by Thomas Locke
Sean felt so wrenched by the moment he almost missed Carver saying, “I’m sorry, what?”
“You tried to warn me about Tirian. His school has become a focal point for arguments over our training system. I assumed this was nothing more than a clash over methods.” To the twins she explained, “Tirian’s system is based upon identifying potential recruits at the youngest possible age, then sheltering them in a school that is isolated from all outside stimuli. He seeks to invoke his concept as a model for the entire system of identifying and training transiters. Your instructor disagrees with this method.”
“Not with Tirian’s school, Counselor. But to apply Tirian’s methods to the entire system would be disastrous.” Carver spoke more slowly. Carefully measuring each word. “A few of Tirian’s students have asked to become Praetorians. He urges his students to become Messengers or go into government. So there are not many. I only became aware of his school when I met these students at the academy. None have successfully completed academy training.”
“Fascinating.” She crossed her arms. “Tell me why.”
“They are very precise. Exactitude defines them. So long as they face situations that are covered in the manuals, they are the head of the class. But when their training shifts to real-life crises, anything outside the boundaries of logic or the rule book, they fall apart.”
“So the introduction of battlefield chaos . . .”
“Terrifies them,” Carver finished. “They cannot handle it.”
“Most interesting. So the Examiner is developing a cadre of like-minded recruits who are deeply loyal to . . .”
“Loyalty. That is what concerns me most of all.”
Tatyana nodded. “I have the authority to bring recruits directly under my personal supervision. Which I choose to do in these two cases. You agree to remain as their tutor?”
“I . . . Of course.”
“Tirian and everyone else should be allowed to assume these twins have been eliminated. He has allies among our power structure. I have no interest in further arguments regarding them and their studies.”
Carver said, “I assume you’ll want me to establish a protective perimeter.”
She dismissed that. “There is no such need.”
This time, however, Carver remained firm. “Counselor, there is the chance, however slim, that something or someone did in fact attack them.”
Tatyana looked ready to argue, but conceded, “Do so in absolute secrecy. As far as the Examiner and his allies are concerned, they have been dismissed. You may set one team of Watchers in place. Just one, and you must keep them well removed from the twins. Clear?”
Carver obviously did not like it, but all he said was, “Understood, ma’am.”
Sean interrupted with, “I’ve got some questions.”
“That makes two of us,” Dillon said.
But the lady was clearly not interested. “Carver will do his best to answer them.”
Sean decided one couldn’t wait. “So, this mind-wipe thing . . .”
“That level of your training is now completed.” Tatyana offered them a general’s frosty smile. “Welcome to our ranks, gentlemen. You will not always find it a comfortable place to reside. But hopefully the rewards will prove to be well worth the sacrifice.” She then turned to where Sandrine stood by the rear wall. “Doctor, I assume you understand what I am doing?”
Sandrine appeared as shaken by the events as everyone else. “Not entirely, Counselor. But I am happy to follow your orders regarding confidentiality.”
“Excellent.” She addressed the twins. “Now I want your report. Everything you told the authorities upon your arrival, and everything you have so far failed to discuss.”
Before Sean was halfway through his description, the Counselor was shaking her head in dismissal. “Impossible.”
Carver seemed conflicted, as though he agreed with the Counselor, but still asked, “Shouldn’t we hear them out?”
“You may do that on your own time. I for one am assuming some influence was formed upon their abilities to perceive their physical environment, or perhaps shock has impacted their memories.”
“But what Sean describes is in keeping—”
“Really, Colonel. Do you truly believe they would launch such an overt assault against two raw recruits?” She gave her fingers a backward flick, as though brushing the concept from the air. “We have never known an outpost world to be the focus of such an attack. Plus there is the one overriding factor, the one issue we know to be true above all others.”
“We are off cycle,” Carver muttered.
“Precisely.” Tatyana turned to the doctor. “Again, madam, I require your absolute discretion.”
“Granted, Counselor. You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
Sean had not followed most of what had just been said. But still he protested, “What I told you was the truth.”
“As you perceived it,” the Counselor said. “One thing more. You are forbidden to ever come back here. The station security has orders to arrest you on sight.”
Sean glanced at his brother and saw a mirror of his own pain in Dillon’s eyes. “That’s not fair!”
“Perhaps not. But you did bring minor havoc to the station. And this world is no friend to our kind.” She must have seen the arguments burning in their faces, for she continued, “Were you to disobey a Counselor’s direct order and become arrested by this planet’s security system, we would see no reason to work for your release. And I assure you, their prison system is far from pleasant. Not to mention how you would face further punishment. From me.”
Dillon gave her a sullen, “We got the message.”
“See that you obey.” Her gaze was severe but not unfriendly. “The Colonel tells me you both show great promise. Complete your preliminary training. We will meet again.”
She turned, and was gone.
16
The doctor inspected Dillon’s wound and declared he was healing well enough to depart. Sean did his best to put some real gratitude into his farewell, but the Counselor’s rejection of their experience plus being banned from the station left him hollow.
