Fall in New Hampshire has a charm all its own, the autumn colours are a spectacle to behold as the deciduous trees take on hues of yellows, oranges, and reds. But the temperature now in mid October, especially in the early morning hours foretold the onset of winters bite.

A chill in the air made Cameron thankful he’d remembered to put on a jacket, and seeing a puff of steam when he exhaled after stepping outside his dormitory confirmed the change of season was well underway.

It was a dreary looking day, overcast with fog and a slight drizzle of rain. You could call it gloomy, but that didn’t affect Outlook’s outlook on the day. Rather, he was intrigued by what the day held for him: a trip into Berlin for a meeting with a gaggle of lawyers, he’d needed to check what the dictionary called a group of lawyers: an Argument, it fit, but it sounded a touch derogatory.

The meeting itself was no doubt going to be a drawn-out affair, but the reason behind it had piqued his curiosity. His lawyer: Emit Paulson, had said the schools “good reverend” contested the insurance companies’ assessment: that the destruction of Dillon Chapel had been an ‘Act of God’ and was thereby not covered by the school’s insurance policy.

Fascinating how invoking God in any situation was an open invitation to insist that you, and only you and yours, have sole proprietorship over the proper way to worship - No wonder religion is at fault for being the single biggest reason people wage war - certainly a situation not at all to God’s liking.

Cameron carried a medium sized hot box, filled with breakfast sandwiches and a few sweet rolls. He imagined those he would be riding with had brought their drink of choice, no way to know how a person liked their coffee – best not to take on that challenge beforehand, it explained the proliferation of coffee shops.

Food was easy in comparison, he’d baked the buttermilk biscuits last night, cooked up the eggs and bacon to fill them with after taking a shower in the morning. The smell was enticing, but he’d resisted the temptation to partake in favour of waiting to offer them to everyone as they drove.

Cameron arrived at the designated pick-up spot, Schuster Halls parking lot. Already present was Patricia Conner, not surprising - given the events around escaping from the null void.

She, however, was looking tense and worse for wear.

“Morning” offered Cameron, his greeting a friendly welcome and a way to alert her to his presence.

“Hi” was the subdued response, she barely even lifted her head to acknowledge him. The poor girl had her issues, and being dragged into town to answer questions was something of a weight she wasn’t coping with very well.

Cameron had watched her since school started, she had a few friends that she sat with at meals in Crystal Hall, they had seemed amiable enough, but those friends had begun to dwindle when a pressure campaign orchestrated by Reverend Englund started. The cleric’s devotee’s: student, minion, zealots, began ceaselessly harassing the girl, purely a result of having a target painting on her back by the Reverend.

In a school where avoiding attention made all the difference for your survival, Patricia was being singled out by the worst pariah of all: self righteous, judgemental, wound-up, religious adherents, who were pointed at defenseless prey.

What teenager didn’t love the chance to vent their own angst upon a defenseless person?

Cameron too, had been pestered by those same devotees, but he had a solid group of friends to support him. Plus, Cameron had been forewarned about not letting what other people thought affect his outlook.

Sadly, Patricia was being victimized all over again, after the wraiths in the void, could life get any worse? It could certainly feel that way to her. Cameron had empathy for Patricia, but didn’t know the best way to help her, not with her current woes.

Through Emit Paulson, Cameron had established an anonymous non-profit organization, to assist needy students, special cases that otherwise wouldn’t be able to attend Whateley Academy. It was all done secretly, nobody needed to know he was behind it. But it had revealed many unfortunate details about Patty: her mother had died from a drug overdose – how she’d dealt with Patricia’s disappearance. Her father lived on the streets somewhere, a shattered man after being accused of killing Patty, but no evidence linking him to the crime.

Patricia’s life was a mess, coming to Whateley was better than being placed into an orphanage, which is what Child Services proposed to her as the only option, before the paid tuition offer. At any rate, Patty had been assigned a social worker to guide her, but they kept distant, only checking in on her every blue moon.

It came down to Patricia needing to learn how to control her ability – she’d been classified as a Mage, but making a portal was a specialty. Whateley didn’t have a teacher with a background in creating portals, as only extremely skilled Mage’s could muster the essence it required. The school had put out a call to find someone to help her, but nothing so far. Instead, she was in classes designed to teach casting spells – which she had no affinity for.

Patricia was consistent in her conviction to never use her ability to create a portal. She never wanted to see another portal as long as she lived. She hated her gift, to her it was a curse. You could tell from the way she caried herself, from her distraught look and distant eyes.
Not that it was an unreasonable reaction, her ‘gift’ had wrought dreadful consequences, ruining her life and family.

So, yes, to get a ‘hi’ from the girl was as good as it got. But they had history together, so it was a start from which to build bridges.

“Are you cold?” asked Cameron, the girl had been standing with her arms wrapped tight around herself and was suppressing shivers as she stood waiting out in the cold.

Without needing a reply, Cameron retrieved a heavy coat from his Cupboard, it was a bright tan colour – not yellow, which seemed to be her favoured choice, but near enough that it didn’t offend her sensibilities. She wrapped it around herself and gave him a trepidatious smile.

“You didn’t steal this? Did you?” she asked as she flipped the collar up to cover her neck.

That was the icebreaker he’d hoped for. “No, at least not from anybody you’d know.” In truth he’d bought it – on sale at a huge discount … it was almost like he’d stolen it, but he’d kept the receipt.

Cameron had never been a boy scout, growing up as a girl kinda excluded him from that, but he still liked to be prepared for any situation, today was no exception.

“Thank you” was offered as Patty settled into the coat, putting her hands into the pockets, giving a sigh of relief.

“You’re welcome,” returned Cameron. “Which cottage are you in?” He already knew, he knew more than anyone else had a right to, but this girl had saved him, even if it had been unwittingly. Cameron felt indebted to her.

“Dickinson”.

It wasn’t an enthusiastic response, more like an admission of guilt a child gave when found with their hand in the cookie jar. Yeah, she wasn’t having a great time at Whateley, Cameron understood the feeling.

“That’s…” Cameron stammered; he didn’t want to flippantly mention having a plethora of friends to her.

“The same cottage as Lynn, R.E.D., Rachelle and Charlotte. Your teammates. I know.” Said Patricia with a sigh.

“You don’t like them?” I was a thinly veiled attempt to encourage her to befriend them.

“They’re the – like, IT crowd. The pretty, popular, and powerful girls that every guy drools over. Besides, I doubt they know I even exist.”

That didn’t sound like his friends at all, definitely not Lynn. If a guy told Lynn she was cute she’d gouge his eyes out – with or without claws, still sensitive about changing gender. Rho was self-conscious about her height and was reserved because of her hot hands. Charlotte certainly turned heads - for which Rach would give em a solid cuff physically or psychically (depended upon the guy).

“Would you like me to introduce you to them?” offered Cameron.

“I don’t want to intrude. You’re probably on a secret mission and they’re your cover. I’m nothing special.” Sloughed Patricia to avoid committing.

“That’s not true Patricia, your plenty …”

“Could you drop the Patricia, I go by Tricia now. New start, new life and all that.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” granted Cameron. “This looks like our ride,” as a bland looking white minivan pulled up.

The driver looked familiar, off-duty security – or undercover today. Either way, it was nice the school saw fit to provide protection. In the front passenger seat sat Dr. Hewlett – from the greeting made, he would be Tricia’s mental health therapist.

Tricia took the rear bench seat, leaving Cameron the second row. Tricia said she wanted to get some sleep, a sign she was retreating back into herself, but Cameron had made inroads. Offering the still warm sandwich’s also won him points with the van’s occupants.
Outside Berlin, New Hampshire.

The drive to Berlin was nice enough if sightseeing was the goal, conversation had been polite but curt, no chance they’d break into song anytime soon. Dr. Hewlett reviewed his notes mostly, and the driver would only begrudgingly answer a question when asked. Pat – Tricia slept nearly the whole way; it reminded Cameron of the expression “any port in a storm” If she could sleep – let her, she probably needed it.

A road sign said they were only a few miles outside Berlin. Ahead, a small bridge over a creek narrowed the highway. As the minivan crossed the bridge, a truck pulled out from a side road and blocked off the highway.

The van came to a screeching halt barely avoiding an accident by veering off the roadside, from behind a man smashed the rear window and threw in a smoke bomb.

The gas cloud quickly filled the vans interior. Tricia, already asleep woke with a start – and just as quickly succumbed. Dr. Hewlett and the driver both gasped and coughed then slumped limp in their seats, held upright by the safety belts. Knock-out gas then, determined Cameron. He’d not breathed any of the gas but slid down to lay across the bench seat to mimic the effects the others displayed.

Out of the truck poured a small contingent of men wearing tactical gear, markings were limited to an elongated diamond and pips designating rank, no identification as to who they were, no flags or nametags worn. Just near black clothes and similar coloured bullet proof vests and helmets.

A woman emerged wearing a gas mask – and little else, a touch underdressed given the weather noted Cameron. Leather short shorts and a skintight top that exposed her midriff, again all in black – maybe there was a theme going on: black-ops wear black? Maybe good idea at night, but kinda a dead giveaway in the middle of the day – and in the middle of the road.

“Get the girl!” demanded the woman, her voice was rough – having a gravelly quality, but very piercing. That demand caught Cameron’s attention, this wasn’t about him. Still, his protective nature flared, someone meant Tricia harm. Cameron looked closer at the black clad woman; she had the power signature of a Siren.

“Check who else is with her, maybe we’ve snagged someone worthwhile.” Voiced the woman with a sharp bark.

The side door opened, and rough hands pulled Tricia out with more force than needed, she’d definitely have bruises later.

A bright light was shone on the Driver and then the Doctor as pictures were taken, sent for identification, then disgusted noises meant the results didn’t meet with anticipated expectations. Cameron was dragged outside, equally rough, and his head was lifted to face the camera after removing his visor, keeping his eyes closed didn’t allow the light Cameron’s eyes emitted to be noticed.

No point making this easy reasoned Cameron, you don’t learn anything if it just gets handed to you, and he so wanted to know why the overzealous interest in Patricia – Tricia, sorry. So, the camera failed to work since the battery inexplicitly died.

“Bring him!” directed the black clad woman with a wave to quicken their departure. She needed a boost to get back into the truck, and the hesitation in the men to help her up spoke volumes about her leadership.

Cameron and Tricia were laid down on the truck bed, between the feet of the dark clad men. The truck bounced and jolted during the short drive, during which the woman was intent upon checking her painted fingernails, anything to avoid interacting with her subordinates.

The truck stopped behind an abandoned convenience store, the store had been gutted and the windows boarded over. They were carried fireman style through the back door and deposited onto two sturdy chairs and bound securely to them.

Whatever remained from the empty store had been pushed to the front in a heap, leaving room for some tables and chairs. A few computers sat interspersed upon tables, but one table was off to the side with a deck of cards splayed out – left in mid game.

The Siren waltzed in like the queen of the world, master of her domain. All told there was 10 people present, including the five soldier types. Only two of those had signatures: the Siren and a young girl.

“Crystal. Come here my pet, I brought you some toys to play with.” Called the Siren to the young girl, who came as asked.

Cameron assessed that Crystal was a Psychic from her power signature, pretty strong too, equivalent to Rachelle when not boosted. But she was very young, no more than thirteen – fourteen tops. Her jacket bore the all too familiar insignia: Whateley Academy. The picture was coming into focus: kidnapping and extortion, or maybe even slavery.

So why was Crystal helping them? His past encounter with Tammuz had them using Psychics to implant mind controls, erasing people’s memories. Why would a Siren be headlining the show?

“Now Crystal, I want you to read this girls’ mind. Tell me what’s she’s thinking, find out exactly what her ability is.”

“Yes Mistress.”

That’s not good, surmised Cameron, he didn’t waste anytime, he put Tricia into a deep sleep, blocking all her senses in an effort to protect her from whatever coercion they had planned.

“Mistress, she’s not conscious, I can’t see much.”

The Siren – Mistress, yelled across the room to the soldiers who had resumed their game of cards: “Hey Dummies! How much knock-out gas did you hit her with?”

There was some low volume conversation at the card table as information got processed: “Only enough to put a person down for twenty minutes at most.” Responded the leader of the pack.

Checking a clock, the woman muttered that she hated waiting. “Everyone! Hearing protection ON, now! Bending beside Tricia’s left ear she began to speak in a deep voice with a specific pattern and tempo. “Girl! you will wake up now.”

Interesting: hypnosis. Cameron had researched what a Siren was capable of, with training a voice could be used to hypnotize someone, it took training and typically some kind of focal aid. This was unique, perhaps a specialized use of her mutant ability. Crystal appeared to be under her thrall, since she hung on every word the Siren said.

Fortunately, due to Cameron’s interference, Tricia didn’t wake up, she didn’t even stir. Of course, at the moment: she was deaf, so couldn’t hear the command she’d been given.

“WAKE UP!” yelled the woman, again in her practiced voice.

Still no response from Tricia. Aggravated the Siren tore the ear- muffs off Crystal: “Go deeper!” demanded the Siren of Crystal as she pointed at Tricia, Crystal had no choice but to obey.

Crystal placed her hands on either side of Tricia’s head and closed her eyes to concentrate.

“She,” began Crystal. “She’s dreaming. She’s riding a horse through a bright yellow field – I think it’s called canola; the yellow is so intense it hurts the eyes. She’s not thinking about anything in particular, just enjoying the experience. I don’t think she’s ever ridden a horse before or been in a canola field. She has a vivid imagination.”

“Yes, yes,” scoffed the mistress. “What’s her power?”

“That’s buried under many layers. She doesn’t like her power, hates it even. Has no desire to ever use it. Oh my, I see a memory attached to it: she was in a dreadful place, dark and dusty, ghosts kept attacking – hurting her, it was her power that saved them, but she blames herself for being there in the first place.” Crystal gasped and had to release Tricia. “She’s some kind of Mage, a Portal Generator.”

The shared psychic experience between Tricia and Crystal left her trembling. “Her fear is debilitating, it will not be easy to overcome,” stated Crystal.

“I can make her forget” touted the Siren. “A Portal Generator is a major score, they’re so rare they are almost unheard of. This is huge; every dog and pony show will pay through the nose to be able to portal anywhere – anytime. And we’ll be holding the keys.”

“Yes Mistress” politely replied Crystal, a likely implanted feature to demonstrate her submissiveness.

“The Boss must have known about this girl, that she was coming our way. Why he had us stationed here for so long.” Mused the Siren.

So, there’s an informant. Whateley does love its graft, and here’s a group willing to abscond with mutants, to enslave, or sell to the highest bidder. Cameron felt sick to his stomach at the depths of depravity mankind regularly sinks to.

Destroying a person’s freewill was on top of Cameron’s hitlist of violations he was supposed stop, all restraint on his part was now lifted, he could act without restraint or impediment.

“Now, lets see what the boy has brought us,” delighted the Siren. “Crystal! Read him.”

Crystal stepped close, and soon took on a concerned look, biting her fingernail, an indicator that not all of her personality had been subsumed.
“There’s nothing there, it’s a blank” protested Crystal, worried she’d failed her mistress.

“What? Is he dead?” Demanded the Siren
.
She walked over pushing Crystal aside and placed a hand on Cameron’s throat to check for a pulse.

Cameron disappeared his bindings in quick order so’s to grab her wrist, he held it tight, in surprise she yanked hard but couldn’t release Cameron’s hold.

“Hi,” said Cameron, opening his eyes, letting the golden glow shine. “You’ve been naughty.”

“You’re a moron – an imbecile! You can’t even get basket weaving right.” Screamed the Siren in her deep hypnosis voice in an effort to gain release.

The activity in the abandoned store came to a stop, nearly everyone had removed their hearing protection when they saw Crystal without any, so almost everyone had heard the Sirens outburst, and became exactly as was told.

Cameron was okay, his energy absorbing filtered out harmful effects of powers directed at him. Not so for the rest.

“Tell me how you really feel?” sassed Cameron. “I mean, we’ve barely met.”

Across the room, two of the soldiers, those who had their backs to the room and hadn’t yet removed their hearing protection. Now though, seeing the situation, stood and reached for their weapons stacked against the wall.

“Kill him!” yelled the Siren seeing her salvation, it wasn’t an order, but a fear inspired shriek.

The soldiers reacted by readying rifles and pointing them in Cameron’s direction, but with the Siren in the way, they didn’t immediately open fire. Giving Cameron time to remove the molecular cohesion of the guns metal, the weapons became dust in the soldiers’ hands.

Startled, but not deterred, the men began to approach threateningly. Cameron tsk’d, to then switch off the electrical activity within their brains, it was a tried and tested way to quickly render someone harmless and immobile. Without mental faculties, they slumped to the floor, much to the Siren’s chagrin as she saw her rescue fade away.

Cameron stood and maneuvered the Siren down into his now vacated seat, binding her hands and feet into thick solid iron gloves and shoes without clasp or hinge, her appendages were fully encapsulated and immobilized without a way to remove the restraints.

“Look what you’ve done!” Chastised the Siren, directing Cameron’s attention to the room full of stricken people.

“That’s on you,” corrected Cameron. Many of the people around them had begun to drool resultant from the command denigrating them as imbecilic, including Crystal.

“What do you want? A cut of the profits?” She inquired, bribery was always a ne’er-do-well’s weakness, and she tried to exploit it.

“Want? Why, I don’t want anything from you. Aside from releasing Crystal, and any other mutants present who you’ve enslaved,” instructed Cameron.

“I’ll won’t do it!” spat the Siren.

“Actually, I’d hoped you’d say that” smiled Cameron. “I’ve been wanting to try out a new interrogation technique. I imagine it’ll be quite effective.”

Cameron’s eyes could elicit the truth from a person, but not their cooperation. This situation might require more than truth, for that he needed to apply a means of coercion.

“I’ll never talk” affirmed the mistress, sure of her fortitude.

“We’ll see” noted Cameron.

Outlook manifested a shiny silver tray with a lip. He looked at the Mistress and gave a twisted kind of smirk. “If your ready, let’s begin.”

The Siren was going to curse at him, but couldn’t as she was suddenly racked with pain, first in her abdomen, then chest.

Cameron brought the tray over into her view, on it rested three masses of flesh that oozed blood. “What we have here is one of your kidneys, a liver, and a lung. If you cooperate, I’ll return one of them – your choice. If you’re forthcoming; I’ll consider returning two.”

The Siren sat slack jawed, her pain confirmed her situation, she began to cry.

“How can you be so cruel?” she complained.

“In my experience, evil knows no bounds. I, however, won’t kill you. Which if positions were reversed, I have no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to facilitate my death - as was just observed. No, you won’t die today, but you’re not coming away from this unscathed.” Revealed Cameron to a shocked Siren.

“That’s inhumane!” she balked.

“And what do you call kidnapping and forcing someone to become your puppet. You’re hardly a pillar of kindness and compassion” advised Cameron. “Better hurry, these organs don’t like being kept out in the open for too long.”

Cameron assisted Crystal to come closer, leading her by the hand to stand in front of her Mistress.

“Crystal, I release you from any compulsion upon you. You don’t heed my commands or carry out my orders anymore. You're free.”

Crystal waivered on her feet, she stepped with difficulty to a chair and fell into it, her sobs wracked her body.

“Very nice” complimented Cameron. “Any others?”

“None here, but I’ve entranced dozens.” Confirmed the Siren.

“Do you need to remove the binding, or can it be lifted another way?” sought Cameron.

“Please, give me back my lung and kidney.” Begged the Siren.

“I wouldn’t say you’ve been all that cooperative, answer the question, and we’ll see.” Deflected Cameron.

“My hold can be broken by a Psychic – as long as they erase most of the brain.” Revealed the Siren, not in a peasant manner, more akin to a brag.

“Not a good option.” Mused Cameron.

“Call it job security” sneered the Siren. “Give me my lung and kidney.”

“You can have them back, once you tell me who you work for?” pursued Cameron.

“That’s not fair!” complained the Siren, near to tears.

“Do you really want to sit here and talk about what fairness entails? I’m happy to oblige, but times almost up on your organs.” Coerced Cameron.

“Damnit! My boss works for the Syndicate, we’re freelancers contracted to him.” Spat the Siren, running out of options, and time.

Of course, the Syndicate, should have guessed. Cameron’s last go-round with a Syndicate operation had severely hampered their mutant smuggling endeavours. So, now they’re trying the same thing again, but distancing themselves by dealing at arms length.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” consoled Cameron.

“What about my organs? – you promised!” wept the Siren.

“Oh yeah, those!” Backtracked Cameron. First the flesh on the tray vanished, then the tray as well. It wasn’t that Cameron had actually removed her organs – a visit to a butcher had supplied him with a pig’s innards. But the pain he’d twinged within the woman was convincing enough to make it feel real.

The Mistress began to feel better having achieved some relief, she began to breath easier and relaxed a little in her chair, her comfort was hindered by an ache in her side, coming from the area of a missing liver. Cameron had to keep up appearances after all.

Crystal rose from her seat in a heated effort to extract a pound of flesh from her tormentor, seeing that retribution wasn’t going to be coming in a suitable manner.

Cameron stepped in her way to prevent her attack.

Crystal snarled; her anger evident. “Do you know what she did to me!”

“I can imagine” comforted Cameron.

“She – SHE, violated my mind and body!” accused Crystal.

“Will killing her heal your wounds?” reasoned Cameron.

“It will damn well make me feel better.” Countered a frustrated Crystal, in an emotion fueled rage.

“But it will make you no better than her” counselled Cameron. “You have your life, hers is in ruins. Take consolation in that.”

“Not enough!” breathed Crystal barely audible. She closed her eyes and brough her right hand against the side of her head, touching the head of the Siren with her other.

“Crystal – don’t.” advised Cameron.

“Too late, it’s done. I gutted her mind; she’s not going to hurt anyone ever again.” Said in a satisfied tone.

“Thereby condemning the dozens of others who she hypnotized. I hope that is something your conscience can live with.” Cameron’s comment came with a heavy sigh.

~o~O~o~

Cameron’s phone call to the Police had at first been treated as a crank call, with the 911 attendant just trying to humour Cameron. Certainly not an easy story to believe: that a kid thwarted a kidnapping and slave trading ring in town. But once details began to be revealed the tone quickly changed.

Once the Police got notified they requested that Cameron remain on site, to make a full accounting. Before the first responders arrived, Cameron erased the recording of the Sirens vocal commands off his phone – no need to spread the disease further.

Detective Roberts took over the questioning after arriving, he greeted Cameron and extended his gratitude to Cameron by affording him latitude from the usual grilling done to extract details. That, and a recording downloaded from Cameron’s phone was hard evidence that the Detective could build an iron clad case around.

In handing over his prisoners, Cameron dissipated the heavy iron blocks he’d used to restrain them.

Detective Roberts arranged to drop Tricia and Cameron off at the Police Station, Dr Hewlett and the driver were still there, after a patrol car had found them on the highway. It was heartwarming to watch Tricia and the doctor hug, an emotional bond that the girl sorely needed.

