Erased

by Nick Gifford

  Some of the people were in uniforms. Liam recognised Army khaki and RAF blue, but some of the uniforms were ones he didn’t recognise, European perhaps. Others were in casual clothes, or dark blue overalls. There was even a woman in a grey tracksuit, jogging around the inner perimeter of the hangar.

  “Welcome to Wolsey Camp,” said Mr Connor. “The real Wolsey Camp, that is.”

  ~

  They sat in a classroom, the lights dimmed, Mr Connor standing at the front, surveying them all. The two Grunts had gone off somewhere with Miss Carver.

  Out of one window, through the Venetian blinds, Liam could see the inner wall of the hangar, and through a gap in the panelling there, a bank of shingle dotted with white, bell-like flowers with silvery-green leaves. He wondered if there were other hangars like this, here on the Point. He wondered just how big this secret base could be.

  A picture flashed up on the white screen behind Mr Connor. A shaved head, seen from above, a small wound marking the skin just above where the hairline would grow back.

  “You all have one of these,” said Mr Connor. “I do, too.” He reached up, as if feeling for the scar. “Go on,” he told them. “About two knuckles up from where the hair starts.”

  Obediently, all ten of the Elites raised hands to their heads, feeling for that strange hollow that Liam knew so well.

  “It marks the insertion point of a device developed specially for our kind.”

  Our kind. The phrase sounded good to Liam. He wasn’t alone. There were others with the shapes in their heads, the spark.

  “...a device which allows us to take control of the powers we have, as members of the Lost Families. It’s vital that we all learn how to restrain our abilities. How to conceal our true nature. It’s a question of survival. But at the same time, it’s vital that we learn how to use those abilities, and that’s the reason we’re here today. In a few minutes we’ll go through to the psiLab. Each of you will be working with a facilitator who will guide you in the techniques.

  “The device normally operates to dampen down your gifts, just like the medication you take in your food over in NATS. The implant is like a little medicine factory, manufacturing the right medications from the ingredients it finds in your blood. Here in the psiLab we will unlock the implant so that it manufactures hormones of a slightly different nature. When this happens you will find that your gifts are given free reign. Don’t be frightened by this. Enjoy it. And learn.”

  ~

  The psiLab was an octagonal room with ten workstations. There were computer screens and keyboards at each unit, along with stacks of what looked like playing cards, and chunky marker pens for writing on the white surfaces of the desks and the walls. There were bottles of water, baskets of fruit and sweets, tissues and cushions and squeezy toys.

  Liam’s father waved him over to join him while the others seated themselves. Liam noticed that the two Grunts hadn’t gone to workstations either, or Anders. These three stood to one side with Miss Carver. Anders and the teacher surveyed the room while the Grunts stared blankly ahead.

  There were two seats at each workstation, and now a team of what Liam’s father had called “ facilitators” filed in. They were wearing the dark blue overalls Liam had noticed before, and carrying little handheld computer devices. They sat, one to each occupied workstation, and started to talk to their allocated Elite Cadets.

  “Some of these kids have had several sessions here already,” said Liam’s father. “Most have been here at least twice. We’ll get you started in a little while.”

  “What’s that?” asked Liam, pointing towards Tom McLeish’s workstation. His facilitator had reached over and placed a hand on the top of his head, staring into the boy’s eyes. “What’s he doing to Tom?”

  “Unlocking his implant,” said his father. “Unleashing his gifts. Can’t you feel it?”

  Liam’s father was studying him closely. Around the room, others were having their implants unlocked, and Liam felt a sudden lurching sensation in his head as all those sparks ignited, one after another after another...

  He put a hand to his head, covering his own implant scar. The shapes were moving around, pushing and probing!

  He felt a hand on his arm, calming.

  “It’s okay,” his father told him. “It all depends on how sensitive you are. You’ll be okay in a minute.”

