincerely. It was weird to me, how we had practically just met and yet it felt as if we were suddenly on close terms. Maybe too close for so soon. Time to change the subject. “So, what? You were trying to fix this computer?” I asked.
“What, this? No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I can interact with software and machines. Biomech merge.”
The teacher came over. “Brad, you’ve made a friend. Good.”
“We met before,” I said.
“Yeah, and he got himself transferred to the A-program just so he could be closer to me,” Layla said.
“Of course he did,” Miss Franks said with a big smile. “All the boys in here came just to be near you. Didn’t you know that, Layla?”
“Tricia? Is sarcasm a requirement to get hired as a teacher in the A-program?”
“It’s a requirement to be here as a teacher and as a student, Layla.” She smiled again, gave Layla’s shoulder a squeeze, then pointed at the computer screen and moved on to check with another student.
“She is so annoying,” Layla said.
“You should see the teachers on the other side. This one seems kind of cool.”
“She’s cool, yeah, but in an annoying way. She sees right into you. And not with intersight or telepathy. I checked.”
“She’s pretty smart?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Anyways, I have to get back to this or she’ll come over and give me a hard time.”
“Or demerits.”
“We don’t do demerits. A-holes barely have any merit to start with.”
She turned back to the computer and put her hands on both sides of it. The screen started flashing again, changing from Web sites to blogs to movie clips. I wasn’t watching the screen, though. I was watching the reflection of all the changes shining in her eyes.
Mom had been on an early shift at the lab that day, so she picked me up from school.
“Well? How was your first day?” she asked when I got into the car.
“It was fine.”
“Were the teachers okay?”
“They seemed fine.” There was actually no way to tell how they were as teachers, but I liked the way they talked to us.
“And what were the other students like?”
“They were fine.”
“I mean, do they seem different from the ones in—”
“Mom, I don’t know. They’re kids. What else am I supposed to say?” I hated getting interrogated about school, but I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to know how I was doing. “Sorry. I’m tired.”
Which was true. I went up to bed right after dinner.
In the dark, I thought about Layla Keating. I’d never met a telepath before. Not one I was aware of, anyway.
She had gone into my mind, easy as could be. I thought about how she’d said she had found out something about me that I didn’t even know.
I had claimed not to care, that I didn’t want to hear about it, but the truth was I couldn’t get it—or her—out of my mind.
In accordance with Article XIV of the Oslo Conventions Agreement, any and all forms of telepathy, including psionics, psi powers, latent telepathy (delayed response telepathy), retrocognitive (past thoughts) telepathy, precognition, emotive telepathy (remote influence or emotional transfer), or transfer of kinesthetic sensations, or Psionically Induced Altered States of Consciousness, are considered crimes against psychological privacy and integrity, and, as such, are forbidden by all sovereign nations belonging to the Union of Nations, Eurasian Alliance, Unified African Nations, et al.
Article XIV of the Oslo Conventions
SECOND TREATY
Protocol 2, Section 11
Ratified 24 May 1963
Force
English class. We were in a horseshoe shape—no desks, just chairs—and Mr. Wittman was sitting on one end. “Yes, Barry, I’m well aware that justice is part of the team name. But that has nothing to do with the question. Do you have some kind of answer, or do you want to argue in circles some more?”
Barry Brown15 tilted his head back, eyes to the ceiling, and groaned. “Damn, Wittman, why you gotta twist everything around? I’m just saying: they got the word justice right in their name. Justice Force. That’s got to mean something.”
“So if I introduce myself as Mike ‘the Hottest Guy Teacher in the World’ Wittman, does that mean that I am the hottest guy teacher in the world?”
A bunch of us laughed.
“Dude, you’re not even the hottest guy teacher in the A-program!” said a kid named Wade Wexler. More laughter.
“He’s the only male teacher in the A-program,” Brenda Brubaker said.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Wexler said. Laughter all around.