The investigation into culpability for the destruction of Dillon Chapel was being held at the Hotel a block from the Police Station. The ‘good Reverend’ was seeking to have them blamed, or more rightly, charged with a crime – someone had to take responsibility. Somebody was going to pay to replace his church.

The Hotel’s conference room was an open meeting space that could be used for wedding receptions. The room wasn’t jam packed, as many concerned parties had chosen to attend via video conference, which meant multiple screens had been set up.

Each party had at least one lawyer representing their interests. Except for Tricia, she had no legal representation, none had been assigned to her from Child Services.

When Cameron and Tricia entered the crowded room, one person in particular had been eagerly waiting their arrival: Emit Paulson rose to shake Cameron’s hand in greeting.

Cameron asked to speak with him privately, they stepped out of hearing range for some privacy. “Mr. Paulson, Tricia Conner has no lawyer. Would it be possible for you to represent her? I’ll cover any costs.”

“I imagined you might, I’ve already prepared a brief. Oh! and Cameron, I won’t reveal who her patron is.”

“Thank you.”

Dr Hewlett and Tricia had already taken a position away from the hub, taking chairs against the rear wall. The doctor ensured they remained close together. Tricia was in a state of bewilderment; all these people wanted a piece of her. You could see her shrink inside herself, wanting to hide and make all this go away.

From his perch to the right of the Moderators position, Reverend Englund sneered when he saw they’d arrived, he stood to draw attention to himself and garner sympathy: the poor priest who’d lost his church. In reality, he looked like a cobra preparing to strike its prey.

“Finally! they showed up’ crowed the Reverand, unconcerned about the reason for their delay, only that it inconvenienced him.

The room had been configured so the tables made a large V, the monitors faced so all could see who was joining remotely, chairs ringed the lines of tables, and three rows of seats filled out the remaining space. Each table was intended to be apportioned out to each of the parties involved, indicated by a name placard placed on the table.

But as in any office space – whoever has the biggest office holds the most power, or so its assumed. Some groups had spread themselves out over two or three tables, to ensure their interests got addressed. The Reverend’s entourage for example took up three tables.

With so many interested parties, the situation left the room feeling tense. Mr. Paulson directed Cameron to a table at the very end of one side of the V. At that, Mr. Paulson took a couple minutes to speak with Tricia.

Apparently, Mr. Paulson advised that she stay seated at the back, it lent credence to the notion that she was not important.

Reverend Englund called to the room, still standing, in the middle of his slew of his legal team: “Now we can get this meeting started” he announced.

“Kindly sit down Reverend.” Admonished the Moderator sitting at the head table, a woman who was a retired judge – someone each party had agreed upon to act as moderator. From her tone she didn’t look kindly upon grandstanding.

“Mr. Stewart, please continue with the details of your report about Dillon Chapel.” Sought the moderator.

“Everyone already has a copy of my report, I was just finishing up with diagrams of the building prior to the event, and post. As mentioned, most of the front wall had remained standing, with the vortex forming three to four feet on the inside, the vortex devastated the three other walls leaving only a scattering of stones and cement mortar chunks in its wake. The front wall later fell into the site obscuring some details.” Detailed Mr. Stewart, to the look around the room in case his description hadn’t sufficed.

A hand was raised by a remote participant, as seen by a digital hand on screen. The moderator called upon them: “There was no crater?” was asked.

“No, unlike the other sites, Dillon Chapel had no epicenter as evidenced by a crater. Everything in front of the vortex was damaged leaving a clear indication as to where it formed.”

“Unless there’s anything further, is Great American Insurance willing to yield the floor?” motioned the moderator.

Mr. Paulson raised his hand to ask a question, he was called upon: “Please clarify something for me Mr. Stewart. The Chapels debris field did not appear to contain all the remains of the building, what became of them?”

“We postulate that much of the materials got sucked into the vortex.”

“So, the vortex was a two-way street?”

“It appears so.”

“Any other questions?” none were forthcoming, so the moderator asked: “Does Great American yield the floor?”

“We yield the floor” advised the companies spokesperson after a quick deliberation.

“Very good. Now then, let’s hear from one of the key figures in this dispute: Miss Patricia Conner.” Instructed the moderator.

Tricia looked to Dr Hewlett, who comfortingly said “You can do this, you’ll be okay.”

Her gaze then locked onto Cameron; he smiled to impart encouragement.

After signaling for Tricia to stand beside her, the moderator gave an introductory greeting, saying: “I understand you’ve had an exciting day?”

“If being abducted and nearly sold is your idea of an exciting day, you can keep it.” Replied Tricia.

“Poor girl, what happened?” sought the former judge.

“Our transport was highjacked, I was drugged and taken to be ‘processed’, that is to say - made a slave.”

“Who would do such a thing?” reeled the moderator.

“Who indeed! A tip-off that I would be coming here today, then the attempt made upon me, most assuredly came from someone in this room. Obviously, one of you, or all of you, have it out for me. I decline your invitation to speak of my own volition.” Stated Tricia, after which she walked away.

The brief conversation between her and Mr. Paulson must have been some high-level counseling. Certainly nothing like what Cameron had received. But she made a valid point, one Cameron hadn’t considered, he was too centered on Whateley’s misdeeds to see that the attack might have been orchestrated from another place.

The room was in pandemonium, with the Reverend shouting “Bring her back!” repeatedly, unaccustomed to being denied. His face was flushed as his anger bested his demeanor.

In the hallway, Dr. Hewlett and the driver agreed to take Tricia back to Whateley. Mr. Paulson volunteered to return Cameron later – he needed some time to review other concerns with his client. At that, Cameron and Mr. Paulson walked them out to the van, where Cameron repaired the rear window and fumigated the van, then bid them farewell.

When Cameron and Mr. Paulson returned to the meeting, it had quietened and took on a façade of decorum. They took up a position at their table again.

“At this time, I would like to ask Outlook to provide his testimony to our proceedings.” sought the moderator, noting the boys return.

Cameron raised his hand, saying: “I’m here your honour.”

“Perhaps you could come stand beside me, so the whole room can see you.” directed the moderator.

A quick look at Mr. Paulson, said it was Cameron’s choice.

“My preference is to remain at my current location Ma’am.”

“As you wish. We have your detailed statement taken by Mr. Stewart, and corroborating statements from several of the others present. But could you give us a brief recap of your involvement in the destruction of Dillon Chapel?”

Cameron paused for a second to collect his memories: “I stood in its ruins; after escaping from a null void. I was arrested for trespass and damages incurred to school property.”

“Were you charged with any crimes?” sought the moderator.

“No Ma’am. After a preliminary investigation conducted by Whateley Security, all charges against me were later dropped in that regard.”

“Did you have anything to do with the Chapels destruction?”

The room keened to hear the answer, Cameron kept them hanging as he considered the question as asked.

“I benefited from the portal created, to affect an escape from null space.” It was short and to the point, as answers go every word was true. Sadly, it directed attention off himself and placed it firmly onto Tricia.

A lawyer, from one of the insurance companies, raised his hand to get the moderators attention; to ask a question.

“Mr. Altman, you have a question?”

“Yes Ma’am, many here would like to hear more about this ‘null space’, and the events that transpired therein?” asked Mr. Altman – the man was attending on an Insurer’s behalf, one of the other locations, if Mr. Paulson's notes were correct.

“Outlook? Are you willing to oblige the request?”

“To a point” confirmed Cameron, to than add: “I will only identify individuals in general terms, I will not use names.”

“That will suffice.”

“Thank you, Ma’am”, acknowledged Cameron, who then began his accounting of events:

“An associate and I were forcibly evicted mid – teleport, we found ourselves in a place of no direct light, a thick layer of dust, and a heavy grey fog enveloping the area.

We had been pushed out of teleporting by a trio of youths who had been seeking a means of escape. Shortly after arriving in the null void, we were attacked by ghostly creatures I refer to as Wraiths. The Wraiths were looking to fed upon our life energy. This first grouping of Wraiths was able to be defeated only after several in the group had succumbed to the feeding.”

A member of the Reverends group raised his hand seeking permission to ask a question. The moderator chose not to entertain the interruption.

Cameron continued: “As we recovered, the full number of those caught in the null void joined us, a total of eleven – including myself. We devised a plan to hold off the Wraiths. During the next attack, I stumbled upon protrusions that rose above the dust layer.

It was discovered that striking a protrusion caused an explosion and shockwave which hindered the Wraiths, a few protrusions wound up being struck in the battle which resulted in the Wraiths retreating.

During that brief respite, several of the group made impassioned pleas to a young lady in the group to make a portal to escape through. I advised against it.” Informed Cameron.

Now three of the reverends team had raised hands, to also not be called upon, causing much consternation.

Cameron pressed on: “Regardless, the young lady relented to the pressure being placed upon her. She managed to make a portal by tracing the route supplying a much larger protrusion than those that had been struck during the fight.

The portal emitted us at Dillon Chapel.” Concluded Cameron.

Mr. Altman sought a clarification, receiving permission to ask, much to the religious group’s frustration: “What purpose did these ‘protrusions’ serve?”

“The Wraiths fed upon them. They share characteristics with nipples. The dust and grey fog consisted of particles akin to what’s in milk.”

“You know this, how?” sought the moderator.

“Laboratories analyzed samples collected off our clothes, and I observed it.” Informed Cameron.

Another Insurance company representative: a Ms. Reynolds, raised her online hand to ask her question, getting permission: “Did you, at the time, know where these nipples derived this ‘milk’?”

“I did not. It was only later that a possible connection was established by Mr. Stewart to the various sites that were destroyed.”

“But you admit to striking four of the protrusions?”

“I personally struck two, others in the group hit another two, that I know of.”

Please explain “That I know of”

“I was entirely blind at the time, the number could have been more, but I only felt four distinct blasts.”

The moderator declined to allow additional questions, favouring to let the narrative continue, but decided to direct the next topic: “Please describe arriving at Dillon Chapel?”

“Exiting the portal was particularly violent, each of us got cast out onto a debris field of rocks and mortar. The portal remained open until the young lady was rendered unconscious.”

Finally, the moderator called upon one of the five raised hands seated with the Reverend: “Your account is full of inconsistencies. How can we believe anything you say? First you say your blind – then you make ‘observations’?”

“While in the null void I was blind, it is after all: null and void there. Once back into normal space, I regained sight.”

“How convenient” was remarked by someone at the table – not seeking permission to speak.

“I will not tolerate ignoring this inquiries rules, nor allow berating a person who’s volunteered to speak. You,” gruffly said the moderator – pointing at the offending lawyer “you are excused.”

“Your honour …” protested an associate, standing to emphasize his outrage.

“Do want to join him?” sought the moderator.

“My apologies,” backtracked the called-out lawyer resuming his spot at the table.

Another of the Reverends lawyers raised his hand – as dictated by the agreed upon terms of conduct and was called upon: “Why did you lose your sight – to have it return later.”

“The null void is a realm entirely disassociated from God, as my sight is a gift from God, I became blind while in the void.”

That lawyer kept his hand raised, and could ask a furtherance: “Who are these; Wraiths?”

“The sworn enemies of God; rebels against his rule, and seek to usurp his will.”

“So, deceased humans, in spirit form?”

“No, former angels who chose to disobey God. Some call them demons.”

Another of the Reverends lawyers had his hand raised and was called upon: “When arriving back at Whateley Academy, you skewered another in your group; a young boy. For what reason?”

“A Wraith had taken possession of the boy. This was mainly who persisted in pressuring for a portal to be made, so as to gain escape from the null void. Please note: the boy was not harmed – by me at least, and the Wraith was cast back into the null void.”

As the lawyer’s hand was still raised. He continued his questioning: “Did you discern, while in the null void, that this individual was possessed?”

“I had a suspicion but could not verify such until my sight returned.”

“Your God sight?” he asked, holding back a snicker.

“I don’t call it such. But yes, it’s a gift from God, but everybody’s sense of sight is a gift, as is their life. For the record: God forbids the subsuming of a person’s life by another, either by possession or through mental or physical manipulation.”

It was Reverend Englund’s raised hand called upon next: “Your claim is that God sent you. Why is it then, that in all the time you’ve spent at Whateley Academy, you’ve never attended a single church service?”

“I was advised not to attend any religious services, celebrate any holy days, or get further instruction regarding God. Since this could be construed as favouritism, taken as a sign of God’s blessing.”

“And who would tell you such a thing?” scoffed the Reverend at the absurdity of the claim.

“His mentor provided that advice.” Informed Mr. Paulson, having raised his hand after Cameron became tight lipped.

“His Whateley assigned student advisor?” dug the Reverend, harping upon a perceived edge. “Hardly a suitable religious guide for the boy.”

“No, I was given that direction long before arriving at Whateley.” Defended Cameron.

“By whom?” chased the Reverend.

“This line of questioning is going far beyond the scope of this inquiry. I advise my client to refrain from answering.” Interjected Mr. Paulson.

“If I understand the objective correctly, I believe they are attempting to establish if you are in fact working on God’s behest.” Explained the moderator.

“Indeed, your honour. If, the events we’re investigating, are indeed ‘Acts of God’, we need to establish a link between them and God.” Inserted one of the Reverends team – with a quickly raised hand to cover his tracks.

“Let’s drop the charade, shall we. Honestly, what you want to do is discredit me, dismiss me as being delusional or deranged. If I have a choice in the matter – go with delusional.” spoke Cameron, garnering chuckles from the other attendees. “But that tack doesn’t solve the issue at hand; how four buildings inexplicably exploded, and a church was leveled to the ground.”

“On the contrary, by proving you were not acting under Gods influence, the devastation you caused cannot thereby be claimed as being an ‘Act of God’”. Accused a lawyer working for the church.

“I fear you are greatly mistaken, in the first place: I was only there because God allowed it. Secondly, God would not just leave innocents to the machinations of the Wraiths. And thirdly: I would like permission to ask a question of Mr. Stewart, please?” deflected Cameron.

“Go ahead:” granted the former judge.

“Mr. Stewart, could you enlighten me about insurance policy conditions, are occurrences of fire, flood, earthquake, and disasters like hurricanes and tornados typically covered?”

“Why, yes. A policy holder can get coverage specifically tailored to encompasses such occurrences.” Instructed Mr. Stewart.

“So, if after a thorough investigation, when there is no discernable cause - such as faulty electrical wiring, ergo nothing explains why the accident happened. Is that not when an insurance company will claim it was an ‘Act of God’?”

“Yes, that’s an accurate assessment.” Concurred Mr. Stewart.

Cameron nodded gratefully at the man’s input, to further ask: “I noticed that there is only a single person attending to represent one concerned party, Can I ask why there isn’t greater involvement from that group?”

“That policy holder included an ‘Act of God” provision in their policy and have already received a pay-out. I am here on behalf of the insurance company to ensure we didn’t make a mistake.” Responded the sole participant on that particular video screen.

“Thank you.” Offered Cameron. “It appears to me then, that everyone else in the room decided against obtaining “Act of God’ coverage. Thereby running the risk that nothing inexplicable would happen. So, my third point of contention is that perhaps you should be looking internally, to see who decided to not get sufficient insurance coverage.”

“The Whateley Board of Trustee’s concluded that holy ground was unlikely to encounter an inexplicable event, so insurance coverage wasn’t required.” Defended Reverend Englund.

“Yet, here you are.” Illustrated Cameron. “Do not you sit on said Board of Trustee’s?”

The Reverend was seething at the boy for his audacity but said nothing.

Cameron continued: “What I am puzzled over, is: What was happening in Dillon Chapel to have succour being supplied to God’s enemies? Honestly, you cannot claim ‘holy ground’ if you do unholy things there.”

Mr. Paulson took that as the cue to hasten Cameron out of the room, before the peaceful setting became one of violence, since the Reverend was at the cusp of throttling whoever he could get his hands on.

Outside the two walked to Mr. Paulson’s rental vehicle, once securely inside and a short - safe distance away, Mr. Paulson voiced his concern: “You went off script.”

“Your script was entirely believable” said Cameron giving him a heartfelt smile. “But it didn’t get the wheels in motion. The situation needed to get kickstarted, and I’m the one wearing the boot to do it.” Revealed Cameron. “Sorry for the trouble I’ve brought you.”

“I work for you Cameron; you keep paying the bills and I’ll continue to look after you.” Assessed the lawyer. “If you don’t want an easy out – I understand. It makes my job ever so interesting.”

“Wouldn’t want to see you become bored now, would we?”

“Apparently not.”

Whateley Academy

Lunchtime at Crystal Hall was as chaotic as ever, with a mad rush to get food, eat it, then get back to classes. If, and only if you could navigate the swarm of hungry students, you might have a couple minutes to visit with friends between mouthfuls of food.

Having an established table, that nobody else laid claim to, it gave Northern Lites a focal point to gather at on the main floor. If it bolstered others sense of superiority by sitting on an upper level and looking down on them, it was of little concern. Max’s need of enough space, level ground, and a wide passageway became the teams need.

Rho, Debbie, Lynn and Cameron had arrived first to their table, Lynn was attempting to eat a balanced diet – only half her plate was meat, the other food groups had some representation – not lots but some.

Cameron noticed that an altercation was happening over at the buffet tables. Three of the ‘Holy Rollers” a six-person team based upon their religious affiliation, which was of course under Reverend Englund’s guidance. These zealots had encircled Tricia, and begun to verbally harass her, and physically jostle her around. It resorted to one of them; the girl in the mix, slapping Tricia’s tray to the ground.

Cameron stood in response to the conflict, but before he could make a move, Max stepped in. As it happens, Max had been behind Tricia in the line-up, he had his extra-large tray in hand with the beginnings of his lunch.

Crystal Hall had decided to incorporate three sizes of trays to satisfy the students appetites, they ranged from regular, large, and extra-large. The extra-large trays looked like half a sheet of plywood in size, this was Max’s choice, as it was for many of the big eaters.

Max stood in front of the girl who’d accosted Tricia, he pushed his tray into her hands, to then raise his right hands index finger and wag it back and forth three times, a universal indicator of ‘no’.

The two boys had begun to push Tricia about, trying to knock her down as she scrambled to collect her fallen tray. Max grabbed both miscreant boys by the scruff of their necks, hosting them by the collars of their school jackets. Max lifted them into the air, their feet dangling aimlessly since they’d been lifted clear of the floor.

They both looked up at who had dared to interfere, with their eyes getting huge at the sight of Max. They each began to squirm and kick about, the ring-leader balking: “Let me go!”

Max turned around with them in tow, walking away from the food tables over to the large wastebins where leftover food scraps got disposed of by the students. Max in midair turned first one, then the other, and dumped them both headfirst into the garbage cans so only their legs stuck out.

Max made the motion of wiping his hands clean, to then return back to the girl and retrieve his tray. Tricia had her tray in hand as Max nudged her along the food arranged on the tables. They both gathered what looked good to them. Max, as usual, had amassed a heaping amount on his tray.

At the end of the food line, Tricia stood and looked at the throng of students, many of whom still had their attention focused on her. Max coming up behind her, balanced his heaped and weighted down tray on one hand, using his other hand to delicately guide Tricia to Northern Lites table.

Having watched the altercation, and the shepherding being undertaken by Max, the team shifted to open up a seat for her.

Max ‘a-hem'd, after coming to stop above them, he then pointed at Tricia with a single finger, then with an open hand to direct her to the waiting chair and everyone present.

Rho was the first to speak: “By all means, please, join us.”

“I … “Tricia wanted to object, to decline the offer, but Cameron smiled up at her and motioned for her to take the seat beside him. Tricia acquiesced and took the invited chair.

“Hi Tricia” greeted Charlotte from across the table. “Are you okay?” she asked as she took her seat – having been a couple places back in the food line and seen everything.

Tricia needed a moment to recalibrate, not only had someone stood up for her, but it shook her that the ‘beautiful people’ knew who she was.
“I’m alright” she squeaked out, not even raising her head to look at anyone.

“Your safe here,” advised Lynn, speaking across Cameron.

Without volition, Tricia let out a restrained ‘ha!’, quickly followed by a hiccup, a purely nervous reaction. After swallowing her bile Tricia could speak again: “This is Whateley, there is no ‘safe’ place.”

“I know it feels that way. I’d come to that conclusion myself” revealed Cameron. “But sometimes we need to look beyond our first impressions, maybe even the second and third to discover what’s really going on.”

Looking at him critically Tricia said: “Easy for you to say.”

“Nothing comes easy, I had to die before Whateley even gave me the time of day.” Resolutely affirmed Cameron.

Both Debbie and Tricia gave Cameron their undivided attention, but he wasn’t forthcoming with further details, rather he took a bite of his Rueben sandwich and left them hanging.

Max diverted his attention from his meal to swing his hand between those assembled, his way of asking if everybody knew each other.

Charlotte spoke up: “Tricia is a couple doors down from Rach and I at Dickinson. I think she’s being trained as a Mage; I only share Powers Theory with her.”

Tricia, rather sheepishly, nodded her head that what was said was true.

Rachelle and Timothy arrived together, arguing over some trivial matter, as most siblings do. After taking the seats next to Charlotte, Timothy said “Hello” to Tricia adding a swagger to his voice, it had only taken him a couple seconds to notice someone new at the table.

Rachelle, for her part, reached across the table to shake Tricia’s hand “It’s nice to finally met you Tricia, I’m Rachelle, the doofus is my brother Tim.”

It took a moment for Tricia to timidly react to the invitation, but did eventually raise her hand to accept the offered gesture of greeting.

Northern Lites quickly devolved into eating lunch, some conversation punctuated the emanated sounds consistent with consuming vast amounts of food.

It was Rachelle who raised the alarm that someone was approaching with intent.

“We challenge you to combat!” spouted out the here-for-to designated leader of the Holy Rollers, four of the six had approached – minus the two Max had dealt with, likely having to go get cleaned up.

They stood behind the row of seats Cameron sat at, so he turned to size them up: The leader was a level three Exemplar, his second standing to his right was another Exemplar but he was a level four, to the leaders left was a female Mage her essence well indicating level three. The last of the contingent was another girl; the one who’d accosted Tricia, she’s a level two Siren. Missing were the last two members, those who’d been introduced to the insides of garbage cans, they were an Energiser two and another Mage at level two.

“Another time perhaps.” responded Cameron, to then turn his attention back onto his sandwich.

“You can’t refuse a challenge!” balked the Holy Rollers leader.

“Sure we can. Whateley’s rules are very clear on the matter, since we’ve been given multiple lectures from Security at Kane Hall about our conduct. So, I quote: ‘A training team is not obligated to accept a challenge issued outside a classroom setting, plus any challenge issued should meet the objectives of the course being attended to enhance the training being received.’” Conferred Cameron, to then add: “Considering its lunchtime, and unless you’re desiring to engage in an eating contest. Then no, we rightly refuse your challenge.”

