“He’ll be ready when he’s ready,” said Ransom.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re going to get.”
“Ready for what?” Michael asked. He was more able to function – more able to follow a conversation – now that he’d had several tutorials with Ransom.
Cooper’s frustration spilled out of him. Along with a jumble of hatred, distrust and suspicion. “Work quicker, Ransom.”
“I told you, this will take as long as it takes,” said Ransom. “Michael’s making progress, but he’s strong and it can’t be rushed. Can I suggest, however, that if you want him to work for you when all this is done, you should stop despising him.”
Anger joined Cooper’s collection of emotions. “What did I say about perceiving me?”
“You’re like a foghorn, Bill. Tone it down a bit.”
With disgust, Cooper turned and left.
Michael was confused. “He wants me to work for him?”
“Don’t worry about it now,” said Ransom. He reached out his mind and cocooned Michael in a protective shield. Michael relaxed into the peace and pain-free solace of it and prepared for his next lesson.
~
DAYS LATER and Michael’s mind was almost clear. The rumble was still inside his head, he still suffered from headaches, but the pain and the bombardment had lessened enough to allow him to think. He thought about where he was: locked in a cell in some unknown place, away from his friends, away from society, and even away from the police and their rules on dealing with prisoners. He’d not been offered a solicitor and he hadn’t been read his rights, suggesting that he had none.
Michael flinched at the unexpected turn of the lock of his cell door. He sat up on the bed and held his breath.
The door opened and Cooper took a step inside. Michael was aware enough to notice Cooper had dispensed with his usual black suit to one of dark blue. But there was a day’s stubble on his chin and the first shirt button above the belt of his trousers was undone. It gaped to reveal a patch of pale belly and a couple of wiry hairs.
“Ransom says you’re well enough for me to talk to you.”
Michael drew his knees up to his chest as an instinctive barrier. “Talk to me about what?”
“Shall we go somewhere more comfortable?” said Cooper. “You must be sick of this cell by now.”
There was something sinister in the way he said ‘more comfortable’. Michael tried to perceive Cooper’s intentions, but as soon as he opened his perception, a dozen other minds flooded in and drowned out the man’s thoughts.
Cooper gestured to someone outside of the cell. A woman walked in. She was tall and slim, her mousy-blonde hair pulled back tight into a ponytail. Her khaki trousers and perfectly ironed T-shirt had the sense of the military about them.
In her hand by her hip were a pair of handcuffs. The metal jingled as she walked up to Michael.
“Stand up and put your hands behind your back,” she ordered.
Michael looked at Cooper for some kind of explanation. He stared back, offering none.
The woman waited a moment, but when it was obvious her order would not be obeyed, she grabbed Michael’s arm. Her skinny frame held a hidden strength that yanked Michael off the bed. He tumbled to the floor. She pulled him to his knees so he knelt, as if praying, at the bedside. She twisted his arm behind his back – stretching his ligaments to tearing point – and clasped cold metal around his wrist. He was helpless to resist as she grabbed his other wrist and secured the second cuff.
She pulled him to his feet and turned him round to face Cooper. He was taller than him, larger than him and had the sense of authority about him. The woman was clearly under his command and Michael was of no threat with his hands restrained behind his back.
“Sorry about that.” Cooper smiled. “Just a precaution, you understand. Wouldn’t want you stabbing me again, would we?”
Cooper turned and walked out. Michael was shoved forward and through the cell door.
He entered a corridor of cells with five metal doors, like the one he had just walked through, in a row down one side. He wondered what lay behind each of them. Maybe more teenagers like himself. But he had little time to speculate because the woman shoved him from behind again. He staggered forward a few steps. It was enough for him to get the hint to follow Cooper.
At the end of the corridor was another door. Solid, white and devoid of features with a security camera looking down on them from above. Cooper swiped a plastic card through a black box attached to a number pad at the side of the door and pressed a series of keys. A flurry of numbers flitted through Michael’s head in a whisper he could almost hear. By the time he realised he was overhearing Cooper’s thoughts – rehearsing the combination in his head – the moment had passed and the numbers were gone.
With a click, the door sprang open.
A guard was on the other side. Michael recognised him as one who had brought him food on some of the previous days. He nodded an acknowledgement at Cooper.
They were standing in an adjunct where two corridors met. Ahead, magnolia-painted walls and a brown tiled floor led to a set of double doors. But Michael was not to find out what was behind them because Cooper turned to his left. Michael followed him up a second magnolia corridor, with the woman still holding his arm firm.
Past more doors. Not cell doors, but heavy wooden doors that led into other, unseen rooms. Some of them were occupied, others weren’t. He knew because, as he passed each one, the perceptions in his head grew or waned with the presences behind them. He couldn’t filter out individuals – he was too busy keeping the pain of so many minds blocked out – but he knew they were there.
They reached a set of double doors that partitioned one part of the corridor from another. Cooper swiped his card through the reader at the side and tapped out a number. Michael let his barrier slip a little to listen to Cooper’s thoughts. But the number combination was a whisper hidden among the jumble of other minds and he couldn’t perceive it.