  They stood, and Liam felt the dizziness starting to recede. He looked at his father. “What is this?” he demanded.

  “School,” said his father, chuckling softly. “This is where our kind are trained and tested: the final exam, if you like. Come with me. I’ll show you what I mean.”

  They stopped by Tom’s workstation. Liam’s father nodded at the facilitator, a young man with spectacles and short blond hair. The facilitator held out his palmtop computer and Liam’s father took it. He read its display for a time, then handed it back.

  There was a stack of cards on the desk’s surface between Tom and his facilitator.

  “Precog,” said Liam’s father. “Watch.”

  The big computer screen was positioned so that they could all see it. It showed four cards, one with a solid circle on its face, one with a hollow square, one with a wavy line and one with an exclamation mark.

  “Variation on a standard test,” said Liam’s father quietly. “There was a lot of research on this during the Cold War. The Soviets’ KGB and the American CIA recruited whole legions of the Lost, hoping they could use their precognitive sensing to anticipate what the enemy might do next. Look.”

  Tom reached out and touched the computer screen. It must have been touch-sensitive, because the card he touched, the exclamation mark, grew to fill the screen. As he did this, the facilitator reached for the top card on the stack. A split second after Tom had made his selection, the facilitator flipped over the top card onto the table.

  Exclamation mark.

  Tom touched the solid circle next, and the facilitator turned the next card to reveal a circle. In the bottom right of the screen, a tally was being kept: “1/1” flipped to “2/2”.

  Tom pointed at the circle again, the card was turned ... “3/3”.

  “There are a hundred cards in that set,” said Liam’s father, guiding his son away from the workstation with a hand on his shoulder. “Tom will get something like ninety-five per cent right. Someone without the gift would get twenty-five per cent.”

  They stopped by Tsuki’s workstation next. Her facilitator was sitting next to her, and across the desk from them was one of the Grunts. His face was slack, and there was a blankness in his eyes, as he sat slumped forward, his hand holding a pen over a sheet of paper. His empty expression was in complete contrast to the absolute concentration on Tsuki’s face.

  “Tsuki’s quite something,” said Liam’s father. “She’s travelled halfway round the world to study here.”

  Slowly, the Grunt started to make marks on the paper. At first they appeared to be random slashes and strokes, then Liam realised that he was writing in Japanese script. Somehow Tsuki was making his hand move, making him write in a language that was alien to him.

  Again, they moved on.

  Hayley sat, wide-eyed, staring at a glass tank in front of her. She looked scared. She looked to be on the verge of tears. Her facilitator, a young woman who could not have been more than a handful of years older, was leaning towards her, talking in gentle, coaxing tones.

  “Young Ms Warren’s an odd one,” said Liam’s father, taking the palmtop from the desk to study her notes. “She’s been here more times than anyone else, but never quite makes the breakthrough. She has a unique talent. When she gets it right she can project her own worst fears and give them substance in the real world.”

  Just then, Hayley glanced up at Liam and gave an uncertain smile. She didn’t want to do this. It didn’t require any special powers to see that.

  Liam smiled back at her, just as his father went down on his haunches and spoke to Hayley. “Miss Carver has told me a lot
about your abilities,” he said. “I’d really like to see what you’re capable of. Do you think you can do it for me, Hayley? Just once? Just for a second or two?”

  He gestured at the tank, and Hayley looked where he pointed. She blinked, and swallowed loudly.

  Liam looked into the tank, wondering what she was trying to do.

  Nothing.

  Then she gave a little gasp, and suddenly, in the far corner of the tank there was a spider. It was the size of Liam’s hand, and its body and legs were covered in tufts of chestnut bristles. It scrambled at the glass, trying to climb the side of the tank, trying to get out.

  Hayley was holding herself tight, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes fixed on the giant spider.

  Seconds later, it vanished. All that remained were a few dusty smears where it had come up against the glass.

  Hayley sagged, and her facilitator put an arm around her and rocked her, as if she were comforting a small child.