In a huff the other teams leader exclaimed loudly: “We demand satisfaction!”

“Try the sweet and sour pork over rice, it’s really good” recommended Debbie between mouthfuls, instigating Rho to nearly spew chunks.

Returning his full attention back onto the Holy Rollers as a whole, Cameron asked: “What possible inducement would make us even consider accepting your challenge?”

“We,” through a sweeping gesture to include the entire team. “Will leave you alone,” Offered the leading ‘Roller’. “On condition you accept responsibility for the destruction of Dillon Chapel, when you lose.”

“Now, you see, that’s not going to fly. First off: Tricia isn’t a member of Northern Lites. Secondly, since only Tricia and I have any connection to events at the Chapel, everyone else in the team doesn’t have a stake in this.” Summarized Cameron. “So, would you like to change your challenge so its just us two? And maybe Max – since he took out the trash?”

“Just the two of you, you’re the ones who destroyed our church.” Sneared the lead.

“What do you think Tricia? Do you want to wipe the slate clean?” questioned Cameron.

“I don’t want to fight anyone” admitted the shaken girl. “And … I never want to use my power again.”

“I promise, you won’t have to. But you will need to join me, to set things right.” Affirmed Cameron encouragingly.

“You’re serious.” Doubted Tricia.

“I guess I am at that.” Nodded Cameron in acceptance of the designation.

“Okay.” Shyly agreed Tricia.

“Good” exclaimed Cameron. “There you have it, will you all vow to leave Tricia and I alone?” head nods agreed to the condition. “Then challenge accepted. Now let’s get down to terms.”

“No terms, it’s you against us.” Countered the female Mage.

“As in all six of you – against us two? A bit unfair, but not egregious odds.” Considered Cameron, his comment baffling the opposing team. Who eventually clued in when they figured out he was serious, and dissing them. “Since we’re the challenged, we get to chose either the location or the contest.” Informed Cameron, again quoting the rules.

“We challenged you to armed battle.” Protested the leader of the Holy Rollers.

“But you never outright claimed that as your challenge, so we get to pick.” Confirmed Cameron, enjoying putting them off their game.

“That’s not what we want, you’re supposed to suffer.” Spoke the Mage girl.

“Well, that’s just too bad. You should have read the rules of engagement before sticking your necks out” chastised Cameron at their lack of foresight. “Now, I was initially thinking a rousing game of Tidily-Winks, but I know this school has an obstacle course sim or two that should do nicely.”

“When?” demanded the Holy Rollers leader.

“Weekend after next, we’re scheduled to be off campus for Survival testing in a couple days.”

After the Holy Rollers left, Cameron addressed his teammates: “Will anyone second a motion to admit Tricia Conners as an alternate member of Northern Lites?”

Iqaluit, Nunavut Territory, Canada

Tricia pulled down on the fabric of her new clothes, it had just arrived from Cecilia Rodgers Boutique the night before, and this was her first time wearing it. The custom uniform held to the pattern chosen for all the Northern Lite’s: a midnight blue with imbedded sparkles that looked like stars.

Each team member had a distinguishing colour to set them apart, hers was yellow – a deep rich yellow that was very different to Cameron’s gold, his almost glowed.

The skirt was a nice touch she thought, but could have been longer, Tricia didn’t like people to see her knobby knees, they weren’t really - but its hard to break the habit of self depreciation.

All her teammates - It was hard to believe they’d asked her to join. Anyway, the other members of Northern Lite had been lounging around the pile of gear they had brought with them: backpacks and duffle bags stuffed to overflowing. All Tricia had was a small satchel holding a change of underwear and her toiletries. In comparison she wasn’t nearly as prepared as the others.

Although, it was only late October, the sun in Iqaluit barely broke the southern horizon, it looked more like the twilight period after sunset than mid morning. And cold! Tricia hadn’t ever known a cold like this before, a cloud formed in front of her face every time she exhaled.

That said, the thermal underwear she’d be given by Werx to wear underneath her uniform was keeping her warm enough. It had an internal heating system that seemed to work just fine, despite Debbie’s constant fussing over how the heaters functioned. That girl had issues with letting her creations go. On her utility belt, Tricia had a pouch full of little white balls that she’d been instructed to swap out the ball when it turned black, she’d checked the holder on her hip to see if the ball was still white, it was her response to feeling cold.

They all waited for Max to show up, he was the last one to be teleported. The Teleporters Whateley had hired could move a group of people at a time, but they needed to take Max by himself. Tricia supposed they had weight limits. Tricia didn’t enjoy teleporting; she’d needed to use the barf bag handed to her from the get-go.

Her stomach had settled, and she was wandering around checking out what she could see of the far northern town – even though it was the Territories capital, it wasn’t very big, so calling it a city didn’t sit well.

Max’s arrival was followed by the ensuing gaging from the big guy, at least she wasn’t the only one, they weren’t ready for the next leg of the journey, not yet. But the Teleports had a schedule to adhere to, paid by the trip Tricia supposed.

The briefing Whateley gave in class on the days leading up today, provided an overview about what was expected of them: A shipping container full of supplies had been brought ashore, but due to bad weather the project had been abandoned. A lighthouse and weather station needed urgent repairs; the job fell to Northern Lites to complete.

Just how Whateley Academy knew about this job hadn’t been disclosed, only that it impacted maritime traffic and left a hole in the ability to forecast weather in the region. Northern Lites was assigned the task rather than undergo combat finals (whatever those were). Only details of what the scope of work needing to happen on the North-Eastern shores of Baffin Island had been explained.

The first group to leave consisted of Cameron, Lynn, Tim and Charlotte, they all had baggage hanging off themselves as they teleported away.

The second Teleporter gathered her crew together: Rho, Rachelle, Debbie, and Tricia. They each held onto as much cargo as possible, so the final transit with Max had nearly nothing but him to move.

Arriving was as jarring as the first time, but without any contents in her stomach Tricia only felt like puking, that unmistakable involuntary lurching feeling accompanied by that sour taste which still lingered from her prior experience.

Charlotte flew up low and fast, holding out her arms in an effort to prevent them from getting closer to the shipping container, some twenty feet ahead. She motioned for them to back further away. Turning around they saw Lynn a distance away standing in the snow, directing them to come towards her.

“What’s up? Asked Rachelle, she likely already had a good idea – Psychic’s are like that. But she asked so everyone was brought up to speed.

“We have uninvited guests. There’s a mother polar bear and her two cubs sleeping in the C-can” explained Lynn.

“What? How?” asked a confused Debbie.

Cameron joined them now; he and Swift had been scouting the area. “It looks like somebody found the C-can and opened it up – taking what they wanted, leaving the door ajar.”

“That’s …” stammered Debbie.

Lynn took up the narrative: “The good news is, the bears aren’t hibernating, just waiting for the ice to set up so they can go out and hunt seals.”

“So, we were looking for another den we could move them to,” explained Tim.

“Can’t we just wake them up and shoo them away?” questioned Debbie, it sounded reasonable.

“The mother bear is above eleven hundred pounds; I doubt she will look kindly on us disturbing them. Plus, she has two young cubs with her, mother bears become extremely protective of their cubs. We don’t want a confrontation – trust me.” Detailed Cameron, his comments intoned of prior experience.

Tricia felt the need to know more about the plan, asking: “So, what are we going to do?”

“We found a big snowbank; Cameron said a snowshed would be a good spot to put them into.” Supplied Tim.

“We’ll wait for Max, he should be able to carry the mother, it’ll take two or more of us to carry each cub.” Said Cameron.

“And if they wake up?” questioned Debbie, it was exactly what Tricia was thinking.

“I’ve taken care of that” assured Cameron. “They’ll be asleep until we’re gone.”

“Did you tranquilize them?” Tricia figured it to be the case, its what game wardens did.

“No, I convinced their brains to remain in a deep sleep pattern. I don’t know if bears dream but it’s like REM.” Provided Cameron.

Cameron never went into great detail about how and what all he does, so it was a steep learning curve for Tricia to keep up with the boy, but she had concerns she’d like addressed: “Is that what you did to me? Back in Berlin?”

“No” was Cameron's reply, he was going to leave it at that, but Tricia gave him an expectant glare, so he continued. “You’d been hit by knock-out gas, I kept you unconscious so you couldn’t be manipulated.”

Tricia needed more information: “Is that something you do often?”

“Sometimes the best way to protect people, is to keep them out of the equation.” It wasn’t that what Cameron said was heartless, it just felt cold.

“You make it sound so – calculated” retorted Tricia.

“To minimize risk, I’ll take calculated over having to clean-up the damage.” His response was a touch cryptic, but then, he had prevented her being carted off in chains. She allowed him some latitude, not much mind you.

“I’m not sure how I feel about you: what? Playing God. I didn’t ask for your help.” Tricia didn’t want any of this, being a mutant, being at Whateley, being in this god forsaken place in the middle of nowhere. But you make the best of any given situation, but she wasn’t a push-over.

“You’re right, I should have asked, gotten permission first. But I didn’t have time, circumstances demanded I act – quickly. I hope you can forgive me, I did it so you wouldn’t get hurt. Please believe my intent was to keep you from harm.” Cameron spoke in earnest; he meant every word.

Tricia was grateful to Cameron, but she wasn’t some damsel in distress needing to be rescued – normally. “Just – okay. Don’t do it again!”

With a nod Cameron accepted her rebuke.

Max had arrived and Rho had shown him the situation, He puzzled over how he might go about lifting a sleeping polar bear, shaking his head to say it wouldn’t work. He tried to demonstrate how the bears size and shape couldn’t be lifted by a single person: the hind quarters being much heavier than her front, and her length was too much to hold onto. He signed that setting her down, then pulling her along would be a better way to move her.

Cameron saw what his concern was, and withdrew from his dimensional holdings a large sheet of plastic they could lay the mamma bear on and drag her away for the storage container.

The whole team aided in hoisting her up and bringing her outside. The Exemplars in the group doing most of the work. Then dragging her was undertaken. Cameron placed slick ice underneath the plastic, as Debbie and Tricia compacted the snow on the route being taken by stomping it down with their feet.

If a rock was in the way, it was moved, otherwise they didn’t alter the course taken to get over to the deep snowdrift. Max was the main engine moving the bear forward, assisted by Lynn, Charlotte, and Rachelle. Rho couldn’t grab the plastic as it would melt, but she moved rocks and warmed up cold hands and feet with her touch.

Tim was left to watch over the shipping container with the two sleeping bear cubs, a special type of babysitting job.

Returning after leaving momma bear fast asleep, the two cubs were similarly loaded onto the plastic sheet, it was a much lighter load the second trip. As they neared the site Max slipped on the slick ground, he hit the ground hard and moaned in pain.

Cameron kneeled beside the big guy and looked at him. He’d cracked his collarbone and sprained both arms, roughing up his knees in the fall he’d taken.

Lynn, Charlotte, and Rachelle kept the cubs moving, helped by Tricia, Deb, and Tim. Rho stayed as support with Cameron.

Cameron dove into Max’s skeleton and repaired Max’s collarbone. The sprains had twisted ligaments and some tearing of muscles, Cameron did what he could, but they would hurt and swell. Max’s knees had some deep cuts from the sharp rocks he’d fallen onto, Cameron could stitch the skin together and mesh muscle tissue, but there would be massive bruising.

Tim came to tell Cameron the cubs had been placed beside their mother, he was needed to place snow overtop them, providing a protective layer as they’d discussed earlier.

Tim and Rho stayed to keep Max company as Cameron left.

Tim looked sympathetically at his big friend, to say: “Guess the sayings true; ‘the bigger they are the harder they fall’.”

Rho giggled, but Max gave Tim a sour look.

After Cameron finished making a shelter for the bears, he also erased scents. No point giving the bears a way to track them, in case they weren’t happy.

Rho and Tim had managed to help Max onto his feet, the team made their way back to the shipping container. Max needed a helping hand to lumber along the path they’d created, He leaned heavily onto Rho and Lynn, switch out with Charlotte and Rachelle to not overtax anyone.

They had a quick lunch before going through the container’s contents, to inventory what they had, if anything critical had been taken.

It soon became apparent that somebody had come across the container sitting on the shore, opened it, and took what they wanted – or could carry away. For food, all they had left behind was three cases of canned baked beans, plus all the fuel was gone. On the bright side: a single snowmobile and pull behind sled had been left – the other, which was also supposed to be there, was missing.

More digging revealed that all the materials to replace the weather station hadn’t been touched, the pieces needed to repair the lighthouse also remained intact – opened but not disturbed.

Lynn and Rho decided to check over the snowmobile, cause they’d driven them before. Debbie took over checking on the repair parts, and began sorting through them, dividing them between tasks.

Cameron asked Charlotte if she could do an aerial survey, pointing her in the direction they’d need to trudge, there was very little light left in the day at only two in the afternoon, so she’d need to be quick.

Rachelle, Tim, and Cameron began to unpack the cold weather gear. The heated clothes Debbie had designed was working great, but it couldn’t face severe cold temperatures, another layer was required. The insulated coveralls and snowpack boots they’d bought had arrived just a day before they’d departed, a rush was placed on the order, an order that needed the sizes confirmed: twice. Max was hard to buy clothes for.

Max needed help to get his coveralls on, the medium blue material was more functional than stylish, and the reflective stripes gave them an industrial feel, but the company guaranteed they would keep you warm at minus forty Celsius – which is the same as minus forty Fahrenheit.
It was only minus fifteen now, but at night the temperature would drop considerably.

Tim took a run along the waters edge which had remained snow free to scout out the surroundings, it was only a ten-foot-wide strip of loose gravel, beyond that the snow was almost a foot thick covering the ground.

Lynn informed Cameron that the snowmobile was basically brand new but had no gas. There was only a single gas container left – and it was empty. Fortunately, Cameron had some of the combustible held in his dimensional stores, so filled the snowmobiles gas tank and the container.

It had gotten much darker, very quickly, and Charlotte hadn’t returned yet. Rachelle asked if Cameron could improvise a searchlight, to help her sister find her way back, they must have been communicating telepathically.

Cameron retrieved one of the high-powered flashlights he’d used to fight off the voodoo wolves, it provided a strong beam that acted as a beacon to bring Charlotte back to them.

They all donned the insulated coveralls now, the wind was cutting and making it hard for Debbie’s heaters to keep up. After the extra layer was added everyone felt warmer and the mood improved.

Cameron asked for a meeting, to get options on how to proceed: Lynn and Charlotte would take the snowmobile and set a track for everyone else to follow on foot, he opened the floor to see who would ride in the sled being pulled behind the snowmobile. It was between Tim, Tricia, and Debbie as to who got to ride; Tricia volunteered to walk.

They tried putting Max into the sled but he weighed so much the snowmobile couldn’t budge him. Everyone had stashed their backpacks into the shipping container after getting kitted up, when the C-cans door was closed Cameron had it disappear into a blue haze.

It had been explained to Tricia what Cameron was capable of, even so, seeing it for herself on a grand scale, she was dumbfounded but kept her questions to herself.

Charlotte boosted Rachelle so she could be a support to Max with Rho on the other side.

It was close to four o’clock by the time they started to march, it was so dark that each of the walkers used headlamps to illuminate the path left for them by the snowmobile.

Charlotte had described the lay of the land, roughly a mile and a half down the beach was a large rock mass that extended all the way from the ocean to nearly a mile inland. Confirmed by Tim’s scouting who added that it couldn’t be climbed over. They would need to travel around it.

The group only walked as fast as Max could manage, which was pretty good for the first while, but soon enough Max slowed down, and he relied more and more on the girl’s for support.

Tricia came to walk beside Cameron, saying: “We need to something else, Max is struggling, he’s wheezing, you can see the hurt on his face.”

Cameron halted to look intently at his big friend, Max was in distress but wouldn’t complain. Cameron had worried that Max would need an intervention, a way to retain his dignity and contribute to the team’s success.

“What do you suggest?” sought Cameron, to engage the newest member of Northern Lites into becoming part of the team.

“I don’t know” shrugged Tricia, to add: “You’re the team leader.”

“It’s ever so easy to complain, the hard part is to solve problems” counselled Cameron. “Do try, when you see something wrong, to also provide a solution. It’s said: ‘the squeaky wheel gets the grease’ so try being the person with the grease.”

“Why don’t you make him disappear, like you did the C-can? You’ll bring that back later? Right?” wondered Tricia.

“The C-can is inanimate, no harm will come to it. If I dematerialize a living person it could kill them, it’s too big a risk.”

“Hmm, I didn’t know” mused Tricia. “How about putting him on a slide, like the polar bears?”

“And how do we convince Max that he isn’t a burden? It would take all of us to pull him. How would you feel in his place?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d feel pretty useless” admitted Tricia. “We need a way to convince him, to have him rest.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Thanks Tricia.” Cameron’s comment left her puzzled: what idea?

Cameron made a show of being tired and asked if they could take a break. Max breathed heavily as he sat down with a grunt of relief, traversing snow in the cold saps strength. Rho and Rachelle came to speak with Cameron privately – they had become concerned; they’d done all they could to help Max along, but it wasn’t working.

Cameron said Tricia had said the same thing and had come up with an idea.

Cameron came to sit beside Max, he spoke so the whole group could hear. “Max, how you doing?”

Max gave a thumbs down sign.

“I was afraid of that. How do you want us to proceed?”

Max pointed to himself to then indicate he stay here, while the rest go head. He would catch up later.

“We can’t do that. We won’t leave you behind, we’re a team. No, we need you for the heavy lifting my friend, and you won’t be in any condition to do that - if you can’t rest and heal-up first.”

Max hung his head, he was thinking. He looked up and through gestures said he should be slid along.

“Good idea Max” agreed Cameron. “How about I make a toboggan for you to sit on?”

Max nodded his acceptance, it was a bad situation, but foremost, he wanted the mission to succeed, for his friends to pass the survival course.

Cameron constructed an extra wide sled with six struts underneath, on each strut he affixed ski’s, each with an extremely slick surface. The sled had to be hefty enough to carry Max’s weight, but light enough to minimize the effort to pull it.

Cameron attached long ropes with harnesses, each harness would allow a person to pull as part of combined effort, sharing the load. He fashioned it after a dog teams tethers – but wouldn’t make mention of that fact.

The snowmobile returned with Lynn driving; they said the rock ahead was maybe another hour away. But warned they had seen all kinds of polar bear tracks in the snow, bigger than Momma and her cubs.

The day was getting late, they could set up camp here, but it would attract unwanted attention from very large carnivores. Cameron asked about the rock shelf. Tim had described it as at least a hundred feet high at the ocean, Lynn, Rho and Debbie claimed it was maybe twenty to thirty feet high before it disappeared into the mountain side.

“I recommend we get to the rock wall before we make camp.” Cameron’s suggestion was agreed upon.

A rope was attached to the snowmobile, it may not be able to pull Max alone, but with everyone lending a hand to move Max, it would lesson the load on the whole team.

Max helped by pushing the sled before hopping on, it was difficult until the snowmobile could join in pulling, they made good progress now. Max nodded off soon after sitting down; the strain was proving too much for him, his heart, lungs, and body was on the verge of exhaustion.

The rock was huge, it stretched as far as the flashlight beams would go. It wasn’t a shear cliff, but with the snow and ice, climbing it would be dangerous. The group came to a halt at what looked to be the rocks low spot, still, it stood twenty to thirty feet above them.

Cameron checked his battery; it was in the mid eighties – no risk of him going empty. He calculated what would be needed to dissipate a tunnel the entire hundred and thirty feet through the rock. An idea came to him, why not make camp in the tunnel, it would be safer to have solid walls – and warmer than a tent.

Cameron asked his teammates to stay clear as he began to bore into the rock wall, he kept the opening small until well inside before making a cavern. The cavern was a large dome shape, enough room for everyone to lay out sleeping bags and get some sleep.

He constructed a heater out of sheet metal with a cooking surface, using his energy balls to power it, and strung lanterns to illuminate the space.

Cameron stepped inside, so he could finish the cave all the way to the other side, he fashioned doors at both ends to keep the heat in and the bears out. Coming back to join the team outside, he manifested the C-can so everyone could collect their overnight gear.

After ushering everyone inside, Cameron disappeared the C-can, snowmobile, and toboggan so nothing was left outside.

Cameron brought out thick cuts of steak to cook for dinner, along with baked potatoes, garlic bread, and salad, enough to satisfy the biggest of appetites.

Before settling in for a night’s sleep, Cameron asked if everyone would join him outside.

Looking up there was an amazing display of the aurora borealis with multi-coloured bands dancing across the sky.

“I thought you’d like to see what we’re named after” mentioned Cameron as everyone stood with necks craned back and mouths held agog.

~o~O~o~

It was cold in the morning and a fresh layer of snow had fallen in the night, not that you could tell if it was day or night since the sun hadn’t made it’s presence known. Cameron returned the snowmobile from Warehouse, sending Rho and Tricia off to set trail – making sure Tricia learned how to drive it.

The remainder of Northern Lites broke down camp and geared up for a trudge to the lighthouse. By the time everyone was harnessed to pull Max’s sled, the snowmobile returned to help pull.

The distance to the lighthouse wasn’t too far away, they could get to work making repairs before noon. Max was feeling stronger but still decided that riding would leave him better equipped for the work ahead.

Arriving at the lighthouse site was uneventful, wearing the artic rated clothing made the cold temperatures bearable. The lighthouse had been installed on a rocky outcropping at the end of a sandspit, dividing two bays. The lighthouse tower had been constructed of four metal posts that supported a beacon twenty feet in the air. The ice from last winter had twisted and bent the tower to the extent of becoming useless.

The conditions encountered required much more durability than had been built, the movement of ice flows demonstrated a stronger structure was needed. Debbie estimated the forces at play and laid out a guide as to the size of base the new, stronger lighthouse would need.

Up on the shore, Cameron manifested the C-can, he’d been thinking how to use it as a shelter for protection against the elements – and wildlife. He modified the shipping containers size, making it higher so Max could stand-up inside, moving the back wall out to give more space. Adding windows and a door, the windows had metal bars to prevent a bear coming through, and the door was a heavy gauge metal.

He installed three three tier bunk beds to make best use of the space and provide a place for each of them to sleep. Cameron also inserted another energy ball heater. The container got insulated, and the structure was reinforced to prevent unwanted intrusion. It was an ugly orange colour, but safety first.

Cameron split the team: He, Lynn, and Debbie would take the snowmobile up to the weather station at over a thousand feet up on top of the mountain. While the others piled rocks to make a new lighthouse. Rho was left in charge of the lighthouse crew.

Lynn drove the snowmobile with Cameron holding onto her tight, Debbie rode in the plastic sled dragged behind. Cameron gave her a pile of blankets to help cushion the ride and provide extra covering.

The mountain the weather station was installed on had a depression on the ridge, Lynn headed towards the lowest spot since the mountain was too steep to go directly up. Lynn carefully chose a path across the mountain face, to then cut back to climb the rest of the way up. The mountain top was baren, only rock and snowdrifts dotted the windswept landscape.