The twins and Carver then transited back to Carver’s so-called home. The odd kitchen, with the sales tags still on the dishwasher and fridge, was somehow welcoming. Sean supported some of Dillon’s weight, but already his brother was showing signs of his old stubborn strength.
Sean was still figuring out which protest to level first at Carver when Dillon offered weakly, “Sean knew this was coming. He was worried all day about something bad going down.”
“I remember,” Carver said. “But a dozen transits in one day would unsettle the most seasoned Messenger. Foul moods and misrememberings are standard fare. Which is why it is included in your instruction. We must be certain your internal state remains stable.”
“No,” Dillon said. “Sean doesn’t have moods.”
“I hear your objections, and they change nothing. The Counselor has passed judgment. This debate is finished.” Carver walked them back through the living room, where probably no one had ever sat, out to the front porch. Where they jerked to a halt.
The Charger sat in the front drive. Silver. Gleaming. Unmarked.
The twins said in unison, “Spooky.”
“The car was here as you see it when I arrived,” Carver said. “The police report no traffic accident involving such a car.”
“It happened like we said,” Dillon insisted. His tone had gone sullen, the child not being heard by the adult. “We didn’t lie.”
“And we have moved beyond that. Listen carefully. You both are very fortunate. The Counselor responsible for this sector has taken a personal interest in you. This means far more than just being saved from Examiner Tirian’s down-check. Heed her warning. Stay away from the station. And be ready to return to your studies tomorrow.”
Dillon said, “So we’re supposed to just go home and pretend nothing’s changed?”
�
�No,” Carver replied. “Everything has changed. Just not on the surface.”
Sean asked, “No more Examiner, though, right?”
“Correct. Tirian is no longer your concern.”
Dillon asked, “And the mind-wipe business, that’s all over and done?”
“Unless you are convicted of abusing your powers.” The jagged edge returned to their instructor’s voice. “Which would include returning to that transit point.”
“But—”
Carver held up his hand, arresting further protests, then pointed them across the lawn. Past the gleaming silver car. Into the waiting house. “Have a good night. I will see you tomorrow after school.”
But it was hard to go home.
Their mother asked how the trip had been. Then she seemed to tune out halfway through Dillon’s lame response. Ninety minutes later they were enduring another silence at the dinner table, punctuated by their parents’ sighs and unfinished sentences. All through the meal Sean felt like the TV talk show audience was laughing at him from the other room.
Upstairs Sean played on his computer while night settled in beyond his window. He heard Dillon’s muffled laugh through the closed door and assumed his brother was chatting with Carey. The e-games and the internet just couldn’t hold him. Which was hardly a surprise. Regardless of what the Counselor and Carver thought, they had just survived an attack from something that wasn’t really alive. Not to mention transiting halfway across the galaxy, then facing down an Examiner with the power to wipe his memory. Sean found it hard to go back to the same-old.
As he powered down the computer, Dillon knocked on his door. Which was odd. Normally his brother just barreled in regardless.
Dillon poked his head in and asked, “Mind some company?”
“I was waiting for you to get off the phone so I could come ask you the same thing.”
Dillon dumped Sean’s clothes on the floor and eased himself into the room’s other chair. “I called Carey.”
“I figured that’s who it was.”
“She’s really nice.”
“I noticed.”
Dillon’s gaze turned to the wall between Sean’s and their parents’ bedrooms. “Did you also notice how the folks didn’t even ask what we’ve been doing?”
“They asked if we had a good time.”
Dillon just stared at the wall.
“Yeah,” Sean replied. “I noticed.”
Dillon lifted his shirt. “Check this out.”
The scar was still visible. But barely. Sean leaned in closer. No stitches. No sign of his brother almost bleeding out. “Okay. That’s cool.”
“I still feel some stiffness. But the pain’s gone. I asked Sandrine when I could go back to hitting people. Know what she said? I should focus more on not getting hit back.”
“She was something else.”
“Yeah, maybe I should talk with Carver about some dough I can spend on the other side of the galaxy.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we can’t go back. Even if the doc would give you the time of day.”
Dillon sighed. “I can’t believe they’re banning us from the place we’ve dreamed about all our lives.”
But Sean didn’t want to think on that. It hurt too much.
17
He and Dillon stayed polite to each other through the bedtime routine, almost being formal about it. Sean wondered if Dillon felt the same way. Like all their old habits had to be re-formed around the simple fact that their lives weren’t the same, and would never be again.
Afterward they both left their doors open. Sean lay in the dark and listened to his brother settle into bed with a groan. He asked softly, “That hurt?”
“I told you. Not really. More like stiffness right at the edge of pain.”
Sean stared at the moon beyond his window and said, “Everything’s changed.”
“What do you mean?”
He had no idea how to express what he felt, so he just said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit to hurting.”