“Easy, now,” Mr. Wittman said. “You guys are going to pump up my ego too much.” I tried to imagine any of my teachers in the Academy running class like this. Couldn’t even begin to picture it. Mr. Wittman went on. “But you see? My point is that just because they have the word justice in their team name doesn’t mean that, ipso facto, they’re all about justice. Or maybe they are. But the name is just a name, right? Isn’t that kind of obvious?”
A lean and tall guy, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, shook his head. “But they picked it for a reason. They didn’t call themselves ‘the Light and Fluffy Doughnuts’ or, I don’t know, ‘the Lazy Cows’ or something. The word justice didn’t just appear in their team name by accident.”
“Duh,” said Barry. “They want everyone to automatically associate them with justice. Advertising. Obvious.”
Layla shook her head. “Well, there’s a problem, though. Is it an accident that they used the word force, too? Or did they not get how that could totally undermine the impression they wanted to make?”
“Meaning what?” Mr. Wittman asked.
“Meaning force can be a noun, like something that’s powerful, or force can be a verb, like to make someone do something against his will.”
“They didn’t mean that they force people to do things,” Wade said. “That’s stupid. Why would they want anyone to think that?”
“I’m just saying that maybe they weren’t even aware of it, but it’s in there. It’s telling.”
“You think they’re that dumb?” the lean guy asked.
“Hey,” Layla said, “heroes aren’t necessarily known for being geniuses.”
This was not the way you talked in school. Even though Wittman wasn’t himself saying anything blatantly against the JF, it was still pretty subversive.
I turned and saw that Layla was watching me.
“So what’re you telling us, then?” one of the girls asked Mr. Wittman. “That the Justice Force wasn’t in the right when they took down the Gorgon Corps?”
Mr. Wittman shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m not telling you anything. I’m just asking you. What do you think? Look at all the factors and make up your mind for yourself.”
There was silence in the room. I looked from person to person. Each one of them was deep in thought. Then one started talking, and the comments started flying.
“They killed what’s-his-name. Toxicon. They didn’t have to do that.”
“He was the Gorgon Corps leader. They wouldn’t have won if they didn’t get him out of the picture.”
“They could have captured him. They didn’t have to murder him.”
“That’s exactly the point about force. Justice Force killed him, and that made it much easier to get the rest of the Gorgon Corps under control so they could be captured.”
“Well, this isn’t a game. Yeah, the stakes are high. And they’d been after the Gorgon Corps—everyone has been after the Gorgon Corps—for a long time.”
“Was there any real p
roof that the GC was the bunch who sabotaged the Tokyo train?”
“They did break laws. Don’t we have laws for reasons?”
“Maybe some laws are wrong.”
“What about telepathy?” I heard myself say. I wouldn’t have predicted that I’d get in on the discussion. But I was very aware that Layla—a telepath—was watching me. This wouldn’t be a bad way to maybe score a few points with her. “Why is that power illegal but others aren’t?”
“Because it’s considered immoral and unethical,” Barry said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s invasive,” another kid said. “It’s, like, dishonest and deceitful. A violation of privacy.”
By this point, what started out as a way for me to impress a girl had somehow turned into a real point I wanted to make. “So it’s immoral to use your powers to read minds, but it’s totally fine to use your powered strength or speed or flight to kill people?”
“Phaetons, not people,” a guy said.
“In this case, but still. Whatever,” I said. “I don’t care if we’re talking about a house cat. I just don’t get that it’s illegal to use telepathy, but it’s fine for heroes to use their powers to kill people.”
“The heroes you’re talking about are killing villains,” one girl said.
“How about trying to capture them and put them on trial instead of just wiping them out?” Layla said. “Isn’t that justice?”
It went on like that for a while. And through the whole heated discussion, Mr. Wittman just listened. Occasionally, he would make comments like, “No, go ahead and finish what you were saying,” or “Okay, we got it. Now let her talk,” but he didn’t really steer the conversation much at all. The main thing he said was that he wanted us to think and to speak our minds.
The truth is, I couldn’t even remember the last time I had been told to say what I really thought. I might not have been totally sure about what I believed, but maybe being in a place with people who had different points of view would help me figure it all out.