The weather station had taken a beating from the elements, wind had knocked down the antennae, and the sensitive equipment’s housing had been utterly devastated – left in shambles. Making best use of the limited daylight, Debbie began inspecting the existing equipment to see what was salvageable.

Cameron dissipated the old antennae, setting a foundation deeper down into the rock, and boring down secure anchors, setting them into the solid rock to affix guywires that could hold the antennae upright in severe conditions. He was finished his task long before Debbie had started to curse the stupidity of whoever provided her equipment needing two different power sources.

Lynn had been keeping Cameron company – a protective eye on him. As a Were she had smelled the polar bears yesterday, and didn’t want to be confronted by one. Her Sabretooth Panther form might be able to deter a polar bears attack, but with them at over a thousand pounds, a polar bear would win a fight.

Cameron came to stand beside Lynn, asking: “Do we dare?” motioning to Debbie.

“Let’s give her a minute, it’s how she processes information: Frustration gives way to anger, then despair sets in, after that the first sparks of imagination seep through, till she gets all giddy with finding an amazing solution” counselled Lynn. “How about some tea?”

It was a great suggestion, the cold sapped moisture right out of your body, and taking a break sounded terrific. Cameron put a kettle on a small stove and waited for it to boil. Not long later, Cameron poured hot water into three mugs. Debbie came over and plopped down beside Cameron, she held out her hand – using a gimme motion to be handed a mug, she wasn’t ready to talk yet, but she was close.

They huddled together, sipping hot tea, looking out over the vast land and sea. It was barren and desolate, yet it held a magnificence that captured the heart.

Debbie started with: “I’ve got one-twenty-volt AC equipment, and six-volt DC equipment. I can knock down AC current to DC, but I don’t have a one-twenty power supply.”

It was a simple enough statement, to a Gadgeteer or Devisor perhaps. Lynn had only understood one if four words Debbie had said. Cameron however, asked “How many amps?”

Which set off the techno babble between the two, Lynn felt like a third wheel, so she volunteered to heat up some soup and make grilled cheese sandwiches. It was a good solution all around, because after lunch they had a plan.

Cameron mounted a wind turbine onto an arm off the main antennae’s mast, it was part of the original equipment that Debbie repurposed, plus it gave the power Debbie needed to energize the weather stations sensors and telemetry. It was good as new after Cameron gave it a complete rebuild.

Cameron and Lynn ran wires to and fro as Debbie connected it all together. As a further protection, Cameron set up a chain link enclosure around the station.

The day had grown late by the time they had finished; Debbie had double checked all the equipment and was satisfied it worked. But now came a tough choice: travel back now, or hope for better conditions tomorrow? A storm was brewing, the winds had gotten worse, and snow was falling in horizontal sheets.

They were here as participants in Survival training, so Cameron manifested a tent which they all helped set up inside the chain link fence compound, that tent was large enough so they could set up a second smaller tent inside, it acted as insulation against the bitter cold. A suggestion the schools survival manual had recommended.

Hunkering down inside the tents. Cameron asked his companions what they wanted to eat: Lynn chose BBQ back ribs, Debbie felt like lasagna, Cameron had Wor Won Ton soup. Bringing out plates of food from restaurants he’d frequented, they were as fresh as when he’d collected them – having been stored in the dimensional pocket without time.

Mid meal, Debbie, being ever curious, asked Lynn: “What’s your story?”

Lynn became wary “Sorry, someone’s saying I have a story?”

“We all do” admitted Debbie. “We’re different from normal folk. I just wondered how you came to be a cat shapeshifter – and a Precog? You gotta admit, it’s an odd combination.”

“You won’t tell another soul?” required Lynn.

“Cross my heart and hope to die” confided Debbie.

Lynn looked at Cameron in bewilderment, he added: “She promises.”

“To start with my father is a shapeshifter, my mom is a Were; specifically, a Were Panther.”

“Wait, a Were, as in Werewolf?” reeled Debbie.

“There are many types of Were, none are anything like the stories about Werewolves you’ve heard. We are an honourable people but have been forced to separate ourselves and hide our ability to shift. Although only I seem to be able to take multiple forms – all cats.” Soothed Lynn.

“How many, ‘forms’, do you have?” pondered Debbie, her mental gears clicking away.

“Four.”

“Does it hurt to shift?” asked, based upon the movies Debbie had seen.

“Does it hurt for you to come up with gadgets?” defended Lynn.

“Well, there might be some smoke pouring out of my ears, but no.”

“Then no, it doesn’t hurt.”

“How about precognition? Does that mean you’re a mutant Were?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. It might explain the multiple forms, but I come from a long line of Were Panthers with Precognition, it passes down to the females, but sometimes it skips a generation. My Mom is a precog, but my aunt isn’t.”

“How come there isn’t a rating for precognition?” Debbie never ran out of questions.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I asked Cameron about what he saw when looking at my mom and me, he said the glow around my head was much brighter than moms. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Cause, if you said anything more, you’d have to kill me?” joked Debbie.

“That’s the general idea” humoured Lynn, getting a gasp of shock from Debbie. “But no, Were by their very nature are secretive. I trust you to keep my – our secrets.”

“How did you two meet?” Debbie’s focus shifted to include Cameron.

“On a train traveling across Canada” answered Cameron.

“Kinda” revealed Lynn. “I’d been seeing glimpses of the future that included Cameron. I knew where and when he’d be and arranged a meeting.”

“That sounds like stalking to me” commented Debbie.

“I prefer saying hunting. It sounds less predatory” teased Lynn.

“What about you?” Debbie directed her attention to Cameron. “How do you feel about being - ‘hunted’?”

“You’re kidding, right? A pretty girl, interested in a guy like me? Yeah, any guy with a pulse will take being hunted any day of the week.” Scoffed Cameron.

“So, what’s your story? How come you can do what you do?” Debbie wanted to hear directly from him – not some inuendo laden gossip that was floating around Whateley.

“My family was killed in a car accident; I was left in a coma for over seven years. During that time, I was provided training on another plane of existence. When I awoke, I’d been gifted by God with enhanced vision, energy absorption, and matter manipulation.”

“You've met God?”

“No, only one of his agents” deferred Cameron. “I was recruited to be a spy, to expose villainous acts committed against mankind in opposition to God’s will.”

“Oh! That’s just dandy’ exclaimed Debbie at the brevity given. “Nothing like leaving a person hanging. How is the – Why is the - never mind, don’t let it be said I questioned God.”

“Mighty decent of you.” Assured Cameron with a smirk.

“Where did you live?” Debbie decided to take a different approach.

Cameron had achieved a point where he could talk about his family: “We lived in Victoria, BC. Our house was on my grandparent’s property just outside city limits. Dad was a structural engineer and built bridges and stuff, Mom was an artist but drove school bus to help with expenses. We had been on vacation when they got killed.”

“I’m so sorry.” Debbie vocalized the regret, both she and Lynn felt the pain laced in his words.

“I woke up in Prince George, and since I didn’t have family anywhere, I stayed there till coming East.” He didn’t go into minute details, it hurt to say as much as he did. But Cameron knew the process of healing started with baby steps.

“Your grandparents didn’t want you close?” Lynn asked a question she’d wondered about.

“My grandfather had already died. And while I was in the coma my grandma passed, she’d been living in a care facility and wouldn’t have been able to visit me.” A tear tracked down Cameron’s face which he wiped away, he could talk about it but it still hurt.

“That’s so sad” empathized Debbie, Lynn for her part took Cameron’s hand and held it in both of hers.

“It made me a prime candidate to work for God.” Informed the boy, his comment was said with a note of cheer.

“You had nothing else to lose?” Deduced Debbie.

“No, I had so much to live for, and the resolve to keep trying” countered Cameron, his decision wasn’t based on negatives, but the positive of doing God’s will.

“You make it sound as if anyone could have god’s favour.” Debbie had never been inclined to be religious, those who did were scoffed at as being weak minded and gullible.

“They can. All it takes is to allow God to lead you.” Cameron tried to explain what his motivation was.

“So, what is his will?” It was a perfectly understandable question that Debbie asked, one that people for centuries have begged the answer for.

“I can’t answer that” came Cameron’s response.

“You don’t know?” Debbie couldn’t grasp why he hadn’t delved into a drawn out sermon.

“I know. But each person must learn it for themselves, figure out the 5 W’s: who, what, where, when, why.” Cameron could see that Debbie hadn’t understood the implication, so continued: “It’s the way you live your life that defines who you are, we’re all free moral agents, God lets you choose what path to take. Which also means you’re accountable for what you do.” Cameron had only wanted to show the good, but the bad must also be represented to impart a truth.

“No pressure.” A hint of sarcasm meant Debbie had heard with her ears but not her heart.

“You asked.” Cameron could only speak of what he knew. Cameron shifted the spotlight back onto Debbie. “What about you, what’s your story?”

“I’m just your run-of-the-mill mutant, I manifested as a Gadgeteer,” minimized Debbie, her story didn’t interest her.

“There’s more to it than that.” Quietly inserted Lynn, trying to encourage the reserved girl to open up a little.

“You want details?” damn her thought Debbie but being a Precog she probably already knew. “Fine. I was at boarding school when I started to come down with what I thought was a cold: a fever and feeling crumby. I didn’t suffer burnout, neither did the symptoms last long: just one night. I understand from others experiences I got off easy.

After that, I started to exhibit talents with mechanical and electronic systems. My roommate became suspicious and ratted me out to the school when I began fixing derelict computers in our dorm room. I got expelled, then my parents sent me to Whateley on the first train leaving town.” Bitterness and hurt spilled off Debbie’s tongue.

“Look at the bright side, you met us.” Cameron tried to sooth her sore mind.

Debbie took a moment to look at the two of them, seeing nothing but concern – no judgement, just friendship. It was unexpected but not unwanted. “Don’t get me wrong, but coming to Whateley exposed a dark underside of my family. Turns out my dad worked for the mob, laundering money. When the mob found out I was a mutant they handed dad a gun which he was forced to give to me – one that had been jimmied to explode, to kill me.

My dad’s become an informant; my parents are in witness protection now. A far cry from the estate we used to live on.” Debbie hadn’t told anyone about the upheaval in her family. “But not to worry, my tuition is paid for this year, next year will be a different story. So, there you have it: I’m just another poor little rich girl.”

“Debbie, I …” Cameron stammered at the revelation.

“Just leave it alone. I’m tired. I’m gonna go to sleep.” Debbie closed the conversation, not wanting their pity. It hurt to know she’d just lost the first friends she’d ever had.

She unfurled her sleeping bag and climbed in, she turned away from Lynn and Cameron who just looked on in bewilderment – neither of them had known. Cameron ensured the small heater would last the night; taking the edge off the cold as it sought to encroach upon their temporary shelter.

Lynn shifted to her housecat form and lay upon Cameron, the wind howled up on the mountain top shaking the outer tent as it creaked and groaned through the night. Lynn heard a new sound: suppressed crying. Lynn rose to pad over to Debbie, then climbed into her sleeping bag, laying so her fur rested against the girls back. Debbie gulped back a sob to then whisper: ‘thank you.’

~o~O~o~

Morning was as black as the night had been, the sun wouldn’t rise for several hours yet, but a dim glow on the South-Eastern horizon said a new day was upon them. A hearty breakfast of sweetened oatmeal with nuts and fruit mixed in was eaten before camp was broken, and the trip to rejoin the rest of Northern Lites was made.

Cameron directed that Debbie ride with Lynn on the snowmobile, he’d take the pull behind sled for the return trip. Going downhill is always quicker, and they’d arrived before the sun had cracked the sky.

The area around the modified C-can was now devoid of the rocks that had littered the ground, they’d been taken to build up the lighthouse, it had been a monumental task. Out on the lighthouse outcropping stood a huge pile of rocks.

Before entering the metal clad shelter, the claw marks running down the exterior walls could not be ignored.

Lynn brought the matter up: “You had company?”

Rachelle came to hug them, “A polar bear, last night. Big fella, must have smelled our food and came knocking.”

“Everyone safe?” Cameron

“Yeah, but he made a racket for several hours, nobody got much sleep.” Responded Rho as she exited the shelter.

Max was still in bed, a gentle snore coming from him. Tim was laying in bed reading while the girls had been playing a card game at the table. Cameron brought out the ingredients to make pancakes and started preparing a meal.

Lynn and Debbie walked with Rachelle and Rho out to the lighthouse, to make room and stretch out sore muscles. Cameron assembled a feast of pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. The smell woke Max and he took a seat at the table in anticipation, joined by Tim and Charlotte.

“How did the weather station go?” asked Charlotte, as she stirred her hot chocolate after pouring hot water into hers the boy’s cups.

“Very windy up on the mountain top, had to secure everything deep down in the ground so it would stay standing. The parts didn’t mesh so Werx had to cobble stuff together. Other than that, it went okay. How about for you guys?”

“I don’t want to look at another rock for – forever” admitted Tim.

Max nodded his head in full agreement, holding up his hands showing the blisters on top of his callused skin.

“Didn’t you bring gloves?” questioned Cameron.

Max nodded yes, to Charlotte adding: “He wore out two pair of gloves but kept working. He felt bad about not being able to walk here.”

“I’ll take a look after breakfast. You might as well start eating, the others aren’t far away.” Directed Cameron

It was a huge stack of pancakes put on the table which quickly got devoured, they disappeared as fast as Cameron could cook them. Something about hard work making for big appetites.

The sun had risen by the time Cameron wandered over to the Lighthouse site, it was a truly impressive mound of rocks. Unfortunately rocks alone wouldn’t stand up to the pressure of moving ice flows, so Cameron began the process of melding the rocks together into a single solid mass. Making a more defined cylindrical shape that tapered as it rose.

The new lighthouse stood at almost thirty feet, an improvement from the previous one. The team took pride in the accomplishment, asking if each of their names could be inscribed. Debbie for her part, had asked for some pieces and bits to construct a new light for the lighthouse, she’d taken over the table in the shelter to spread her latest creation out.

At lunchtime, Rachelle and Tim volunteered to make spaghetti.

Debbie attempted to explain her idea for a high intensity lamp for warning nearby shipping lanes. She put a series of Cameron’s flashlights in a row and sequenced them so it would look like a rotating light. Her question to Cameron was about powering it for long periods.

Cameron gave the problem consideration, with so little light a solar collector was pointless, but with the winds they’d encountered, a windmill would be the best energy source. But what about calm days? A battery would be required to power it for extended periods.

Cameron sat at the table and began assembling a windmill similar in design to the one’s at Lynn Franklin’s family ranch, just smaller to sit like a crown on top of the lighthouse. He also took some of the black energy absorbing material and fashioned a battery.

Cameron imparted a small amount of energy into the battery so Debbie could test her lights. It was a go. Back out at the lighthouse, Charlotte lifted Debbie up to install the lights aligning them to shine out over the water. It was up to Cameron to install the battery and wind turbine, as the windmill turned in the stiff breeze the battery was charging.

The mission had been completed, however as a bonus, the team smoothed out the area that had started out as a rock field, making it a suitable spot for a helicopter to land. Cameron even installed a weather sock on top of the nearby shelter.

With a steep slope covered in snow so close by, it was time to play. Cameron produced toboggans for everyone, and a mad rush was made to climb a distance up the hill to then slide down. Whoops of laughter ensued.

Lynn slid up beside Cameron, saying: “Companies coming,” to point at an inflatable boat heading towards them. The little craft bobbed and weaved around the forming ice chunks, carrying five men. A long distance away, parked out in the deep channel was a military patrol boat from which the men had come.

Rachelle stopped beside the two, alerting Cameron: “They’ve come to talk to you, they don’t have good intentions.”

“Figured as much” surmised Cameron of the situation. “I’m curious to see what they have to say for themselves.”

“How do you want to handle it?” wondered Rachelle.

“Can you two stay with me? It would be best if the others stayed clear.” Sought Cameron. Rachelle sent out a mental message to inform the team, and what the plan was.

By the time the men had landed with four coming ashore, Cameron, Lynn in housecat form, and Rachelle had entered the shelter and taken seats at the table. Cameron had brought out his laptop and some papers, setting them on the table.

The men entered the shelter with guns drawn, although one of them held a camcorder instead of a rifle.

“Nobody move!” called out the second to enter. “Hands on the table where we can see them.”

Cameron and Rachelle complied, Lynn in cat form ignored the demand, as would be expected of a house cat. “What can we do for you gentlemen? If, you are indeed, gentle.”

“Which one of you is Outlook?”

“That would be me” revealed Cameron. Raising just his hand off the table-top in a slight gesture – a blend between a wave and affirming being present in class.

The first sailor, on the far right stiffened at the boy’s movement and brought his gun to bear upon Cameron.

Cameron, with his visor firmly in place, looked at the man – no older than twenty years old, and nervous as all heck judging by his heart rate. Glancing at the rest of the men, they all displayed anxiety to varying degrees, interestingly the one with the camcorder was a minor Psychic: at a one – maybe one and half rating.

The speaker looked at the camera man; likely the newest man onboard considering how young he was, he held a bewildered expression. It became clear: he was expected to glean a reading off the room and report the threat level.

But a Psychic being presented with Rachelle; another Psychic but higher ranked, he couldn’t read her. The cat on the boys lap merely gave him a dismissive look. As for Cameron, there was nothing to even register that he was in the room aside from what his eyes told him.

“I would suggest you de-escalate the tension, none of us are armed” directly spoke Cameron to the man who had taken the lead. “Perhaps introductions are in order: As you’ve determined, I’m Outlook. Beside me is Perspicacious. And this beautiful lady is Aware” giving Lynn a long stroke down her fur.

Lynn leaned into the sign of affection and relished her betrothed’s comment.

The third man voiced his opinion: “That’s a dumb name for a cat.”

Lynn hissed at the man.

“I wouldn’t recommend insulting her, she has a temper when provoked.” Commented Cameron while giving Lynn a scratch between the ears.

He laughed before saying: “We’re the one’s holding guns.” Swinging his rifle so it pointed a Rachelle then Cameron.

“That you are” concurred Cameron. “If it’s your intention to shoot us in cold blood. Perhaps making a recording of the deed isn’t advisable, unless you require proof for your superiors.”

“You’re a mutant, your always armed.” Spoke the second sailor, the groups leader.

Cameron read his papers: Lieutenant Brian McWaters, but since no introductions were given, then he wouldn’t antagonize them by using names. But the situation wasn’t improving, rather the men’s anxiety has risen as manifested by their readiness to shoot.

Cameron couldn’t allow his friends to be jeopardized, so took measures to prevent an accident. To keep them distracted – and talking, he said: “Please get better intelligence. I, am not a mutant.”

“Fine: your empowered, same difference.” Debunked McWaters.

Apparently, they had accumulated some information regarding Cameron now, but intelligence is only as good as the person using it. “Did you never learn that you attract more bees with honey than vinegar?”

“I don’t care about bees.”

“It’s a metaphor, it means that if your nice, there’s a greater likelihood people will cooperate.”

“Not my concern.”

“Good to know” replied Cameron. “So, that must mean you’re from the school that believes in carrying a big stick and beating people into submission. The mentality of a bully; I don’t like bullies, sadly the military seems to attract them like flies – or is it that you’ve been trained to become one?”

“What you like, or dislike is of no consequence. You’re under arrest, we’re here to take you prisoner.”

“And the guns are the stick you intend to bully me with. A sad, sad situation” bemoaned Cameron. “Rachelle, can you tell who sent these men?”

“Their Captain gave them an order; he didn’t reveal where the order came from.” Rachelle’s reply shook the Psychic – he’d thought his role was to collect information, not disseminate it.

“Too bad. These guys are just doing what their told, not knowing why, or even how to get the job done. It’s a shame really.”

“Enough games! Come with us now!” there was no need to yell, the room was small enough that sound carried fine inside, but it made the lieutenant feel in control.

“No.”

“Are you stupid! On your feet soldier!”

“No, and no.”

“What?”

“No, I’m not stupid. And no, I’m not going with you” stated Cameron. “Also, not to nit-pick, but I’m not a soldier, I'm a policeman."

“Take it up with a magistrate. Either by your own feet or dragged in chains, you’re coming with us.”

“Interesting you mentioned that. I have in my possession a letter requesting my attendance in court to answer outstanding questions. Wherein, I’ve been promised unhindered and unfettered freedom to conduct my affairs before and during those proceedings. Your actions today have shown a complete disregard for the promises made by the upper echelons of the Department of Defense.”

“Prove it.”

“Here’s the letter, read it for yourself."

The lieutenant snapped up the letter, giving it a read, to blanch and hand it back.

Placing a notepad and pen on the table in front of McWaters, Cameron requested: “I require all your names, the name of your Captain, and the name of your ship. I’ll be providing that to the military as further proof of misconduct. So your aware, I have my own recording of our exchange. I expect disciplinary action will be forthcoming.”

That was too much for the man, he aimed his gun at Cameron and pulled the trigger, it made repeated clicking sounds but that was all. The other two gun bearers followed suit, each obtaining the same result. McWaters went to the extent of inserting a new magazine into his gun and trying again, it didn’t help.

“I see you had orders to bring me in dead or alive. I suppose I should arrest you for the attempted murder of me and my friends, another day perhaps” contemplated Cameron, to then address the four. “I do believe you have worn out your welcome, please leave – quickly, before I change my mind.”

The sailors filed out in haste and ran double time back to their waiting craft.

All the team members of Northern Lites now came into the shelter, seeing how the uninvited guests had left.

Debbie was shivering and stood by the heater, Rho put her hands on the girls’ shoulders to aid in warming her up.

Cameron addressed the room: “We’ve finished what we set out to do – and more. We’re not expected to be back at Whateley until tomorrow. By a show of hands, who wants to go back now?”

It took a second for his friends to share looks to gauge how everyone felt. Debbie’s hand shot was up immediately, she’d had enough of the frozen north. Tricia joined the vote followed by Max, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. Soon the whole room joined the vote to leave.

“All right. Let’s pack up our stuff and head home” voiced Cameron.

At that, Debbie dug out the satellite safety device to signal Whateley they wanted to return. It was an odd thought; how Whateley had become home, or a second home, to this misfit group. Cameron smiled thinking about the success they’d achieved and become a closer-knit team. He slung his pack over his shoulder in anticipation of a hot meal and warm bed, Cameron’s smile was shared on the faces of each of his friends.

To be continued.

It Matters to Me, part 2

Author:

Camospam

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Superheroes

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Universes & Series:

Whateley Academy by Maggie Finson, et al

TG Themes:

Female to Male

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

It Matters to Me, part 2

By: Camospam

A Whateley Universe Adventure featuring Outlook and friends.