Behind the doors was yet more magnolia.
A man, dressed in khaki, like the woman, and about the same age as Cooper, but with a better physique, walked towards them.
“Sir,” he said to Cooper as he passed them and continued on his way.
Two more security doors and they emerged from the building into the daylight. Michael squinted. He’d been in that cell so long it hurt his eyes to adjust to the sun. The air had a delicious, fresh smell about it. Somewhere above him, a bird tweeted its joy of being free.
They stood beside a perfect circle of neatly trimmed grass as large as a lake. Around the edge, a ring of tarmac linked four roads that snaked off to other buildings. Ahead of them were two metal gates as high as a lorry, guarded by armed soldiers in combat fatigues.
For a moment, he thought he must be in an army base. They were certainly in some kind of secure compound, contained – as it was – within a fence made of steel bars topped with barbed wire. But not everything fitted with that theory. A silver Seat Ibiza passed by, driven by a woman in civilian dress. Some of the people out on foot were dressed in khaki, but others were dressed in smart, ordinary clothes like Cooper. Michael perceived their curiosity as they caught sight of him.
Cooper turned left. Michael and his female keeper followed.
The path led them up a slight slope, past a landscaped area of more perfect grass with neatly trimmed cherry trees planted equidistant along the edge. Behind the fourth tree, were a group of five teenagers dressed in khaki, chatting among themselves. One after another, they stopped talking and turned to stare. Michael perceived their recognition. Five minds, all thinking the same thing. He shivered at the violation. And wondered if they, like him, were perceivers.
At the top of the slope was a two storey office building. Cooper gained access with his swipe card and led them upstairs to an office. Once upon a time, Michael might have described Cooper’s office as large and plush. But after sneaking into
Ransom’s building, it seemed kind of average.
Cooper took up position in a leather padded chair behind his executive wooden desk. Behind him, a window looked out onto the complex below. Michael’s female keeper sat him down in a chair opposite. His bum hit the fabric-covered foam seat. He tried to lean back, but his restrained arms were in the way.
The woman stood behind.
Cooper looked at Michael from across the desk. “Would you like a drink?”
Michael stared back at him. He still perceived the background fog of other people and he wasn’t sure if he heard him right.
“Well?” said Cooper. “Tea? Coffee?”
He had offered him a drink. Odd. As if he were some guest arriving for a dinner party.
Cooper frowned at not getting an answer and turned his attention to the woman. “Get me a coffee, will you? Strong, not too much milk and no sugar. And get lemonade or something for the kid.”
“Sir?” said the woman.
“Now, thank you.”
“Sir.” She turned on her heel and exited.
As the door closed politely behind her, Cooper leant across the desk and whispered, “I don’t think she approves of leaving me alone with you. Is that what you perceive?”
“I’m trying not to perceive anything,” said Michael.
“Strange. After you went to all that trouble to get your perception back.”
“I didn’t … I didn’t know it would be like this.”
Michael felt Cooper’s doubt leaching across the table at him. He concentrated on blocking it out like Ransom had taught him, but the effort was too much and he settled for having Cooper’s feelings nudging at the edge of his mind.
“That Page woman said you suffered some memory loss.”
Page. He hadn’t thought about her since Ransom mentioned her on that first day. “Is she okay?”
“She’s under arrest for shooting at me,” said Cooper. “But if you’re asking me about her welfare, the doctors say she’ll make a full recovery from her shoulder wound.”
Michael was relieved. He was very much aware that they could have killed her by allowing Otis to carry out his boy scout’s first aid on her instead of calling an ambulance.
His thoughts were interrupted by a polite knock at the door and the sound of someone entering. It was the woman, carrying a mug billowing steam and a glass of clear liquid with a stream of tiny bubbles fizzing to the surface. Michael caught a whiff of Cooper’s coffee as the woman carried it past him and placed it on the desk. She put the glass of lemonade in front of Michael. In order to drink, he would have to lift it to his lips, but his wrists were still handcuffed behind his back.
“Didn’t you bring a straw?” said Cooper.
“Sir?”
“A straw for my young friend here.”
Michael raised his eyebrows at the concept of being Cooper’s ‘friend’.
“No, sir.”
“Well, go and get one.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman left the office again.
“Now, where were we?” said Cooper.
“You were going to tell me what the skank I’m doing here,” said Michael.
It was Cooper who raised his eyebrows this time. “Was I, indeed?” He picked up his coffee mug and blew across the top, sending a plume of steam wafting in Michael’s direction. He took a sip.
Michael looked at his lemonade, gradually losing its fizz as it sat there unattended.
“Do you know what perceivers have done to this country, Michael? Got it into a right bloody mess, that’s what. All thanks to your father and his stupid utopian dream of a world where everyone understands each other. You do realise this all happened because of you, don’t you?”
Michael lowered his eyes. He didn’t know it, because it wasn’t true. He was a victim of the ‘bloody mess’, not the creator of it.
“I suppose you know you were born as a result of IVF?”