  Liam nodded towards Anders. “What about him?” he asked. “What about Anders? Why isn’t he taking part?”

  “Oh, he’s not here to take part,” said Liam’s father. “He’s monitoring it all. Anders is part of Willoughby’s security operation.”

  Liam stared at his room-mate.

  His father nodded. “He’s watching you, Hayley, Tsuki and the others. He’s watching me, too. None of us can be allowed to step out of line. Or at least, we mustn’t be caught.”

  “Why? What’s this all about?”

  “Our kind are very useful,” his father told him. “Like I said, in the Cold War we were used by the CIA and the KGB for spying and even out in the war zones around the world. Nothing ever changes. We’ve been exploited like that throughout history. This operation? Those of you who make the grade will be taken into the service of the government, or of the big corporations. Those who don’t will be sent back into normal life, none the wiser. And those who prove to be too dangerous will be eliminated. That’s how it is, and how it has always been. We’re slaves, Liam. There’s no such thing as free choice.

  “The elders of the Lost Families have bought security and protection for our kind, but at the price that we are trapped in this cycle of enslavement. Willoughby is a bit of a rogue: the Families allow him to run his own little experiments at NATS as long as he doesn’t rock the boat too much. They won’t let him upset our masters...”

  Liam glanced at Anders.

  “It’s all right,” his father told him. “Sometimes we can fool them for a little of the time. He doesn’t know we’re talking. I’ve blocked him for a short time. You won’t remember this, of course. Like the others, your memories of today will be masked at the end of the session. But deep down, Liam, you might hang on to part of it. Do you understand?”

  Liam stared at him. In the back of his head he could hear children singing. London’s burning, London’s burning. Fire! Fire! Betrayal, deception. Some deep, distant memory, coming back – only to slip out of his grasp before he could pin it down.

  He nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I think.”

  “Good.”

  “What about me?” Liam asked. “Why am I here?”

  “You? You’re special, Liam. Didn’t you know that? You may turn out to be very special indeed. Like Hayley, you have an unusual talent. A rarity. You are what’s known as a channeler. You have a lot of the typical talents, but only to a small degree: you can sense other people’s minds, but we don’t think you can actually read other people very well. You have a little precog. With training you probably have a little telekinetic ability: the power to move objects without touching them. You won’t have noticed any of these to any great extent, because the drugs have been suppressing your abilities most of the time.

  “Channeling is where we think your real talent lies. It’s a sensitivity to other people’s talents. We’ll try it today: put you to work with Tom, there, and he’ll probably hit ninety-nine or even a hundred per cent success rate. Put you with Tsuki and we’ll have that Grunt yapping like a dog and jumping through hoops for the two of you. Here...”

  He gestured for Hayley’s facilitator to stand so that Liam could sit in her chair.

  He sat, and Hayley looked at him nervously. She smiled. “I’d forgotten about all this,” she said to him. “They make you forget.”

  He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he felt that he was betraying her as he did so.

  His father was squatting at their side again. “Just one more time, Hayley,” he said. “That was really great, but I want to see it one more time. Liam here is going to help you. He’ll make it easy for you. Liam: look at me.”

  Liam turned and his father placed a hand on his head. He stared into his father’s eyes and felt a rushing sensation, a sliding, a sickness in the pit of his stomach.

  Something was different in his head. A blanket had been lifted.

  The shapes!

  They were crowding him, shouting for his attention. All these people... their minds pressing in on him.

  Hayley was there. Scared. He was to help her.

  “Go on, Hayley. Now,” said Mr Connor. “Do it again.”

  There was fear in her thought-shapes. Dread. She was trying to project it, to aim it at the glass tank, to force it all into that confined space.

  Liam turned to look. He pushed her fears away, into the tank. He was helping her.

  In the far corner, there was a creature, bigger than last time. Grey. Fur. Twitching nose. Glinting eyes and a long, bare tail. A rat.