Hyperbowl, Whateley Academy

The Survival course evaluation from their Baffin Island excursion had been a mix of harsh criticisms and complements for unique solutions to formidable situations, resulting eventually in a favourable outcome: Northern Lites as a whole was excited to have passed the semester. However, a cabal of instructors was going to review the video provided to assess if individual marks matched the team effort to determine if combat finals would be needed.

As it was, yesterday after arriving back at Whateley, and enjoying a hearty meal in Crystal Hall, everyone decided that a nice long hot soak was warranted down in the team’s spa, they’d cranked up the hot tubs to get the cold out of their bones.

Today, classes had been grueling, as teachers pushed each member of Northern Lites to make up for lost time while off playing games. So, now, most of Northern Lites sat at the tables in the cafeteria area at Hyperbowl doing homework, misery loves company as the saying goes.

Cameron was puzzling over his long-standing assignment from Chemistry, he was to combine differing elements to see what resulted: the translucent Aluminum he’d concocted previously was novel, but that been theorized for ages, he’d upgraded his dorm rooms windows a while ago with the material.

Lynn had been struggling with calculus and sat with her arms folded, huffing about when would she every use this in real life. Rho had calmed her down and was helping Lynn work through the problem that had stymied the Were.

Rachelle had been tutoring Charlotte at another table, but came over and sat beside Cameron, she gave a cursory look at Cameron’s project, raising her eyebrows when the chunk of material in front of Cameron burst into flames.

“Is it supposed to do that?” she asked.

“Maybe?” It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but new things always came with surprises. Cameron was having fun, but he let the compound burn out rather than extinguish it to see what it did. “Something on your mind?”

“I wanted to talk to you about those four guys that visited us up on Baffin Island.”

The topic caused Lynn to curtail her math exercises to join them, as she sat at the table she added: “There’s something going on we need to address.”

Cameron looked at them both with a growing degree of curiosity, to then agree: “All right, good idea. I’ve been wondering about them myself. It was too odd to be circumstantial.”

“Exactly. They had orders to arrest you, but when you showed that letter, it took the wind out of their sails. But deciding to shoot at you – at us, it was unwarranted,” summarized Rachelle.

Cameron nodded in agreement: “A touch extreme to be sure. It was their body language that worried me; aggressive, and assertive, a bad combination.”

“The guy with the camcorder; Johnathan, he had no premonition that that was going to happen. He knew the others had a burning hated for mutants, he’d already asked for a transfer – twice, but he hadn’t considered they would resort to trying to kill us.” Revealed Rachelle, she’d sensed much psychically during the exchange.

Cameron voiced a concern: “Had you determined if they would’ve gone after all of us, had their guns worked?”

Rachelle didn’t skip a beat. “Definitely, and Johnathan as well. He would’ve been blamed for the whole thing. As it was, they wouldn’t trust Johnathan with a gun in the first place – they didn’t want mutants to be armed.”

“So those three? Are they Humanity First?” Lynn’s question stunned her companions, it was a worthwhile question but considering who asked it – it seemed inappropriate coming from the Precog.
“What?” Lynn balked, “I can tell you the when and how, not the why.”

“Fair enough” assured Cameron, turning to Rachelle in case she had more information to impart.

“No, they just hate mutants,” explained Rach. “They feel inadequate, believing that mutants are taking over. Disgruntled that the military is putting too-much emphasis on mutants, leaving normals behind as lowly grunts instead of being the elite.”

Perspicacious continued: “Mutations have skewed the potential. The high school football star is just an average joe in comparison to an Exemplar now. Of course there is going to be animosity. But that is no excuse to resort to murder.”

Lynn added her two-cents worth: “History is rife with examples of bigotry, hate anybody different than you, anyone who looks, sounds, or lives outside your established circle is ostracized and targeted.” As a Were she knew too well the results of being an outcast.

“Again, it’s no excuse for murder,” ruminated Cameron, to then add: “It’s sad that hatred is a learned condition, man’s not born that way.” Looking across the table, Cameron asked Rachelle: “In your Psychic course, have you discussed what the precursors to violence are? Is there a way to stop hatred?”

“The root is all environmental” started Rach. “If a parent is hateful the child picks it up as quickly as language and the cycle continues. It’s a disease that easily infects. A person only stops hate with conscientious effort to break the chain.”

“No magic pill that suppresses the urge?” Lynn said it in jest, but it carried a poignance.

Rachelle shook her head as she spoke: “Oh sure, but the person becomes a vegetable, and you’d have to gas the whole planet because everyone hates everybody else – nobody has a monopoly on hatred, at least it seems that way. Some day’s it sucks to hear other people’s thoughts.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask you to read someone disposed to violence.” Confessed Cameron, seeing how it effected his friend.

“I appreciate that, but I’m trying to protect my family, and friends. To do that, I need to know who means them harm, and those three had evil intentions. I’m glad you stymied them.” Revealed Rachelle.

“It should never have come to that.” Claimed Cameron.

“Not so.” Interrupted Lynn. “If not those three, then somebody else. We’re at the cusp of a new arms race; nations are beginning to gather empowered individuals. The face of war is changing, and they want us to be the weapons of mass destruction.”

“Is that why the military is hellbent on conscripting me?” mused Cameron.

“Afraid so” cautioned Lynn. “Not just you, Parliament is debating conscripting all who mutate in Canada.”

“After the MCO decimated mutant numbers, Canada has few mutants remaining to fill the ranks,” reasoned Cameron. “A perfect example of the blind leading the blind.”

“You should talk.” Teased Lynn, bumping Cameron's shoulder.

“It’s a truth, one bad decision leads into another. It’ll mean governments need to segregate mutants from the general population. The MCO wins and Humanity First gets to sow discontent,” mused Cameron. “Why did I even bother,” he muttered reflecting on his past battles.

“Because you believed in humankind, you offered hope to people – people like me, my brother and sister. We had few options – no choices really, until you opened a door and let some light shine in,” encouraged Rachelle.

“Exactly,” supported Lynn. “You shouldn’t expect those who you’ve given a black eye to will just roll up and wilt away. Their going to rise up, again and again, until the will to fight has been entirely extinguished or no life is left in them. Should that happen through reason; as you’ve tried to do, or by might, you need to be prepared for either eventuality.”

Cameron sat in silence as Lynn’s words rattled around in his brain, this wasn’t idle talk -it was premonition, he finally spoke: “I’m not authorized to kill, that’s a judgement reserved by God. I can, however, try to appeal to reason, and hope an intervention like what happened with the Brotherhood of the Shard isn’t necessary.”

The Tunnels

Cameron entered the small space he’d rented to function as an office, and the second secret entrance to Northern Lites clubhouse in the tunnels underneath Whateley. The outer door had been tampered with, so it came as no surprise to find his office had been robbed.

Not that anything important had been taken, just that most everything had been tossed in a search for something worth stealing. Notably the safe on the far wall had it’s covering picture cast aside, and the safes surface marred from attempts to force it open.

Lynn stood back and surveyed the room, that it wasn’t neat and orderly said things weren’t right, Cameron never left a mess – intentionally.

Cameron did a walk around, the damage done to the office was minimal, overturned furniture and hanging pictures left off kilter. The false safe having drawn all the attention, a pry bar had been used on it, leaving gouges in the metal surface. To his thinking, it just didn’t warrant reporting the intrusion, besides no fingerprints had been left.

Cameron and Lynn righted the furniture and straightened the pictures before his appointment showed up: Razorback. The kid had mutated into what looked like a raptor – a fierce looking dinosaur.

Cameron mentioned to Lynn that he’d ask Werx to install a security system later for the office, as a greater deterrent to prevent the entrance to Hyperbowl being discovered.

Razorback knocked before entering, the large reptilian had to duck to squeeze through the door but gave a friendly wave once inside. Behind him came Jericho, not too great a surprise, the two were inseparable: like peanut butter and jam.

Cameron motioned for Razorback to have a seat in the examination chair in the main rooms center. The dinosaur straddled the chair to hold out his hand, showing four teeth resting in his palm.

“Tried biting more than you could chew again I see,” commented Cameron.

Razorback made some whimpering sounds and gestured at the enormous size of whatever he’d bit onto.

Jericho provided colour commentary: “The goof tried to rip into a titanium hardshell construct during a sim.”

Razorback huffed, then snorted, it was at either being called a goof – or saying he’d tried, when in fact, he’d completely obliterated that sim construct into no less than four pieces.

“I’m sure,” concurred Cameron. “Let me take a look” was directed, resulting in Razorback tipping back his head and opening his mouth to display a mouthful of sharp teeth – minus a couple.

“Hold still” requested Cameron, the missing teeth dissipated from being held in Razorbacks hand to reform in a blue swirl inside Razorback’s mouth. “You cracked three others,” informed Cameron as the blue swirl expanded. “Shall I give you a full cleaning to remove any plaque and polish them up as well?”

Razorback considered the question, to then nod agreement, opening his mouth even wider.

It took less than five minutes all told, and Cameron gave Razorback a handheld mirror to inspect the work done, he admired his gleaming pearly white teeth, without any gaps, chirping a sound of happiness.

“You’re welcome,” affirmed Cameron.

Razorback squeaked a couple sounds and used his hands to question what the bill came to.

“No charge, just remember to refrain from chewing on things that might not taste good – like me for example,” said Cameron, giving the dinosaur a pat on his shoulder.

Razorback barked a laugh, and hopped off the chair, for Jericho to slid on in discomfort.

“Teeth?” asked Cameron.

“My back,” informed Jericho. “I twisted it, I can barely bend.”

“Oh, I see. You’ve got a couple displaced vertebrae. I can pop them into place, but the surrounding muscles are inflamed. Take a long hot soak, then take it easy for a couple days but do some gentle stretches to keep in limber.”

“Thanks,” said Jerico when Cameron motioned for him to get up.

Before the two could leave Cameron asked: “The offer still stands, if The Outcasts would be willing to do a joint emergency training session with Northern Lites?”

Razorback nodded his assent, but Jericho interceded to say he’d ask his teammates if they would be willing. Both teams were on the Search and Rescue track and avoided combat training, so I was a possibility.

After the two Outcasts left, Cameron closed his office door out into the tunnel, to then open the secret door into Hyperbowl through which Lynn and he exited.

Today was a holiday – in the States anyway: Thanksgiving, so no classes. The majority of Whateley’s students had gone home to gorge on turkey with family over an extended weekend without school. Those left behind either couldn’t make the trip home, didn’t have a home to go to, or didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving: like the Canadians, not in November anyways.

Northen Lites had planned a bowling tournament, but with Rhododendron going home to spend time with her family – taking Tricia with her, and Max busy writing letters, they fell short on enough players.

Still they could make a couple teams and have some fun.

Rachelle and Charlotte were already at Hyperbowl, they’d been making some snacks in the café. Butterscotch Gems were a simple treat but a classic, and as they cooked in the oven the sweet and salty smell was enticing.

Tim and Debbie were working in her workshop, Werx had come up with some new additions for Tim’s uniform, some braces to give him more support and a means to prevent tripwires from severing a leg or arm when at speed.

Cameron went behind the drinks counter and began mixing up some orange whips. Tim arrived to show off his new suit replete with new black knee, ankle, elbow and wrist reinforcements, and a pair of gloves that looked similar to hockey gloves. All intended to prevent injury when Swift ran at top speed.

Tim let them know Werx would be a while yet, she had some tinkering to finish. They had just sat down and begun munched on the still warm treats and began sorting out who would be on which bowling team when Cameron’s Special Investigations satellite phone rang.

Cameron answered it: “Outlook here.” The thing hardly ever rang when he was at school, so he was curious as to what it meant.

“Cameron, oh thank heavens.” It was Ken Tallman, Bossman had assigned him as SI’s second in command, help was needed to run things after oversight of the MCO had been added to the boss’ plate. “We have an active shooter situation at a high school in Moncton, New Brunswick.”

“Why is SI getting the call?”

“A woman, dressed all in white, floated into the school. Smith confirmed the report off the school’s security camera’s.”

“Was she alone?”

“No, two others, dressed in trench coats followed her in, they appear to have multiple firearms and body armour.”

“Any word on powers? Ratings?”

“Nothing yet, Smith will keep looking.”

“How soon can Leap get here?”

“He’s waiting for a ‘Go’, if you’re able to help.”

“Give us two minutes and come to my location.” Advised Cameron, he hadn’t asked but the concern written on his friends faces said all he needed to know. “Suit up, if you’re coming with.” Was all that Cameron had to say in way of an invitation.

The teleporting jump from New Hampshire to Moncton was quick. Leap brought them out a short distance across the parking lot away from the school’s main entrance. They arrived in the midst of two RCMP cruisers, that Leap was in RCMP uniform lessoned the shock of the sudden appearance.

Camerons asked Smith over Com: “Any updates?”

“It’s bizarre, everybody is just sitting there, nobody’s running around – it’s like they’re in a trance.” Replied Smith.

“A Mage’s trance, or a Psychic’s block,” mused Cameron. “Perspicacious, everyone inside is motionless. Can you sense why?”

“She’s a powerful telepath, the people are mesmerized into a mental state that keeps them stationary, like their watching TV and can’t shift their attention.”

“How far does the effect go?”

“The whole school is under her control.”

“Dandy. So, to even get close we need to block her.”

“I think I can protect my brother and sister, we have a strong bond. I doubt I can extend any sort of interference beyond them I’m afraid. Not with any certainty.”

“Okay, good to know,” asserted Cameron. “I can see that the woman is floating up in the central staircase, I’d guess the height lets her cast a wider net, and I’m supposing telekinesis is what lets her fly. One gunman is positioned at the main floor’s corridors intersection, the other gunman is in the gymnasium. Both have high powered rifles and at least two handguns each.”

“How do you want to handle this Outlook?” sought Ken over Com.

“Can you protect your brother and sister, if they are apart?”

“I think so, why?”

“I need them on different fronts. But first; Lynn, lets try walking up close to the school, see if the telepathy affects us."

Rachelle walked with the couple, as they approached the schools exterior Cameron started to waiver and couldn’t focus, his mental shields didn’t withstand telepathy the same with psychic attacks – a different side of the spectrum. Rachelle also complained of a headache. The proverbial line in the sand had been determined.

Lynn, for her part, suffered no ill effects, her mind too busy to be affected. She helped the others to get distanced and regain clear thoughts.

“Our problem is three-fold” explained Cameron as they formed a huddle around him. “The telepath needs to be neutralized, then the gunmen get taken out, we’ll have a very short window before people start panicking. Excelle; since she’s flying and out of everyone else’s reach – that’s your assignment. Swift, you’ve got the gunman in the gym. Aware, you have the gunman in the corridor, it won’t be easy to take her by surprise.

“Her?” questioned Lynn.

“They’re all female,” claimed Cameron, yet another anomaly they faced for a tense situation. “Any communication from them? Do we know what they want?”

“No,” responded Ken. “there’s no rhyme or reason for this standoff.”

“I’ll find an opening to get Aware inside. Then take Swift down to the Gym to open a door. Perspicacious, on your signal, everybody moves.”

From a safe distance Outlook dissipated a window into a classroom on the main floor, before leaving Lynn grabbed Cameron forcefully and kissed him.

“Should I be worried?” asked a surprised yet concerned Cameron.

“No. But I wanted to say I appreciate your faith in me, trusting me, letting me face danger on my own.” Confided Lynn.

“It’s not easy for me to ask this of you, but you are more than capable, and I do trust you - just, be safe.” Cameron’s nerves showed in the waiver of his voice as he spoke the words.

Lynn gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. In housecat form Aware slipped into the building, the classroom was filled with students, but nobody moved, they just started off into space without noticing her.

On the backside of the school, Swift and Outlook found an emergency exit for the gym, staying back a safe distance they waited for the signal.

Charlotte rose into the air behind the trees that lines the school’s perimeter. She faced the school’s main entrance with the central staircase just to the side. She could see the outline of the woman through the windows on the third floor.

Perspicacious gave the commend, and Excelle straightened out as streamlined as possible to build up as much speed as she could. She smashed through the windows creating a huge noise in the otherwise quiet school. Charlotte grabbed the floating telekinetic / telepath but the scruff of her white suits collar and waist belt, driving her forward.

The woman didn’t even have time to utter a scream before her body was pushed forcefully through a cinderblock wall – face first, then another, and finally out the exterior wall on the buildings far side.

Excelle dropped the unconscious woman at the policeman’s feet.

On the signal, Outlook disappeared the locked and chained emergency door, leaving a wide-open doorway for Swift. Fully charged, Tim ran into the gymnasium, he quickly disarmed the gunman – gungirl, whichever. The semi-automatic rifle was torn out of her grasp, breaking a couple fingers in the process, to also be relieved of her pistols, without a single shot being fired.

As armour clad girl stood in complete disbelief, Swift wrapped her up tight in a thick tug-o-war rope he’d found in a storage bin. The girl was entirely engulfed by the rope wrapped around her like a python capturing its prey, when she tried to move, she became unbalanced and fell over, she even bounced slightly when hitting the gyms wood floor.

Lynn had stayed in her housecat form, creeping silently to the rooms entrance that faced out into the corridor. A quick peek around the door detailed the situation; she was forty feet away from the gunman standing at the corridor’s intersection.

Two corridors met at the corner of an L, where the gunman alternated looking down each corridor, her position provided a clear line of sight down both lengths of hallway. Lockers lined the hallway giving little cover, and bright lights illuminated the distance Lynn needed to cover. Stealth wasn’t going to be much use under these conditions.

A frontal attack was the best option.

Shifting to human, Lynn waited for the signal. When the mental alert from Perspicacious was given, Lynn stepped into the corridor, exposing herself, walking with a measured pace toward the gunman.
In response the startled gunman began firing her rifle, single shots began to assail the Were.

With seemingly minor effort, simple twists and turns of her body prevented any bullet from hitting its intended target, Aware evaded each shot with graceful precision, her fluid movements happening mere seconds before a bullet could make contact.

The closer Aware got, the more exaggerated her movements became, she started to flex in ways impossible for a mere human, but for the feline Were getting special training in Were fighting techniques, possible needed new definitions.

Lynn bent, jumped, rolled, and spun at speeds the eye couldn’t follow, aided by her precognition which kept her a step ahead of the gunman’s aim.

Aware closed the distance separating them, the hallway was riddled with bullet holes, but none had landed even close to her. Lynn came up from sliding the last couple feet on the polished floor, to land a single punch on the gun wielding girl’s jaw. There was a loud crack, and the girl slumped unconscious into Aware’s arms.

The school’s three assailants had been brought outside to be handed over to the local police, the resolution to the crisis had happened so fast media hadn’t arrived on the scene yet.

Cameron walked the school’s halls, fixing broken windows, repairing damaged walls, and filling bullet holes. If the security cameras hadn’t caught the action, you wouldn’t know anything had happened. Students started milling about in a state of confusion, but fortunately no-one was hurt – from the school that is.

Outside, the local RCMP had called in medical services, and arrested the perpetrators, but the white clad woman remained immobile, strapped down on an ambulance’s gurney. Cameron returned from the school, removing his glasses as the restrained woman stirred.

“Who are you? Why did you attack a school?” asked Outlook.

The woman looked around her with unfocused eyes, when Outlook snapped his fingers, it drew her attention onto him, and she saw the golden eyes.

“I am Apollonia, goddess of festivals and beauty.”

In a hushed voice, Excelle whispered: “With that face, she’ll be called Alpo now.”

Cameron bit his tongue; the woman’s face was messed up, being used as a battering ram - although effective, might have been a touch excessive. Excelle would need some more training. Still, the question as to why the attack remained unanswered.

“Why did you attack a school?”

“Canadians are a bunch of idiots and act all superior about it. They don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving – the ungrateful louts.”

“Canada does celebrate Thanksgiving; it’s a time of gratitude for a bountiful harvest. It just happens to occur in October – not November, since our fall comes earlier in the year.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Apollinia, settling back into the stretchers pillow as she got loaded into the ambulance.

Cameron shook his head in disbelief, there’s no accounting for crazy.

“Come on, let’s head back to Whateley,” suggested Cameron. “I believe turkey is on the menu for dinner tonight.”

99 Arena, Whateley Academy

Tricia walked down the ramp to the underground entrance of 99 arena, her already gloomy attitude wasn’t dispelled by the cave like appearance, the set of double doors she approached looking like the gates to hell, or at least what an artists rendering of what hell would be like, for that matter – Whateley’s gated entrance fit the bill too.

She walked the hallway, passing closed doors along the way, to be met by Cameron leaning against on opened door frame, his smile was warm – even friendly, he showed no trepidation of what was to become of them.

“Morning Passport” he called out to Tricia.

‘Ugh’ codenames, what a bother. But privacy comes at a cost. Tricia was never sure when personal names and codenames were to be used, at least Cameron had given her a heads-up with his greeting.

“Hi Outlook,” she replied, her dourness evident in her speech.

“Cheer up, I found out which obstacle course we’ve been given.”

“Oh, joy.” Her voice had a ring of sarcasm laced with defeatism.

“Honestly, this is gonna be fun.” Spouted Cameron, Tricia didn’t know if he was being serious or just trying to improve her mood. “Really. It’s called ‘Locked Room’, I’ve heard about these, people pay good money to have an adventure like this.”

“Uh huh.” Doubt seeped through her comment, said tongue in cheek.

“It’s pretty easy, you go into a room, find a clue to open the door to go to the next room.”

“Right, and Whateley is going to make it that simple?” Tricia knew Cameron meant well, but sometimes a clouds silver lining is the shine off a well sharpened blade.

“It wouldn’t be much of an obstacle course if you didn’t have to work for it. Don’t fret, we’ve got this.”

“Not according to the odds we’ve been given. What were you thinking: five against two?”

“Winning or losing isn’t as important as you imagine, what other people think means nothing. Doing the best you can so you can feel good about what you’ve accomplished – that’s what’s important.”

“Can we just get this over with?” was Tricia’s reply, she was tense, and scared, and ready to scream bloody murder or cry her eyes out – whichever came first. Life wasn’t fair.

“We just need to be briefed, then we’re ready to go.” Confided Cameron, he directed her to a chair and closed the door behind them, then sat beside her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“What if we lose? I don’t have any money to build a church.”

“Don’t worry about it. Focus on the who and why, this is where we need to be, and the when is now. What comes - will be dealt with later.”

“But …?”

“No buts, a butt is the remains of a cigarette that’s all burned up, I’m nowhere close to being finished,” Cameron exuded positivity, it was positively infuriating. However, he kept at it: “I don’t know where the expression comes from, but it sounds right: ‘Let’s kick this pig’, and some butts while we’re at it.”

As pep talks went, it wasn’t one for the ages, but it did bring a smile – a small, barely visible uplifting of the muscles around the mouth, so it helped.

The briefing was brief, it was as Cameron had explained, each room required answering questions – knowledge based; it’s a school after all. Passage to the next room would be physically taxing, hence the obstacle in obstacle course. In all, seven rooms would need to be completed for the run to finish. The team with the most points claimed victory.