A blue jay started going crazy outside Sean’s window. Bright moonlight, early summer night, some bird just waking up. Sean listened to it for a while, drifting into sleep.
Then it felt as though the night coalesced.
Sean jerked back to full wakefulness. An eerie tension had invaded his room. The stillness had an edge now, like an unseen threat from some horror movie had just invaded their space. “Dillon.”
“What?” The word was half formed, like he’d been pulled back from near sleep.
Sean didn’t know if what he felt was even anchored in reality. For all he knew, he was just reliving terror from the attack. So all he said was, “Maybe we should shield ourselves before we sleep.”
When Dillon spoke, he sounded fully awake. “We should shield Mom and Dad too.”
Sean didn’t see any need to say he’d already done it. “Probably crazy, though.”
“Yeah. But when we get up at night, we reinforce the shields.”
“Both of us,” Sean agreed. “Every time.”
“Totally nuts, right?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Sean had been asleep several hours when yet another shift in the night woke him. He opened his eyes, blinked in the dark, and listened. He could not hear anything except his brother’s soft snores from the next room. But the longer he lay there, the more certain he grew that something was wrong.
He rose from his bed and walked through the bathroom and crossed his brother’s room. Dillon’s window overlooked the front lawn and the street. Sean stood by the window and searched.
He did not realize his brother was awake until Dillon asked, “You got those heebie-jeebies again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sean turned around. “You think I could come sleep on your floor?”
He expected some snappish comment from his brother. Instead, Dillon rose to his feet. “You want the bed?”
“No, man. You’re the one who got speared.”
Dillon padded across the carpeted floor to stand beside him. “You see anything?”
“Nada.” Sean walked back into his room, stripped his bed, and returned to the front bedroom. He made up a pallet on the floor by the window, something he hadn’t done in years. “It’s probably nothing.”
Dillon remained by the window. “I’ve got something crazy to say.”
“You mean, crazier than me worried about an empty night?”
“Oh yeah.” He turned around. “It hit me when I woke up. That maybe I can hunt.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Hunt,” Dillon said. “Go out looking for the bad guys. Why sit around waiting and worrying if I can check things out?”
Sean tucked his knees under him, yogi-like. “You mean, like, transit around?”
“Not exactly.” Dillon waved his hands, a habit he probably wasn’t even aware of. He always fought the air when the words didn’t come. “A hunter is somebody who can track the prey, right?”
“Carver called you a warrior.”
“Yeah, I got that. But this idea, I don’t know.”
Sean said, “That’s usually my department. Ideas.”
“Tell me about it. But when I sat up it was there waiting for me. Not words. But these impressions flashed in my head, one after the other, fast as bullets.” He punched the air, then winced when it pulled at his scar. “This is nuts.”
“No, no, let’s hear it.”
“Okay. So I lie back down. And I go for a walk-around.”
Sean got it. “Without your body.”
“I guess. And you have to be here. With me.”
Sean was following him now. “Like your anchor.”
“That’s it. Yeah.” Dillon sounded ashamed. “Will you hold my hand?”
It made Sean intensely uncomfortable to sit beside Dillon’s bed. He fashioned the same safety belt they used in transits, then sat there in the dark, holding Dillon’s hand. Limp and hot. He thought about getting up and pr
etending to need to go to the bathroom so he could wash his hands and end this craziness.
Then it happened.
The night went utterly quiet.
The absence of sound was as intense as anything he had ever experienced. There were always some noises in the house. The AC blew a soft rush, the fridge thunked from downstairs when it turned on, the floor creaked if his dad got up, Dillon snored, something.
Not now.
Sean sat with his back against his brother’s bed, his eyes wide open, listening to the absence of everything. He decided this was how a vacuum must be like.
Or death.
Strangely, he was not afraid. The heat from his brother’s hand was now accompanied by a current, strong as an electric spark. He knew something was happening. What, he had no idea. But he was comfortable not knowing. He had no idea how long he sat there, encased in a stillness that went much further than just silence.
Finally Dillon released his hand, sat up, and calmly announced, “It’s coming.”
“What is?”
“The enemy.” His brother was intense and serene at the same time. “Shield the folks.”
“I’ve been doing that.”
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
“I feel something. I have no idea what it is.” He watched Dillon ease himself down to the floor. “What just happened?”
“I shut my eyes and I rose up and I went out into the yard. And I hunted.”
Every single word his brother spoke left a charred remnant, like cinders that only needed the slightest spark to ignite. Sean pushed aside all the questions except one. “Should we transit?”
Dillon squinted at the wall by the window, like he could still pierce the night. “I don’t . . . What about Mom and Dad?”
“I know what you mean.” Sean had been worrying about the same thing. “Like, we transit, and the shields leave with us.”
“I can’t risk doing that.”
“No. Me neither. So you go. You’re the one who’s hurt.”
“Don’t even start. Look, shield the folks again, and then try to extend one around the house.”
“Good idea,” Sean agreed. When he was done, he asked, “What did you see?”