  It clawed at the glass floor of the tank just as another rat materialised, clambering over its back.

  And another. Another.

  Liam felt the power rushing through his mind, a wave of exhilaration ... of possibilities ...

  Rats appeared out of nowhere, piling one on top of another, filling the tank.

  Soon there was no more space in the tank, and still Hayley’s fear was rushing outwards, channeled into that space.

  The side of the tank cracked in one place, then another, and a panel of glass splintered and fell outwards. Rats tumbled out, scrambling in the shards of broken glass, scampering across the desk, dropping to the floor –

  Liam felt himself being hauled away, out of the chair, a hand on his head, a smothering shroud clamping around the shapes in his mind. He slumped, and was caught in someone’s arms.

  He looked across to the workstation and saw the shattered glass tank, Hayley crying in the arms of her facilitator. The rats had vanished, back to wherever they had come from. Liam closed his eyes, dizzy, sick, stunned.

  14 Reminders

  Dig a deep hole, or go to a quarry and look at the exposed rock face, and you will see that the ground beneath our feet isn’t just mud and stone. It’s more complex than that. There are layers – what geologists call “strata”. These layers are deposited over time. If you know how to read them you can read the intimate history of the land.

  It’s all there, beneath our feet. Hidden by time. You just need to know how to look.

  ~

  Skiver ran in his plastic wheel. Round and round and round. The wheel rumbled and squeaked, and the hamster kept going. He didn’t know any better.

  Liam lay awake, staring at the night sky through the window.

  “So, what did you make of the Elite Cadet Corps?” asked Anders, lying awake, too, his hands behind his head.

  “It was okay,” said Liam. “Filled a Saturday, I suppose.”

  Anders laughed. “Do you remember much about it?” he asked. “It always seems to go by in such a whirl.”

  Liam thought back to the day they had spent out on the Point. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember very much at all. As Anders said, the day seemed to have passed in a whirl. He remembered running on an orienteering course through the shingle banks, and eating lunch out by the sea. He was sure they’d done more than that, but the specifics eluded him. For some reason, that disturbed him.

  “Not much,” said Liam. “Too tired.” Somew
here, deep in his mind, he felt shapes moving, probing, and then they were gone.

  ~

  In the morning, after breakfast with Anders and Hayley, he wandered back to the room alone. Hayley had seemed twitchier than usual today, distracted somehow. She wouldn’t say what was the matter, though. Liam had only known her for a week – she might often be like this, for all he knew.

  Back in his room, he flicked through a maths book, then reached into his top desk drawer for his mobile phone. He flipped it open and saw that he had a message from a number he didn’t recognise.

  He opened it and stared at the text.

  Things are not what they seem.

  What could that mean? The phrase seemed familiar, but Liam couldn’t quite place where he had heard or read it before.

  He thought about his new life here at NATS. Everything seemed to be going well. He had no reason to suspect that anything odd was going on. So what did the message mean?

  He selected the options for the message and chose to call the number it had been sent from.

  There was silence for a few seconds, then a woman’s voice said, “You have dialled an incorrect number. Please check the number and re-dial. You have dialled an in–” He cancelled the call, cutting the recorded message off in mid-sentence as it started to repeat itself.

  Things are not what they seem.

  Just then there was a knock and the door pushed open. It was Wallace.

  “A corridor prefect’s job is never done, eh?” said Liam.

  Wallace grinned. “Willoughby,” he said. “He wants to see you.”

  Liam headed down through the modern extension and into the older part of the house. He wondered what this could be about. Mr Willoughby seemed to be paying very close attention to his early days in the Academy. He wondered if the Principal did this for every new pupil.

  He knocked on the dark wooden door.

  “Enter.”

  Willoughby was there, behind his wide desk. “Come in, come in,” he said, as Liam opened the door. “I have some good news for you, Connor.”