Tricia and Cameron were told to stand by a door, a red light above the door said to wait, the door would open on green to start the race.

A green light and the door opened; Tricia allowed Cameron to go in first. The room they entered wasn’t large, just a couple steps to the opposite side where the next door awaited.

The whole arena was recessed down below ground level. Above them, Tricia could see what looked like stadium seating with people seated in clusters, all of them looking at her, entertained by her misery.

Then she heard Charlotte’s voice yelling: “Northern Lights shine!” it wasn’t that inspiring of a chant, but it reinforced Tricia’s resolve to at least try.

Above the door was the same red and green lights as before. However, beside the door was a computer screen, which had text displaying a question: ‘The world is divided into four hemispheres: North, South, East, and West. Which nation exists in each hemisphere?’

“Geography, I’m no good at geography” exclaimed Tricia. However, she recalled in her History class the saying: ‘the sun never sets on the British Empire.’ So that was what she postulated as the answer, to then ask? “What-do-ya think?”

“Most of the places that made up the British Empire are their own country’s now. Same with France, Germany, and Holland. The question specifically uses the word ‘exists’.” Ruminated Cameron, to then add: “So, I’m gonna say Kiribati, it sits on the International Dateline and the Equator.”

“What if we get it wrong?”

“I’m guessing the door doesn’t open” remarked Cameron as he typed in the answer.

The red light switched to green with a horn making a short blast. Then the door swung open, revealing a rock-climbing wall. The twenty-five-foot-high flat surface had assorted knobs affixed at random spots and distances; the floor at least had foam padding. Looking up above the wall Tricia could see a single door on the upper level, it had a red light glowing.

Cameron made an audible gulp.

“Let me guess, you don’t like heights?” sought Tricia of Cameron, who just kept looking up.

“Yep, not gonna lie. I’m afraid of heights.”

“Then its not altogether unexpected that Whateley would throw at us whatever we fear. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Give me a minute, I’m trying to plan a route up.”

Stepping up near the wall and grabbing a handhold, Cameron asked: “If I go first, can you stay close behind me – in case I freeze up?”

“Fer sure.”

Cameron climbed with some difficulty; Tricia found that some of the handholds you could grasp firmly in your hand while others required purchase with just your fingertips. Getting to the top wasn’t simply going straight up either, at places you needed to go sideways to find suitable handholds.

Tricia found that speaking to Cameron while they climbed, assuring him of her location, made it so he didn’t need to look down at her. At times Cameron stayed motionless with his eyes closed, those breaks didn’t last long and then he was climbing again. Nearing the top they heard a horn blow; the Holy Rollers had finished a room.

The route they took had a short section of wall extend above the platform so you could swing your legs up onto the floor. Cameron breathed a sigh of relief when he rolled onto the raised platforms floor, Tricia followed his lead for them to then lay there panting from the exertion it took.

“You good?” was Tricia’s question to her teammate, once she’d gotten to her knees.

“Can we not do that again?” begged Cameron, as he looked up at the ceiling high above them.

“No promises,” confided the girl.

“Did you notice the scoreboard up there?” questioned Cameron.

Tricia hadn’t, she moved to sitting to be able to check out what was above them. The scoreboard was divided into two, one portion for each team. The information displayed showed where there were situated in the course – as in, how many rooms they’d completed. Under Northern Lites it listed who they were:

Outlook: a) Powers: N/A, b) Classification: N/A, c) Status: Active.
Passport: a) Powers: Mage, b) Classification: Unknown, c) Status: Active.

For the Holy Rollers, the board said they were also into the second room, their display read:

Sanctuary: a) Powers: Exemplar, b) Classification: Level 3, c) Status: Active.
Crusader: a) Powers: Exemplar, b) Classification: Level 4, c) Status: Disqualified.
Spellbinder: a) Powers: Mage, b) Classification: Level 3, c) Status: Active
Choir: a) Powers: Siren, b) Classification: Level 2, c) Status: Active
Smitten: a) Powers: Energizer, b) Classification: Level 2, c) Status: Active.

“Why would one of them be disqualified?”

“Sorry, what, I was laughing cause I think the guys name is Smitter.”

“I asked why someone would be disqualified?”

“I think it’s because there’s a provision that if you get a question wrong, you can forfeit a team member as a pass into the next room.”

“Let’s not resort to that, okay?” expressed Tricia, worried that Cameron would drop her at first chance.

“Deal” was her teammates assurance.

Approaching the lit door, the panel asked: ‘What famous document was proclaimed by King John in June 1215 AD?’

“I know this one” delighted Tricia. “The Magna Charter.”

“I think your right, but believe it’s called a Carta.”

“Sure, whatever. Just type it in already and let’s get going.”

The light turned green, and the horn sounded, resulting in the door swinging open. The duo stepped into a long corridor with many doors along its length. A light indicated which door they were to proceed to.

“Why the hallway?” sought Tricia, why not have them enter directly into the room.

“My guess is this way they can mix up who is in what room. They don’t want two teams in the same room at the same time.”

They could enter the next room without having to answer a question, they entered to walk onto a narrow catwalk that spanned the rooms width, another door was at the other end of the catwalk but had no light. However, across the room separated by a chasm, was another catwalk and it was over there that they saw a red lighted door.

“It’s nearly thirty feet across to the other side” advised Cameron. “No jumping over that” he further commented.

“How do we get across? Fly?"

“No, from the looks of it, blocks are raised up to create stepping stones.”

“So, how do we get them to rise?”

“Likely by answering questions” revealed Cameron, stepped up to the display panel. “Math” he said with disgust: “They do love their math.”

‘Convert 0.6667 into a fraction?’

“Basic enough” commented Cameron, as he entered 2/3.

A block five-foot square rose up to met them, it didn’t touch the catwalk they stood on, leaving a two-foot gap between it and the catwalk, as well as being offset from the space in the railing by half the blocks width.

“Oh, this just keeps getting better” snarked Tricia. “Next question?”

‘What is the area of a right triangle, with a length of eight feet, and a width of six feet?’ a figure of the described triangle joined the text on the screen.

Tricia recalled: “The formula for a triangle is length times width times one half”

“Your sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure, but I’m taking two math courses this term, and they’ve been hammering this stuff into me.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just asking. All right, so 8 times 6 is 48 times 0.5 equals 24 square feet.

Another block rose up again separated by two feet and once more offset to the last.

“What’s next?”

‘What is 113 times 3 minus 85 divided by 12 plus 37?’

“Fifty-eight” answered Cameron.

‘You just did that in your head, no calculator or scratch pad?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Fine, type it in then.”

A third block settled into place, the positioning stuck to the theme of being offset and apart.

“Don’t keep me waiting, what’s the next question?”

‘How many gallons are in 952 litres?’

A horn sounded, interrupting their train of thought.

“The Rollers have moved onto another room” concluded Tricia. To then get back on track: “How many litres are in a gallon?”

“They didn’t specify US or Imperial gallons.”

“There’s a difference?”

“There’s 3.785 litres in a US gallon, 4.546 litres in an Imperial.”

“Okay, why? And how do you know that?”

“I’m taking a Civil Engineering course. As to why, American merchants decided to sell less product at the same price to increase profit.”

“Right then, so which answer do we give?”

“How about both, we can’t help that the question wasn’t specific.”

“What’s the answer then?”

“Gimme a sec. 952 divided by 3.785 equals 251.5 US gallons, and 952 divided by 4.546 equals 209.4 Imperial gallons. Wow, imagine being shorted 42 gallons, no wonder they called them ‘damn Yankee’s’.” concluded Cameron.

“Hey, I resemble that remark.”

The answer was entered as discussed, there was an extended pause – no doubt as someone needed to check the dual amounts provided. But sure enough, a fourth block rose up to fill in the last big gap.

“You go first” suggested Cameron. Tricia didn’t disagree. She lined herself up to make the first leap, two feet isn’t the biggest of jumps to make but due to the angle of the block it needed to be done properly.

Tricia’s jump was good, she landed successfully on the block and the block remained solid under foot, so she then moved to the far corner for Cameron to join her. Cameron’s jump was also good so they could now get ready for the next block.

Tricia made it across but looked down after her landing, there was netting strung below, but it was at least a ten foot drop. You may not die if you missed, but it wouldn’t be pretty. Cameron joined her on the second block – halfway through now.

The third block was no problem for Tricia, but Cameron flubbed his landing, sprawling out over the five-foot square surface, his legs dangling over the edge. Tricia grabbed onto him, and helped pull him back onto the block.

Cameron sat cross-legged for a moment to gain his composure. Tricia gave him the time he needed, before she leapt to the last block. This block rolled beneath her feet and tilted a few degrees making it harder to stay on. Tricia quickly jumped to the catwalk while still having some balance to make the final distance.

Tricia called out a warning to Cameron: “The last block moves, get off quick.”

Cameron nodded his understanding and sized up what he needed to do. He took the couple of steps on his current block to get a little speed, his jump getting him near the last blocks middle, to then spring forward head-first to cross the last hurdle.

Cameron didn’t even try to land on his feet, rather he spun in midair to then land on his back onto the catwalk. It was a risky move; he could have easily been hurt. Looking down at him Tricia was worried he’d broken something, Cameron for his part smiled at her saying: “We did it!”

After helping him to his feet, Tricia walked up to the red-light door, it had another panel, and a waiting question. “Wasn’t that enough?” she complained.

“What’s it say?” Cameron asked.

‘Define Pi (3.142)?’

Tricia boggled at the question, to then spout out: “Whadda they mean, define Pi, Pi is 3.142, why give us the answer?”

“You need to use Pi to figure out the area of a circle, and volume of a cylinder. I think they want us to tell them why Pi is 3.142,” reasoned Cameron.

“I’m still struggling to make the calculations, I don’t know why Pi works, only that it’s what we use.”

“Fair enough, but Pi is a circles circumference divided by its diameter. Equaling 3.142 when rounded, otherwise it goes on endlessly.”

“Does it always come out to 3.142, no matter the circles size?”

“That would be an interesting experiment for later.”

“Okay, you better type what you said in.”

Once Cameron hit enter, the horn blew, and the light changed to a flashing green. The door didn’t open though, so they we’re wondering what was up, but shortly thereafter the door opened for them.

“Why the delay?” pondered Tricia.

“I’d say the other team was transitioning just then, we had to wait for the corridor to clear.”

At that, Tricia looked up at the scoreboard, another Holy Rollers member was listed as disqualified, they were down to three but now onto their fourth room, just like her and Cameron. They didn’t have far to go in the corridor to the next lit door.

Walking into the narrow room, on the room side at the center was what looked like an entrance into a revolving door. As with most revolving doors this was partitioned into four sections, with each section being no larger than holding two people – if they were friendly that is. In the center of the revolving door stood a pedestal that could be touched from each section, but the shared opening was so small it wasn’t possible to get to another section.

Looking at the revolving door, Cameron asked: “Do we share a compartment, or take one each?”

Tricia bit her bottom lip, the last thing she want was for them to be separated. “Let’s stay together.”

At that they both climbed into a single section.

The pedestal held a disc divided into four coloured paddles.

Tricia exclaimed “It looks like a ‘Simon Says’, I played this game all the time – in my room – when my parents were fighting.”

“I’m sorry” commiserated Cameron, to then ask: “What’s it do?”

Tricia hadn’t meant to make that revelation, her family was dysfunctional, but it was all the family she had. But she nodded in acceptance of the erstwhile comment. “It plays a series of notes with accompanying lights; you have to remember the sequence and then play it back.”

Tricia’s explanation was interrupted by the disc flashing the colour in front of them, which she responded to by depressing the same paddle, a clear plastic panel slide into place locking them into the section. The revolving door rotated to the next section and moments later that section’s colour flashed, but since it was empty nobody entered an acknowledgement. The same happened for all the remaining sections.

Once the game console knew how many were playing, the unit started by playing four notes, each of the four paddles lit while sounded a tone for each. Tricia replayed the sequence exactly.

The revolving door began to turn, not like a centrifuge so’s they’d be thrown to the outer wall, but fast enough to disorient them. The door stopped turning, and then another series of colours and tones played.

Cameron tried to memorize it, but Tricia rapidly began the playback immediately after the unit had stopped after a sequence of eight. Tricia was a master, she didn’t hesitate and nailed it.

The door spun once more, and the process repeated, another series of lights and notes played over the console, this time twelve individual lights and colours flashed, but much faster.

Again, Tricia made the reply, and the door spun. Cameron decided to close his eyes to prevent becoming dizzy and upchuck.

The next sequence sounded like a refrain from the song ‘Popcorn’, with a total of twenty-two notes and lights. Tricia hit all the right ones, yet again.

When the revolving door stopped turning, the panel slide back to allow them to exit. Tricia wobbled a little, the rotating having an effect on her equilibrium. Cameron grabbed an arm and led her over to the red lighted door, on the opposite side from where they’d entered.

The panel by the door asked: ‘What are the primary colors?’

Cameron took the reins and typed in: Red, Blue, Yellow.

The door opened right away, with the horn sounding and a green light letting them exit.

Three doors down was their next room, and upon entering they spied a balance beam strung across an expanse, above them was a heavy-duty strut with ropes hung off it, on the right wall there was five large balls looking about the size of medicine balls. The balls were tied to those ropes but being held back by mechanical hands.

A panel was waiting near to the start of the balance beam, it had a display to enter text, but also a big button.

It read: 'Complete the next lyric. Push the button for year selection.'

That didn’t sound ominous in the slightest. After Tricia had pulled their bacon out of the fire in the last room, she motioned Cameron to step up. Cameron pushed the button and a digital counter spun on the display coming to stop on ‘1982’

The screen read the lyric as a musical score could be heard:
Hold me now
It’s hard to for me to say I’m sorry
I just want you to stay

After all that we’ve been through
I will make it up to you, I promise to …

The music ended and a flashing cursor was their cue to finish the line.

Tricia looked dumfounded at Cameron, saying: “I’ve never heard it before. Which of us is getting disqualified?”

“Neither” assured Cameron. “The band is Chicago, the songs “Hard to Say I’m Sorry.”

Cameron then typed in:
And after all that’s been said and done
You’re just the part of me I can’t let go, ooh

The screen went blank, then an arrow pointed down to the button. Cameron pressed it again and the dial spun once more. When Cameron released the button, the dial came to a stop on ‘1971’

The music started and on screen came:

Hey girl, whatcha doing down there
Dancing alone every night
While I live right above you?

I can hear your music playing
I can feel your body swaying …

Tricia excitedly said: “I know this song; I’ve heard it before – something like - knock three times?”

“Yeah, your right. My mom would laugh out loud when Dad would play it. I think the next lyric was: ‘One floor below me, you don’t even know me, I love you’

“Well, type it in.”

Again an arrow pointed to the button, Cameron allowed Tricia the honours. She depressed the button for an extended time, when she let go the dial stopped on ‘1987’

What came on the speaker was entirely unfamiliar to either of them, as they looked gobsmacked at each other:

And Texas is a place I’d dearly love to be
But all my exes live in Texas
And that’s why I hang my hat in Tennessee

Rosanna’s down in in Texarkana
Wanted me to push her broom …

The flashing cursor begged for an answer, but none could come from the two contestants.

Cameron shrugged his shoulders saying: “My Dad wasn’t a fan of Country. Sorry.”

When no answer was forthcoming, a buzzer sounded, and one of the medicine balls dropped from it place against the wall. The ball swung across the balance beam at a height sure to smack anyone crossing the beam, its momentum was kept up by the mechanical hands.

“Wonderful” exclaimed Tricia. “At least we didn’t get a disqualification.”

Cameron motioned for her to press the button since the arrow had returned. She waved him off, willing to let Cameron take the fall if another dud song was chosen.

The dial came to a stop on ‘2000’

The music began to play:

You might been hurt, babe
That ain’t no lie
You’ve seen them all come and go, oh
I remember you told me
That it made you believe in …

Cameron was at a loss, he’d missed that decade. Tricia however was nearly in tears.

“What?” asked Cameron.

“It’s my favorite band – back when I was … well, before.”

“Okay” was Cameron’s response, he wasn’t judging no one, especially over their choice in music.”

“It’s NSYNC, and the songs ‘Its Gonna Be Me’. The next verse is:

No man, no cry
Maybe that’s why

“That’s it?”

“Whaddya mean by that?”

“Nothing, its just so short – doesn’t seem very inspired.”

Tricia stuck out her tongue and moved Cameron aside to type her answer. A ball didn’t drop so that’s good, and the button showed on screen again.

Cameron spun the dial, and it stopped on ‘1993’ and the music started

And some days it don’t come easy
And some days it don’t come hard
Some days it don’t come at all
And these are the days that never end

And some nights you’re breathing fire
And some nights you’re carved of ice …

“Oh man, I’ve heard it before, but don’t remember what comes next” Bemoaned Tricia.
"Some nights you’re like nothing I’ve ever
Seen before, or will again”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, It’s a Meatloaf song. My Dad really liked his stuff and would crank it.”

After typing in the lyrics, the display beeped and went blank. Across the other side of the balance beam the doors red light began to flash.

“I guess we cross” surmised Tricia. “Who goes first?”

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” asked Cameron, to receive a head nod from Tricia. “On three.”

Cameron chose Rock, Tricia picked Paper. She wrapped her hand over Cameron’s giving him a smile.

Cameron tightened his shoelaces before stepping onto the balance beam, he focused himself, recalling the figure skating training she’d received on how to hold a tight line. The beam might only be a couple inches wide, but Cameron didn’t waiver in the slightest.

Getting close the medicine balls arc, he paused to let the ball go past the beam as it swung upward. He stepped past the danger zone and continued all the way across.

“Show off!” called Tricia, she had slip on runners which were very comfortable, but maybe didn’t give the traction this task required. Nonetheless, she began to slowly cross. She would move her left foot forward to pull her right foot along after, it was slow but steady.

As Tricia approached the medicine balls path, Cameron called out: “Whoa!” to then add, “Wait for it to pass, then move quick.”

She’d seen what Cameron had done, and was gonna do that anyway. But inside, it felt good that he cared about her.

As the big ball went past her, it glanced off her arm, she’d gotten too close. She was imbalanced and started to flail her arms to keep from falling off the beam.

Cameron yelled: “Run, now!”

The balls trajectory had been altered, it was wobbling, instead of a discernable straight path back and forth, it now began a more circular route that doubled how often it crossed the beam.

Instead of running, Tricia dropped down straddling the beam, wrapping her arms and legs around it. The medicine ball just barely skimmed overtop her, an advantage of been small.

Tricia began to shimmy along the beam like an inch worm, the medicine ball grazed her back on one pass, but it didn’t impede her progress, she was hanging onto the beam with all her might. She kept moving forward slowly.

Eventually, Cameron tapped her noggin’, to then say: “Your across. Give me your hand, I’ll help you up.”

Together they got her up off the balance beam, and standing on the platform. Tricia hugged Cameron, her nerves badly frayed, and the adrenaline was pumping. She hadn’t even realized what she’d done, it was instinctual.

Cameron for his part hugged her back – no where near as tight, but patted her back, saying: “Your okay, you did great.”

Trica let out a sob and a sniffle. Then, slowly released Cameron. She dabbed at her eyes to wipe away tears and looked at Cameron with big doe eyes. “I …”

“You are amazing” smiled Cameron. “You’ve passed where so many others have failed” he encouraged. “I doubt anybody has ever managed to hold on like you did.”

She smiled; she wasn’t sure if she deserved to be complimented, but she hadn’t quit either. Knowing that about herself felt good.

“Come on, we’ve only got two more rooms to go” enticed Cameron, noticing they had a green light to proceed to their next obstacle.

Entering the next room, it was another platform overtop a shear wall down to a lower level, Cameron mentioned it was over twenty feet down but down was where the red light door waited for them.

They found a panel and the question it asked was: “Who wrote ‘Paradise Lost’”?

Cameron didn’t know, but fortunately Tricia did, she was a reader – she hadn’t read the book, but had seen it on many ‘must read’ lists: John Milton.

When the answer got entered, they heard a block move into place below. Looking down a segment on the wall had extended out creating a level several feet up off the floor. Still too far down to jump, but better. Upon closer inspection, the five-foot-high block had rails to hang onto to make lowering yourself down easier.

More blocks were needed, so back to the panel.

The next question on display asked: “Who said: ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’?”

Cameron mulled the question over, as did Tricia.

Cameron spoke up: “I heard the Kimba’s teasing Tennyo about not being able to keep a boyfriend very long, saying it was her namesake’s fault. So, the only person I can think of would be Tennyson.”

“I got nothing” confessed Tricia. “I’ve heard it quoted, but don’t know where it came from. Might as well go for it.”

Cameron entered ‘Tennyson’ to be rewarded with another block moving into place.

Things were looking up, but a ten-foot drop could still mean a broken or strained leg, time for yet another question.

The panel asked: “Who wrote, in which novel, the expression: ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’?”

Tricia almost bounded over Cameron in her enthusiasm to type the answer. “I know this one, I know it.” She joyfully cried out.

She said it aloud as she typed it in. “Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.”

A third block moved into place.

Tricia suggested Cameron go over the edge first, she would help lower him down, then he could keep her from dropping down too quickly. Tricia lay on the floor holding Cameron’s hand as he moved his hips over the floors lip. Using one hand to try and keep a hold on the floor, Tricia lowered him down. A sign of relief came from Cameron as his toes touched the block.

It was then Tricia’s turn, Cameron was able to hold onto her ankles to give assurance that she wouldn’t fall, to then hold her by her waist as she came further down.

The railings made the next drops much easier, Still, Cameron went first to help steady Tricia. When they both finally reached the bottom, they gave each other a high five. To then hear the horn saying the Rollers had completed their seventh obstacle.

The door’s red light reminded them they hadn’t ended their challenge. And both nodded in agreement that they would finish the obstacle course with heads held high.

The panels question read: 'The Israelites’ were tasked with maintaining the integrity of the Holy Scriptures. To that end, the Hebrew scribes would count the number of words written into each copy. How many times did the Tetragrammaton (YHWH) appear in the Old Testament?'
a) 1
b) 7
c) 50
d) 5410

“Multiple choice, they give us a multiple-choice question now?” shrieked a frustrated Tricia. “Bloody hell! How about back – there” she pointed behind them, at all they’d endured.

“It’s designed to push us to our limits, mentally and physically” countered Cameron. “We didn’t need an easy out, we met the challenge head on. And I don’t need to be given the answer here either; it’s 5410.” Stated Cameron, to make the entry on the panel.

The horn sounded, the light turned green, and the door opened.

Clustered in the room was the other members of Northern Lites. Congratulatory hugs and handshakes were given.

Lynn held Cameron’s hand, whispering in his ear: “That went better than I’d thought.”

A silly smirk spread across Cameron's face, his quiet reply was: “Tricia really shone in there, it was exactly what she needed to bolster her confidence.”