He’d read Ransom and his wife had difficulty in having children, that they’d had fertility treatment. But he hadn’t thought until then that he might be the result of it. If he was their son, then he had to have been conceived in a lab. The thought chilled him.
“Perception is the reason he’s a successful businessman,” Cooper continued. “He’d always win in business deals because he knew what the other guy was thinking. He sought out other perceivers – like that Page woman – to work closely with him. And he wanted his children to be the same, if not better. He invested in secret genetic research to find the key to perception and incorporated that knowledge into his wife’s IVF treatment. You’re the result.”
Michael felt the blood withdraw from his face. He felt nauseous. “He made me this way?” asked Michael, his voice shaking.
“Yes.”
“That’s why you’re punishing me?”
Cooper smiled. An amused smile that turned into a chuckle. “No! Punish you? No.” He took a long swig of his coffee. “I want you to work for me.”
Michael was confused. After everything he’d gone through, Cooper was offering him a job? It didn’t make sense. He risked opening his mind a little. Background perception of people outside the office swelled inside his head. He didn’t have the skill to target his perception on one person, but he sensed a little of Cooper’s feelings on top of all the others. He perceived honesty.
Michael closed his eyes and forced the perceptions out of his head again. They left a dull thump while the background hum of their presence remained at the edge of his mental barrier.
“Adults are frightened of teenagers because they fear they can perceive all their secrets,” said Cooper. “It’s destabilised society. They want to stop it, to ‘cure’ it. I’m all in favour, of course. You can’t have a whole generation of people able to spy on everyone else. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still have a few people with that ability. Think of where perceivers could be useful. Your father used perception to become a successful businessman and make a personal fortune. But you could use it to determine whether a person is guilty of a crime, in negotiations with other nations, even to spy on those nations. I’m gathering together a group of teenagers who will do that.”
Michael’s mouth hung open. He didn’t know what to say or think. He shifted his weight on the chair. He felt the handcuffs digging into his wrists. He couldn’t reconcile being a prisoner with being offered a job.
A knock on the door broke the expectant silence. The woman re-entered and dropped a plastic straw into the glass of lemonade. The remaining bubbles lifted it up so it bobbed close to the surface.
“Where have you been?” Cooper asked her.
“The canteen didn’t have any straws, sir, so I …”
Cooper waved away her explanation. “Just leave us.”
“Sir.”
Cooper watched the woman walk back out of his office. When she had closed the door behind him once again, Cooper turned his attention back to Michael.
“What do you say?”
Michael didn’t know what to say. It was all so confusing. A job offer seemed so innocent. There had to be a catch. One of his first memories was of stabbing Cooper. Back then – even alone and confused – he instinctively knew he had to get away from him. And Page – whatever her reasons – risked her life to get him away from Cooper.
Michael leant forward and wrapped his lips around the straw. The smell of citrus rose up into his nostrils before he sucked up the liquid and tasted its sweet, artificial tang.
“Your father is set against it, of course,” Cooper continued. “Doesn’t fit with his utopian ideals. He’d rather take away your perception than let me have access to it. But you know what I think, Michael? I think you’re your own man. You can make the decision for yourself. You’re a strong perceiver, it’ll be an honour to have you work for me.”
Michael continued to suck at the lemonade. He opened his mind a little and allowed perceptions of Cooper to filter through. The man was buoyed up on optimism which crowded o
ut almost everything else coming from him. And yet underneath, at the edge, was a sense of insincerity.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MICHAEL WAS READY for Ransom when he came to his cell. As soon as the guard opened the peephole in the door and stared through, Michael was off the bed and standing in the centre of the room.
“Right back against the wall,” said the guard.
It was a protocol to stop the prisoner rushing at the door while it was open. But Michael had a different plan. He backed up as ordered and felt the cold of plastered brick at his spine.
The cell door opened.
Ransom stood in the doorway. Compared to Cooper, his silhouette appeared unthreatening. Shorter than average height with rounded shoulders and that same open-necked shirt and jumper Michael remembered from when he first cradled him in his arms.
Ransom stepped inside and the cell door closed behind him. A clank of bolts locked them in. Then silence. Just the background perceptions of people outside. Michael eased off on the barriers, as his father had taught him, and sensed Ransom’s nervousness.
“This could be the last time Cooper lets me in to see you,” said Ransom.
“I went to Cooper’s office yesterday,” said Michael.
“I heard,” said Ransom. “He knows you’ve gained control.”
Control? This was control? Was he never going to get rid of the constant background whisper of so many minds?
“We need to talk,” said Ransom. “Why don’t you sit down?” He indicated the bed, but Michael had no intention of resting.
“Cooper told me about you,” said Michael.
“You shouldn’t listen to everything Bill Cooper says. We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
“He said you created me in a lab.”
Ransom was caught by surprise. Michael perceived confusion and concern from him. “Because Mary conceived you through IVF? That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Thousands of babies are born using IVF every year. It’s just science helping nature along.”
“He said you used IVF to make sure I was a perceiver.”
“I wanted the best for you. Perception’s helped me succeed in life. I wanted that for my child, I wanted you to be special.”
Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1) Page 15