Tricia and Cameron got ushered into a conference room for debrief, already sitting inside was the Holy Rollers, each of them gloating in their victory, mocking Tricia and Cameron through word and action.

Standing at the front of the room was Gunny Bardue, a stern man, with a no-nonsense attitude. When he spoke, he wouldn’t tolerate any disturbance. Gunny smacked the table with the pointed stick he held.

“Cut the chatter, this exercise isn’t over till I say it’s over,” the man bellowed.

“Firstly: Northern Lites, what a couple of sad sacks you are” Pointing to the screen behind him, tapping it with his pointer was a picture of Cameron sprawled out on a five-foot square block with part of him hanging over the edge. “Care to explain this?” demanded Bardue.

“My feet got tangled and I missed the landing,” explained Cameron.

“Right! A quadriplegic could’ve made that jump. What’s your excuse?” barked the Instructor.

“Considering not even a year ago I couldn’t walk” began Cameron. “Your comment about a quadriplegic isn’t all that far off.”

Gunny Bardue huffed at his reply, it wasn’t said sarcastically, but he was damn well going to check the kid’s medical record.

“What about you missy?” the picture changed to show Tricia wrapped around a balance beam. “What’s your excuse?”

From the other team came the comment: “They only had one ball? We had three!”

“Quiet!” shouted Gunny.” I’ll get to you lot in a minute.” Turning his ire back onto Tricia, he barked: “Well?”

“I miscalculated where the ball would swing, I had to regain my balance, but by then the ball was coming right for me, so I dropped down to keep from being knocked off.” Detailed Tricia.

The man was frustratred, not at her so much but that his test had an unexpected loophole. “We’re going to have to redesign that room because of you, we’ll need to scape the beam of hangers-on after this.”

“But I made it across.”

“Fine, whatever.” He floundered at having to grant her surviving that situation. “Do better, next time.”

Tricia reeled at the comment, a next time! Is he joking – I’m not doing that again, no way!

“Northern Lites: you had no disqualifications and no penalties. Your time was twenty minutes and forty-three seconds – not the worst time, but far from the best. Your quiz score was nineteen out of twenty. Well done, you set a record. Your total score comes to eighty seven out of a hundred.

“That’s unfair! If they got asked the same questions as us, there’s no way they could have gotten nineteen right!”

“For your information Mr. Myers, you were both asked the exact same questions. Each run of this course has new questions generated. So go ahead, share what you answered, the next group will be as clueless as you.”

Only he saw the humour in his comment, it went over the Rollers head, but Tricia and Cameron shared a mirthful look.

“Now for you: Holy Rollers. Gods, the Reverend should be shot for having you use that name.” Mr Bardue took a moment to restore his game face. “Sanctuary and Smitter, you were the only members of your team to finish, with a time of nineteen minutes and fifty-four seconds. Ahead of the Northern Lites …” Gunny Bardue was cut-off by whooping and fist bumps, as the Rollers claimed victory.

Gunny blew a whistle – loudly, it rang in the eardrums forcing everyone to simmer down. “Obviously, you bunch are too full of yourselves for a debriefing, so I’ll cut to the chase.

You finished forty-nine seconds before Northern Lites. However, you only answered 10 of the twenty questions. As well, accrued two disqualifications from substituting team members in lieu of correct answers. Plus, a penalty for a team member failing to complete a task. Your score, after tallying up all the points, is fifty-eight out of a possible hundred."

The Holy Rollers were shell-shocked, it couldn’t be, they’d been robbed.

“Before you go all postal on me” stemmed Gunny Bardue, before the accusations could fly. “I understand a bet has been wagered on the outcome of this challenge. Just so you know, I’ve posted your scores as well as the scoring matrix so the whole school can see the results.” The Instructor’s comments were to the point, and hit hard. “Holy Rollers, I’ll be in touch with my critique, you’re going to want to bring your teams benefactor.”

Cameron and Tricia prepared to leave the room, the hatred emanating off their opponents was – laughable. Cruel to say such a thing, but victory is sweet, and all the stares and grumbling coming from them tasted like an all-day lollipop, tutti-fruity flavour at that.

After exiting the conference room, Cameron ducked back in to quickly say: “I’ll be in touch to collect your vows.”

~o~O~o~

“I, Kenneth John Myers do solemnly vow before God and men, that I shall henceforth no longer harangue, harass, or ridicule: Tricia Conners, Cameron Burke, or any other members of Northern Lites. I do not hold them responsible for the destruction of Dillon Chapel, nor will I support or engage in any argument or gathering that stives to lay blame upon them. Breaking my vow is upon penalty of dismemberment or death.”

Sanctuary was the last of the Holy Rollers to make the vow Cameron had prepared, not just him but his lawyer: Mr. Paulson, had checked it over so that what Cameron wanted said was concise, plus adding some polish. Mr. Paulson doubted it would hold water, people give their word but never mean what they say, they just speak what they think you want to hear – politicians come to mind.

Cameron knew that, and having a spoken and signed vow likely wouldn’t stop a Holy Roller from being a pest. But it did give him a release to act as he saw fit if they ever threatened Tricia again.

Of them all, Tricia had the hardest time keeping a smile from etching across her face. She was jazzed to be part of a group, how that she’d been asked to join, and given access to their hideout. More that that, she’d overcome a major hurdle in her life, her hatred of her ability didn’t weight her down nearly as much as before.

Chemistry Lab, Kane Hall, Whateley Academy

“Outlook. Please come to Doyle Medical Center immediately. Outlook to Doyle Medical: Immediately”
As public address announcements went, it left much to the imagination, of course every student turned to look at Cameron because their imaginations ran wild. But Cameron did as requested, he stopped working on his chemistry project just as it was getting interesting, and waved to get the teachers attention before leaving class, he was shooed out the door by his teacher motioning him to get a move on.

Chemistry class was being held in Kane Hall, being just a short jaunt over to Doyle Medical Centre. Cameron kept to the cleared walkway rather than muddle through a foot and a half of snow which had accumulated.

Steeping into the school’s hospital never filled Cameron with happy thoughts, too many past experiences with injuries – his own and to his friends, it never made the place welcoming. As for a welcome, he was met at the entrance by a dour looking Dr. Paul Tenant.

The doctor didn’t offer a hand in greeting, and his countenance didn’t reflect pleasure at seeing Cameron, it gave Outlook a bad feeling and heightened his cautionary impulses.

Dr Tenant sighed, and his slumped shoulders looked as though the weight of the world rested on them. “Cameron, I hate to inform you that your friend Geoff has suffered three consecutive, debilitating heart attacks.”

And the five-ton weight dropped square onto Cameron’s shoulders – that is what it felt like anyways. Cameron joined the doctor’s posture. “Is he …”

“We have him stabilized, but the prognosis isn’t good. We knew it was only a matter of time. But we thought …” stammered the doctor.

“That I could fix him?” interrupted Cameron, he’d do anything to help his friends.

“No, that you’d want to say goodbye.” getting the comment out was like knocking the wind out of the doctors’ sails.

“Where is he?” sought Cameron, not seeing him an any of the Trauma rooms.

“We have him down in the Loading Dock, it’s the only door we could get him through.” The doctor admitted with chagrin.

“Can I see him?” choked out Cameron.

“Of course.” Dr. Tenant led the way to where Max was being attended to.

“What about our teammates, shouldn’t they be here too?” Questioned Cameron as they climbed down the stairs.

“He only asked for you.” Revealed the doctor.

Entering the loading docks service area, a large space had been cleared, and medical equipment had been spread around Max. Max lay on a huge bed, he was intubated and had wires crisscrossing his body connected to monitors. His pulse was weak, both the monitor and Cameron’s sight confirmed that.

Max’s heart had sustained massive damage, so much of it no longer continued to beat out that life sustaining rhythm.

Cameron sized the situation up, he could maybe repair a small amount of damage at a time, but a beating heart would need to be paused for that to happen, the risk was that a body could starve of oxygen deficiency in the time it would take him. So this, this was beyond what he could safely do. Cameron could not deal with the possibility of having killed someone – especially not his friend.

Cameron stepped up to be beside Max, grabbing the big guy’s hand and squeezing it. Max opened his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at Cameron, when recognition showed in his eyes a single tear welled up and tracked down his face.

Cameron had multiple tears streaking down his face. “Hey buddy, is there something you need me to do?”

With herculean effort, what with a tube stuffed down his throat and despite his twisted mouth, Max managed to say: “Payy.”

Cameron nodded his understanding as he blinked away the tears that clouded his vision. Bowing his head, he commenced: “Dear God, I approach you on Max’s behalf, his life among us is coming to an end. Grant him peace, knowing he is loved, and let him slip quietly to sleep. Remember him, please, for his kindness and good humour, and allow those of us he leaves behind to recall his friendship and the gift of having gotten to know him.”

Raising his head, Cameron heard sniffles from those attending to their patient. Max held a smile, the last gift he could impart, his eyes closed and he went very still. The heart monitor gave a couple blips then the line went flat, the heart monitor sounded an alarm.

The alarm was silenced by Dr. Tenant, to then have the nurses begin disconnecting the wires attached to Max. In an orderly procession, items no longer needed to treat a patient were removed and the space surrounding Max vacated.

“He held on to say goodbye,” was the only thing the doctor could think to say to Cameron, who could only stand there as grief washed over him. “Let me walk you upstairs, administration will want to speak with you.”

Cameron allowed himself to be guided back to the main entrance, he had some release forms to sign. When the hospital needed nothing more, at the door was Ms. Claire, waiting for him.

“I’m so sorry,” she offered.

Cameron was only able to nod his acceptance, he’d lost a friend today, he felt numb.

“Mr. Merril had left instructions with the school, in the event of …” Ms. Claire couldn’t finish what she had started to say, but Cameron got the meaning.

She handed Cameron a packet with his name printed on it, looking inside without opening it, it held letters, one to each of Northern Lites members. As well, it contained Max’s will.

“Can you notify my teammates to meet me after class in my room?” asked Cameron.

“I can do that” assured Ms. Claire.

~o~O~o~

Only after everyone had arrived in his dorm room, and found a seat, did Cameron tell them that Max had died. Cameron had made sure that tissues where distributed around his room, and they were made good use of.

Once the tears had abated, Cameron handed out Max’s letters. Each one neatly typed out and addressed to his teammates, using their personal names. Rho asked Lynn if she would read her letter otherwise it would burst into flames in her hands. Debbie was so emotional she trembled holding the paper envelope and couldn’t bring herself to open it. The Trifecta of Trouble had all sat on one couch and were sharing their letters between them: laughing, crying, struggling with a shared loss.

Tricia came to stand beside Cameron, asking him: “How are you doing?”

“I’m worried about all of you. About losing any of the people I care about” admitted Cameron. “But mostly, I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“Hadn’t you warned us Max was living on borrowed time?” questioned Tricia.

“Yeah, but …”

“But nothing. My letter from Max told me he had never been happier than being with us, that we made his life fulfilling and bearable. He thought of us as his family and loved each of us very much.” Revealed Tricia. “And He told me I was to make sure you didn’t go off the deep end. So damn-it, smarten up or I’m gonna slap you.”

Cameron laughed, because it sounded exactly like something Max would do.

~o~O~o~

“I’m needing to speak with Mrs. Carson, can that be arranged please?” sought Cameron standing at the school’s administration counter.

May I ask what the nature of your request is about?” inquired Ms. Hartford.

“I am tasked with making funeral arrangements for Geoff Merril and need the school’s permission to proceed with some of Max’s wishes.”

“I see. Most understandable then. One moment,” acquiesced the administrator.

Cameron didn’t even have time to sit on the wooden bench situated in the hallway before getting called.

“This way” directed Ms. Hartford, pointing to an open door.

Cameron was shown into the conference room, not the headmistress’s office. Ms. Hartford offered a chair to Cameron, then took another seat across the table from him. After that, Mrs. Carson entered along with Security Chief Delarose.

“The Chief and I were already having a discussion; I hope it isn’t inconvenient for him to be here?” asked Elizabeth Carson.

“Not at all” assured Cameron, he actually welcomed having a known and trusted staff member present. That, and Mrs. Carson wasn’t allowed by court order to be alone with him, so the more the merrier.

“I am sorry to hear of Geoff Merril’s death, my condolences.” Offered Chief Delarose.

“Thank you Chief,” Cameron sighed as painful memories of Max’s passing flashed up, but Cameron persevered: “Ma’am, I had hoped you’d be able to help me with some of the funeral arrangements Max requested.”

“What do you need?” sought the Headmistress.

“Max wants to be cremated, and have his ashes scattered off campus – I may need a school pass for a day of two to accomplish that. He also wished to have a rose planted in the schools rose garden – with a small service held there.” Supplied Cameron.

“Most of that is pretty standard, what do you really need me for?” directed Ms. Carson.

“Max asked if his mom could be present for the service in the rose garden.” Sheepishly responded Cameron, he didn’t know the whole story but had discerned Max’s mom was in prison.

“That’s a big ask” whistled Mrs. Carson. “If, and I can only provide you an ‘If’, where did Mr. Merril wish to be interred?”

“Before arriving at Whateley, we camped beside a stream. He wants his remains to be placed there.” Illuminated Cameron.

“Why?” Asked a doubtful Ms. Carson.

“I imagine its because it was peaceful, serene, and nobody bothered him. If I’m not mistaken, it was the first time in a long while that he felt happy.” Detailed Cameron, hoping he understood Max’s motivations correctly.

“What do I tell his mother?” Was Ms. Carson’s next hurdle to overcome.

“I can provide a photograph and a map of the location, so she knows where it is.” Suggested Cameron.

“Alright, do you need the number for a mortician?” That such a question was asked said that this wasn’t the first time the Headmistress had such a conversation.

“I found one online; in Berlin, which is where his body has been sent.” Said Cameron, holding back an emotional outpouring.

~o~O~o~

To say that Reverend Englund had been peeved when his expectation to officiate a funeral service had been declined was a mild understatement. Max had been very clear: he wished no involvement from the man.

Rather, Max had sought for Cameron to say a few words. It was a burden that Cameron laboured over, to find just the right words, to depict who Max was, what he meant to those who knew him. To say goodbye.

Cameron was still working on his notes the morning of the service, and skipped breakfast to keep working on it. Lynn brought him a hot-box of food to tied him over as the gathering was to be held a one o’clock. His girlfriend stayed with him for encouragement until it was time to meet up at the rose garden.

It was too early in the year for roses to be out, but in lieu of a flowering bush, beside the bare stalk were pictures of what the blossoms would look like. Placed beside the rose bush was an old school photo of Max – taken before he’d become deformed by his mutation.

Cameron studied his friend’s picture, hoping to find something of the person he’d befriended. It was the eyes, there was that spark of mischief that made him fun to be around.

Rows of chairs had been set up in the rose garden, and slowly a few people drifted in, talking in small groups with hushed tones. When any of the Northern Lites arrived, they would give Cameron a hug and wish him well, to then move away from the gatherings front.

As the hour neared, Cameron noted that many of Max’s teachers had come along with some of Whateley’s support staff. Interestingly, two of the former Holy Rollers came – the training team had disbanded shortly after losing the challenge. As for rest: the Outcasts, the Kimba’s, and members of other training teams made the effort to attend.

A good number from Hawthorne Cottage came to pay their respects to a former resident. With them, they brought Max’s school uniform, neatly folded and placed it on a table near Max’s photograph.

With only a couple minutes left, Cameron watched with intrigue as Mrs. Carson walked up followed by a lady clad in black. Three security guards escorted the lady – not supplied by Whateley, the uniform and insignia were unfamiliar, but the three guards kept the woman under close watch. The lady had discreetly draped a coat over her hands, hiding the handcuffs she wore, and a scarf wrapped around her neck covering the neck restraint. Her long dress covered over ankle cuffs, which slowed the speed at which she could walk.

Cameron nodded to Mrs. Carson, a thanks for pulling off a miracle.

He stood behind the podium at which people took their seats, Cameron waited for everyone to settle before speaking. “Thank you for coming,” he said in welcome. “We’re here to celebrate Geoff Merril, or as most of you know him by: Max.”

Cameron spoke about Max’s wholeheartedness, that he did nothing by half measure, his humour made him a joy to be around, his gentle nature, his fondness of poetry and literature, to emphasis the point Cameron read a poem Max wrote about watching rain fall, the words were bittersweet.

Cameron told the story of how they met, and the friendship that they formed that day. To then unabashedly say: Max would be sorely missed by all who knew him, and that his mother; who he loved dearly, had raised an amazing son.

Stepping away from the podium, Cameron was tearful, Lynn came to stand beside him, planting a tender kiss on his cheek, and took to holding his hand. Well wishers gave their condolences and thanks for the endearing service. Cameron was waved by Mrs. Carson to come near to Max’s mom, she wasn’t allowed approach people in general but had gotten permission from her security detail to speak with the boy and her son’s friends.

“Hello Mrs. Merril. I’m so sorry for your loss,” greeted Cameron.

“Please, call me Heather,” invited the woman. “My son wrote such delightful things about you, he said you were the best friend he had ever known. Thank you, for being there for my baby, and saying such wonderful things about him.”

“The honour was mine. Geoff was a special person; we’ll miss him deeply,” confided Cameron.

“And this lovely young lady: you must be Lynn. Max told me so much about his teammates, he said you scared him – at first, but you won him over by being kind and caring, he was taken by your beauty.”

The comment flustered Lynn “Yes ma’am, I’m Lynn” she stumbled out, to then recover with: “Max loved you so much, and we loved him for his willingness to help however he could. You could say your son gave to the max.”

Hearing that brought a deeply emotional smile to the woman’s face. “That’s kind of you to say, thank you. Can I meet the rest of your team?”

Northern Lites formed a line behind Cameron and Lynn, to meet Max’s mom. For her part, she guessed who they each were based off her son’s letters. When it was Debbie’s turn, Heather Merril began to cry.

“Forgive me, you must be Werx – Debbie, my son spoke about you with great affection, he was in awe of you. Pardon a mother’s meddling, but I think he was infatuated as well.”

“Yes ma’am,” sniffled Deb, suppressing a crying fit: “the feeling was mutual.”

“Would you consider writing to me, let me keep my son’s memory alive?”

“I would be happy to,” agreed Deb, it had been a request Max had made to her in his farewell letter as well.

Mrs. Carson interjected, saying that Heather needed to depart. The team of youths watched as the entourage left the rose garden, noting that the headmistress provided the grieving woman a tissue to dab her tears.

Dickenson Cottage, Whateley Academy

In her Mystic Arts class, Tricia had made a portal – purely by accident mind you, it happened without conscious effort. The class was being taught how to form a fireball, and then been paired up to practice. No one wanted to be paired with her, the unmagical Mage. To everyone Tricia was a magical dud, she’d been standing alone off to the side going through the motions as instructed.

As a joke, or just her classmates being cruel as usual, a fireball had been launched at her. Tricia, from instinct, raised her arm for protection. That simple action opened a portal, porting the fireball straight back – mere inches away from the face of the sender; a girl named Indigo.

The fireball singed Indigo’s eyebrows and hair, and left the girl red-faced – from shock, humiliation, and first-degree burns. Mrs. Grimes sent Indigo to Doyle after dressing her down in front of the class for having started the whole incident, thereby asserting she deserved her pain.

But Tricia was left feeling baffled: how had she done it? It was that niggling feeling of curiosity that set her to wondering. Thereafter, she had begun to make mini-portals; dropping her pen from one hand - having it fall into her other hand.

For the first time, she felt excited about having a power, it bubbled up inside her and she couldn’t wait to explore the possibilities – and show-off to her friends.

Part 3 coming soon.

It Matters to Me, part 3

Author:

Camospam

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Superheroes

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Universes & Series:

Whateley Academy by Maggie Finson, et al

TG Elements:

F2M sex change

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

It Matters to Me, part 3

By Camospam

A Whateley Academy Universe Adventure featuring Outlook and friends.

Dickinson Cottage, Whateley Academy

The dorm rooms at Whateley Academy were functional at best, at worst – well, prison cells at least have their own toilets. Dickinson was a girls only dorm, it wasn’t as opulent as Melville for those with more money than brains, the poor souls with disfigurements got sent to Hawthorne, and the nut jobs tucked away into Poe: out of sight and out of mind. So, there were worse places to be assigned.

Each dorm room at Dickinson had two beds, so dual occupancy was expected, having a roomie you got along with was a blessing, a roommate that was a friend was a bonus. Rachelle and Charlotte shared a dorm room, even though they were in different grades, but being sisters allowed certain rules to be bent, especially since Charlotte was still in Junior High.

The dorm room shared by the sisters was configured with bunk beds, granting more usable space in the limited confines of a dormitory. So, of course, their room although the same size as everyone else’s, became the female members of Northern Lites de facto meeting place.

It wasn’t uncommon for Lynn – in cat form, to lay stretched out on the top bunk: Charlottes bed. While the others would jostle for a chair to sit in, while late comers were relegated to sitting on Rachelle’s lower bunk, at the risk of being swatted by a twitch of Lynn’s long whip like panther tail.

Today though, Lynn had shifted to house cat size, having curled up on the foot of the top bunk to enjoy a cat nap, as her teammates busied themselves discussing the complexities of cottage politics. Charlotte lay across the top bunk, her pillow balled up beneath her, allowing her bent legs to flail as she soaked in the gossip.

Rho couldn’t join them today, her home economics course was having a bake-off, to see who made the best raisin bran muffins. Nothing like pitting people against one another to heighten a competitive nature, and Rho wasn’t inclined to step away from a challenge. It wasn’t that the Energizer had to win, but she gave her all at whatever she put her hand to do. Cooking was something she enjoyed and was good at it.

Leaving Rachelle to play referee between Tricia and Debbie, both trying to outdo the other with the newest and juiciest gossip of the goings on at Whateley. Rachelle having to confirm or deny the latest rumours circulating. Sometimes knowing people’s innermost thoughts made keeping secrets around a Psychic was a reason in futility – but revealing those secrets was a breach of trust. Mostly Rachelle tried to protect peoples’ reputations rather than let lies run like wildfire.

A day off at Whateley was rare, a day when no classes were held, no team training sessions scheduled, a chance to relax and unwind, it was why Lynn could take the opportunity to indulge in a mid-day nap. As she woke, Lynn stretched out, her front and hind paws going opposite directions, and letting go a huge yawn.

“Morning,” jested Charlotte, earning her a head butt and a tail dragged under her nose, tickling the girl and making her sneeze.

Hopping down to the floor the Were shifted into human, amid stares from Tricia and Deb. Lynn looked at herself, worried she was improperly attired – or had forgot to put clothes on entirely.

“How is it that you’re dressed? Does your fur become clothes?” sought Tricia.

“More to the point; how can you look like a million bucks after you wake up? My hair looks like a rat’s nest in the morning,” bemoaned Debbie stroking her hair to emphasize the claim.

Being put in the spotlight was not what Lynn ever desired, she preferred to hide in the shadows, not be noticed. She was caught, and it may go against the grain, but she figured her friends could handle the truth.

“I’m always a cat – and always human. I only alternate between different shapes, like you would change clothes. When I return to me, I look like what I did when I left.” Explained Lynn, hoping the science wouldn’t be called into question.

“So, sleeping as a cat means you don’t need to coiffe yourself in the morning.” Deduced Debbie.

“Exactly. But, honestly, sleeping as a cat is ten times better than as a human, its so relaxing, easy to be warm and get comfortable, and just downright relaxing.”

“Okay. What I want to know is; with everything blasting rapid fire in your brain, how do you even get to sleep?” Questioned Rachelle, obviously a topic she’d been curious about.

“Your right, sometimes I wish I had an off switch for Precognition. There are nights when all I can do is let my mind chase whatever thought I’m dealing with. Other times, I just empty my thoughts and can drift off to sleep. It’s why some day’s a nap is the best medicine.” Reasoned Lynn, to then ask: “What about you, can you suppress being a Psychic anytime you want?"

Rachelle smirked a mirthful smile: “I focus on somebody already asleep, and bam! I’m asleep. Charlotte is a great roomie for that, her head hits the pillow and she’s asleep in seconds.”

“After our run in with Alpo – Apollonia,” Lynn corrected herself from using Charlotte’s nickname for the Telepath. “I was curious about why she could affect Cameron, when he can block Psychics?”

“I asked the same thing to Mr. Gentz. Turns out, not long ago, anyone with a mental ability was called psychic, even precognition fell under that blanket, as did fortune tellers and clairvoyants. But once they did some digging, they found major differences between them and started labeling them into silos of commonalities.”

“Psychic – Pyscho, didn’t know there was a difference from what I’ve seen,” claimed Charlotte, a jab at her sibling. Earning her a mental slap upside the head.

“All fine and good, but doesn’t answer the question,” sought Lynn, not wanting to be distracted.

“I was getting to that. Empaths can be projective or receptive with emotions. A true Psychic can receive or impart thoughts, whereas a Telepath can only impart or implant thoughts. It makes a Telepath better equipped to circumvent mental blocks because they can focus on a narrower window, getting through the cracks.” Described Rachelle.

“You can bet Cameron is going to be re-inventing his protections,” mused Lynn.

“Yeah, he’s asked me a couple times already if I can read him. He’s tight as a drum.” Added Rachelle.

“I don’t get why? Does he have that many secrets?” Pondered Tricia, never satisfied with superficial reasons, preferring to go deeper.

“He likes his privacy. To have someone invade his mind is like breaking his trust. To him trust is earned, if there’s no trust Cameron shuts a person out. So, as a rule he finds anyone digging around in his mind untrustworthy.” Supplied Lynn in defence.

“Does he ever open up?” Debbie asked an open-ended question, but all looked to Lynn to provide an answer.

“Has Cameron ever done anything so that you don’t trust him, or question his motives?” retorted Lynn, looking at each of them, receiving nods of acceptance that the statement was true.

“So, is it more important to hear him say it – or see him do it?” The question hung as the members of Northern Lites mulled it over.
Charlotte was the first to say something: “He always has our backs.”

“Right, that means he trusts you. You’re a friend, and there’s nothing he won’t do to help a friend. Heaven only knows what he’d do to those who hurt you.” Nobody countered Lynn’s claim. “Guys might promise you the moon, Cameron delivers.”

“Has he promised you the moon?” wondered Debbie. “Cause you’re – like, a Were.”

“That’s a myth. Were’s are not tied to the moon’s phases, although wolves howl at it. I think it’s cause thier lonely and are wanting to find a mate.”

“Is that why you and Cameron are an item? You’re lonely?” Asked Tricia.

Lynn’s own curiosity drove her to respond: “I saw Cameron while in a precognitive trance, his light is what impressed me.”

“Love at first sight” sighed Charlotte at how romantic it all sounded.

“More like hope at first sight,” countered Lynn. “Cameron’s path traveled far, not ending in a black morass.”

“Is that what you see in our futures?” questioned Debbie.

Lynn had walked right into it; she hated telling people their futures. “I’ll make you a promise,” resolutely stated Lynn. “I’ll tell you when you’re heading down a dark path, but I won’t interfere with your lives, only try to point you towards happiness.”

“Do you know who we’ll marry, when we’ll die?” Rachelle was never one to leave a stone unturned, although Psychic, she hated loose ends, preferring things neatly tied up.

“Yes” was all Lynn said. But before she could be peppered for details, she added: “You all deserve to experience your lives to the fullest. As a friend I want you to be satisfied and self-sufficient, I won’t dictate your every step.” Cautioned Lynn to then show her affection for her friends by saying: “I suggest you have a clear idea of what a happy life entails, that will help me to help you.”

Lynn could see the mental gears grinding to deal with the conversation’s complexities, to bring levity back to the room, Lynn commented: “Come on, Rho said we could sample her baking.”

Holbrook Arena: Whateley Academy

Tricia was tense and agitated, her nerves were running in overdrive: Combat Final, what the heck did that even mean? She hadn’t signed up for any fighting classes. Sure, plenty of the stuff Mrs. Grimes taught in Mystic Arts could be used offensively, but Tricia had no affinity with any of that kind of magic. She only formed portals, holes in space, and she’d only been doing it for a little over a week now.

When the notice arrived in her Cottages mailbox, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was required to attend, she’d panicked. All the other Northern Lites hadn’t gotten similar notices regarding these exams, just her, it was so unfair.

When she asked, she was told it was because she’d only recently begun making portals, Whateley needed to gauge her progress, and this was a final exam for the semester, without it she wouldn’t pass. What terrified her was the ‘Combat’ aspect, and aside from some whispers, nobody was forthcoming with details about what to expect.

‘Not helping people’, mentally chastised Tricia, it was a new form of torture, and why Tricia was on pins and needles waiting for her turn to enter the arena

Passport wore her Northern Lites team uniform with the yellow highlights, it wasn’t until she’d seen the aurora borealis for herself that the uniform colour scheme finally made sense. The utility belt Debbie had provided each of them, the pouches all packed full of assorted knick-knacks that the Gadgeteer had supplied with: smoke bombs, flash-bangs, a whistle that could split eardrums.

Debbie’s latest doodad was device that fit into the palm of Tricia’s hand, the Gadgeteer called it a Scrambler, it messed with a person’s brain and nervous system, scrambling electrical signals, she’d copied Cameron’s knack, but unlike Cameron it required direct physical contact to work. Nobody had volunteered to be the test subject.

Tricia also had a pouch full of Cameron’s energy absorbing balls: the black ones mostly but a couple of his new red ones as well. When Cameron had shown his teammates his newest creation, after he’d struck upon a suitable combination of elements in Chemistry class, he’d started making red balls, he’d said it could render somebody unconscious by siphoned off a person’s vitality but cautioned: to many balls could drain a person entirely, no doubt why there was only two red balls given.

It would have been nice if Cameron could have been here, of anyone, he gave her a confidence boost. Unfortunately, he’d left for Canada to deal with some legal matters. However, the rest of Northern Lites had been supportive and promised to be cheering her on. Tricia hated to disappoint them by failing – badly, time would tell.

The door she’d been directed to stand at opened, going through the opening she determined it was a city scape, not an actual city, but the way it was laid out in a row muck like a towns main street with assorted buildings and businesses, it was obvious that the intent was for her to enter.

Laying on the ground at her feet was a cloth bad, picking it up - within was a list:
1 - Fish oil
2 - Salt
1 - Baby formula
4 - Water
1 - Bicarbonate of soda

They’re testing my shopping skills, boggled Tricia.

All this hoopla just to stock somebody’s pantry. Whoever came up with this test is full blown crazy. Probably that nut case lady they’ve got for an art teacher, everyone says she’s grade A certifiable crazy, if she wasn’t at Whateley she’d be locked up in the loony bin. Cameron’s taking Art, but the only thing he’s ever said was the class was interesting.

Stepping out of the back alley onto a main street. Looking to her right she spotted a Pharmacy and a Health Food store; those should take care of most of the stuff on her list.

A distance down the street to her left, Tricia saw two other students who were also contestants on this gong show. There was swarm of people between her and them, all disheveled and moved with lurching motions, they were advancing – albeit slowly, on the two students.

Now, to be clear, Whateley uses ants in its sims, artificial constructs that resemble people in form. Sure, they look like animated crash test dummies, but, come on, considering the destruction that happens in a sim, who would volunteer to get torn asunder, so animatronics it was.

The crowd didn’t seem right, at first Tricia assumed it was how the ants normally moved, but the longer she watched them, it became obvious, as anyone who’d watched Micheal Jackson’s Thriller video for umpteen thousand times like Tricia had, you couldn’t mistake a zombie for anything else. This wasn’t a simple everyday shopping trip; it was a Zombie Apocalypse!

Now Tricia knew for a fact the crazies ran the asylum.

From the two students down the street came a screech, not from fear but anger. An accusatory finger was pointed at Tricia. “It’s her! She’s the one who threw a fireball at my face.”

‘Oh joy’, Indigo. Is Whateley trying to make my life miserable? Reasoned Tricia. Rightly so, she and Indigo had a love / hate relationship. Indigo just loved to hate Tricia. The finger pointing detracted a couple of the zombie swarm, turning they began that telltale beleaguered shuffle in her direction.

Tricia could see there would be no reasoning with the others, so she ran towards the Pharmacy to get more distance, at the stores window she looked inside, the windows and door had security barriers lowered and locked, seeing an open space Tricia portaled inside. Some light was available near the windows, but at the back it was dark – of course the lights would be off, what apocalyptic scenario ever left the lights on.

Fortunately, the utility belt Debbie provided included a headlamp, the ones they’d used up on Baffin Island, Tricia muttered a thanks to her Gadgeteer friend. Tricia searched the stores shelves, finding almost everything on the list except for salt.

Looking at the list again, a realization dawned on Tricia, it’s not a grocery list, these are ingredients. For what she couldn’t even guess, whatever it was it would taste nasty.

Outside the Pharmacy the trio of zombies had gathered where Tricia had stopped, but were held back by the security gate which they rattled while trying to get in.

Tricia was able to see across the street at a bakery, the store front had been damaged by a car crashing into the frontage. Not something she’d noticed earlier, her spatial awareness needed work.

Since the zombie’s attention was focused on her inside the Pharmacy, Tricia portaled over across the street for a better look inside the Bakery, it had no lights on – again, but she could see far into the store, enough to find a safe spot to portal to. Inside Tricia quickly checked the baking supplies, finding a large container of salt, and scooped some up into a baggie.

Tricia froze at the loud roar, the sound reverberated off the Bakery’s walls. Turning, her headlamp shone on the large frame of a man, the intense light blinding him momentarily. In that brief second Tricia portaled away.

Back inside the safety of the Pharmacy, Tricia watched the zombies wander across the street in their slow – relentless shuffle, they’d been attracted by the noise over at the Bakery.

The zombies only made it halfway across the street before the large man rushed at them, he began tearing the robotic ants apart, throwing the rent pieces to the side until none of the ants remained whole, but the separated pieces started to inch towards the man by whatever means available.

The man, having a blonde mane of hair like a lion, snorted in displeasure at the advance, he began stomping on the miscellaneous piece on the ground. He wore a skin-tight leather outfit, obviously to show off his physique. Tricia was aghast, the guy looked like Lion-o: from Thundercat’s, surely some copyright infringement was going on.

A voiced called out, telling Lion boy to back away, he did. A dark purple fog drifted over the zombie remnants, as the pieces got enveloped in the surging boiling fog, the ant bits stopped moving, neutralized.

That fog, Tricia had seen that before, in her Mystic Arts class: Indigo’s classic magic fuelled maneuver.

Indigo had singled Tricia out to harass, giving it consideration she’d been a thorn from day one, however, once Tricia had begun to make portals, Indigo’s ire had ramped up. The accusation that Tricia had thrown a fireball was entirely inaccurate, Tricia couldn’t wield magic, but did redirect Indigo’s own fireball back at her. So, technically, Indigo threw a fireball at herself.

Nothing like heaping coals on a burning hate. Such was life at Whateley; keep your friends close – cause enemies were around every corner.

“Did you find her?” beckoned Indigo.

“She was in the bakery.” Spat lion guy.

“Was her bag full?” Asked Indigo.

“I don’t think so, it looks like she only got some salt.” Explained the Lion-o wannabe.

Indigo carried a bag similar to the one Tricia had been provided, the Mage’s sack looked to have only a few items inside. “The Pharmacy should have the other stuff we need,” remarked Indigo, pointing towards Tricia’s hideout.

So, they have partnered up surmised Tricia. Tricia had an innate sense of fairness, but this didn’t seem fair at all. With that thought firmly in mind, Tricia ported all the ingredients she’d found in the Pharmacy away, putting them all into the Bakery’s ovens, just let them try and find them now she snickered.

Grabbing some additional supplies Tricia ported back to the alley she’d arrived at, with all her acquisitions in tow. Tricia expected that since she’d gathered all the items, it was game over, but pounding on the door didn’t end the exam.

A zombie trundled into the alleys mouth, blocking her route of escape. Tricia ported down the street the opposite direction she’d been. A bank was situated on a corner, a quick look inside provided a view of a safe landing zone, into which Tricia portaled.

The mock bank was a pretty basic representation of an actual bank, a counter ran across the room separating the public from the money. But no vault, nor any money present, not that Tricia expected otherwise, but the empty bank gave her a secure site behind the counter, if she stayed hidden out of sight.

Tricia brought out her ingredients from the sack, and pondered what her next step needed to be, getting the ingredients together wasn’t the test, so using the ingredients must be it.

A quick port back to the bakery let her grab a large mixing bowl and some measuring cups.

Looking at the list with a renewed outlook, Tricia determined that it showed how many parts of each item to add into the bowl. The concoction didn’t explode or even fizz up menacingly. It smelled terrible and no way was she going to taste it.

Tricia took some of the vile liquid in a cup and ported outside. As stupid as it sounded – maybe the list was a formula that was supposed to stop the Zombies. Crazy seemed to rule the day, so when two and two equals five and a half, why not give insanity a chance.

On the street Tricia made a point to observe her surroundings. A Sporting Goods store was a couple doors down, but the door had been torn open and sounds of an argument coming from inside told her where Lion-goof and Indigo were at.

A solitary Zombie walked towards her, in a millisecond Tricia was beside it and threw some of the liquid in its face. It stopped the drooped stance as it sputtered and shuddered, to then stand like a normal person.

“What happened?” was asked.

“Zombies,” informed Tricia. “Run and hide.” Was all the instruction needed as the ant turned and scurried off.

There was a roar, and Tricia turned to see a fist coming at her face.

In her peripheral Tricia saw Indigo leaning against a building, sneering, as Lion boy attacked her. Typical of the girl, let others fight her battles and enjoy the show.

Tricia opened a portal, in had become easy now, it was a simple mental process for her, no waving of hands or murmuring words to cast a spell.
Lion boys fist disappeared into a void hung in mid-air in front of him, his arm could no longer be seen as if it no longer extended out from him. The boy was startled, he couldn’t see his arm since it was gone all the way up to his bicep.

A whump was heard, followed by Indigo slumping to the ground, having been the recipient of the solid punch intended for Tricia. Lion-boys fisted arm – disconnected from the rest of his body, hung in the air at where the mage had stood. He opened his hand while looking at it from several feet away in disbelief, he wiggled his fingers, then tried withdrawing his hand from the floating disc but couldn’t. The brute then attempted yanking on his arm to free it.

Tricia had gotten some distance between them, before relenting and collapsing the portal. It was an odd expression of relief on the guy’s face after he had his arm back, not that it had been separated but the optics of something passing through a portal – seeing it elsewhere while still attached, was disconcerting.

The brief second of indecision came to a quick end, the Thundercat wannabe reared up, let fly another roar, and stalked towards Tricia. Tricia looked him in the eyes, he had dim yellow cat’s eyes with narrowed slits for pupils. Tricia stood her ground which infuriated him, he wanted her to be scared and run.

Still holding his gaze, Tricia opened another portal underfoot, and the lout stepped right into it.

Lion-boy dropped down into a hole in the street so’s only his head remained above ground. Tricia narrowed the portals opening so small that it was tight around his neck.

“Do you have a name?” asked Tricia. As traps go, Tricia had made a good one, the portal was now only big enough for his head to squeeze through, it was impossible for anyone else to enlarge the portals opening so his struggle was futile.

With a seething hate burning in hie eyes, he said: “Pride.”

“Ah,” remarked Tricia, she’d heard of him. This was the guy who’d wanted Aware to join his harem, cause – you know: cats. Anyway, Lynn had quickly dissuaded him which requiring only minimal physical injury. Sometimes that’s the only way people learn.

“Get me out of here!” demanded Pride.

“I think not,” countered Passport, he would cause her no end of trouble.

“What about Indigo?” asked Pride.

“What about her?” Tricia wasn’t callused, but she was curious about the sincerity of his concern.

“She could be hurt,” countered Pride.

“True that, you hit her awfully hard,” concurred Tricia. “Couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

Pride snarled, a deep throated rumbling announcing his displeasure. “I was aiming for you.”

“You know what they say: ‘pride comes before the fall’, me thinks she fell pretty hard. But tell you what, I’ll drop her off at Doyle if that eases your conscience, that is of course; if you have a conscience.”

Again, Tricia earned a snarl.

“You know, the zombies are attracted to loud noises. If you don’t be quiet, you’re going to be the center of attention.”

A growl was given in lieu of a snarl, not too much of an improvement – but some.

Tricia created a portal and stuck her hand in, retrieving a plastic pail from the Bakery, after punching a few holes in it with a knife retrieved from her utility belt, she placed it overtop Prides exposed head. “There, now nobody will know you’re here.” Said Tricia, giving the overturned bucket a tap on top.

Stepping over to the passed-out Indigo, Tricia formed a portal underneath her, depositing her onto the waiting room floor at Doyle Medical Center.

Walking across the street, Tricia looked inside the Sporting Goods store, finding exactly what she’d wanted: a water gun. It had a screw on water reservoir which suited her purpose exactly. Returning to the bank, Tricia filled up the water gun with the blended ingredients.

Back out on the street, Tricia found her target, a roaming band of zombies. Porting beside them, Tricia took aim and sprayed the zombies in the face with her gun. After the zombies sputtered and staggered about, they resumed acting like normal people.

Tricia combed the mock city street, giving any zombies she came across a blast from her soaker gun. In a very short time no zombie ants remained, at which a horn sounded signalling the end of the exam.

Tricia released Pride from his confinement as she exited the arena. Familiar with how the school liked to operate, Tricia went to the debriefing room to await her score – or was that scorn. She had no doubt she’d ruffled some feathers.

In the debrief room waited Gunny Bardue, he had an unreadable expression plastered on his face; not anger, or happiness, maybe it was his default expression dealing with students at Whateley. Tricia didn’t know the man well enough to make anything other than a wild guess. But had no doubt she’d hear about it.

Entering the room, Pride was ready to pounce at Tricia. Gunny Bardue headed him off before he could act on an impulse that would result in a severe reprimand. Pride took a seat – as far away from Tricia as the room would permit.

Before Gunny could begin his assessment, another person entered: Miss Imp, the art teacher. Tricia knew the wacko had to be responsible for such a twisted escapade.

Gunny ah-hem’d to get attention: “It may come as a surprise, but this exercise was intended to encourage collaboration. While Pride and Indigo had formed an alliance, it left no room for Passport’s inclusion.”

“I’ll be investigating to determine if Pride and Indigo’s efforts were in fact collaboration or collusion. Now, Pride, you followed many prior participants notion to ripe and tear your way through the simulation, with Indigo’s help in negating the animated pieces, you had a reasonable chance of completing the sim.”

“Few of the students who’ve taken this exam have collected each of the ingredients, of those only five teams mixed the ingredients together, using the formula to heal the infected zombies. Passport is the only student to have done it – by herself.”

“Typically, after the first zombie is healed, that ends the simulation. But this run was such a boondoggle, we decided to let it carry out to see what would happen. We’ve never seen the entire zombie population returned to human. We will be considering reworking the simulations parameters.”

“Indigo is at Doyle recovering from a concussion, she is being temporarily assigned a grade of 71 percent, a pass – just barely, until after my investigation.”

“Pride, your score is 75 percent, a pass, but a disappointing showing young man. You shouldn’t blindly believe everything people tell you, it’s what distinguishes a leader from a follower, and a mastermind from a minion.”

“Passport, you gave our technicians a headache trying to keep up with your jumping all over the place. Care to explain why you looked before you leapt?” requested Gunny.

“I need to know where I’m going, to ensure I don’t enter into something – or someone,” revealed Tricia with a shudder.

“You have a unique way of solving problems and showed an impressive mastery of your talent. My understanding is you’ve only just recently started making portals?”

“Yes sir, just a week or so ago.”

“Unbelievable. I look forward to testing you in the future.” For the Gunnery Sargent, it was as close to a compliment he’d ever given. “Miss Imp, anything to add?”

“At what point did you determine the list was a recipe to recover infected zombies?” The Art teacher asked Tricia.

“I suspected from the way the list was written that it was ingredients, but I really wasn’t certain until I tried it out,” explained Tricia.

“Marvelous,” exclaimed Imp, delighted at her twisted machinations. “Congratulations on a successful run.”

Tricia was stunned, she’d been right about the insanity of it all, but to be congratulated by the mind behind it – did that mean she was crazy too?

“Passport, you’ve been assigned a score of 94 percent. Not attempting to form an alliance resulted in demerits, but given the situation you faced, it had to be re-calculated into the final scoring.” Summarized Mr. Bardue.

Doyle Medical Centre

Lynn stepped through the hospitals entrance door, having such a high recuperative ability Lynn rarely needed the health care services offered here. But she was familiar with the place having visited her friends in their times of need.

Speaking with the attendant at reception, Lynn was directed to take a seat in the waiting room. Some others sat in the designated seating area; brief greetings were given but Lynn took a seat distanced from anyone else.

Minutes later a woman came to collect her, she was dressed in doctor whites sporting a visitor badge. Introducing herself as Tanya Nelson, coming from Arkham Institute to conduct research. Lynn already knew this, not from precognition – although she had a good grasp on the situation, rather, Lynn had been sent a letter asking if she would participate in a study about Precognition.

Although there were only a few true Pre-cogs out there, a growing concern about how to rate the rare ability had drawn the attention of the scientific community. Hence why Dr. Nelson had sought Lynn out.

Cameron had vouched for Tanya, his experience with the doctor had left a good impression, and since Lynn herself was curious about precognition, it made sense to explore the boundaries, of the ability itself – and her own.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” graciously said Tanya Nelson, showing them into a reserved consultation room.

“Cameron spoke highly of you,”

“Cameron! How is he?”

“He’s in Ottawa, dealing with a situation.”

“Too bad, I’d hoped to interview him also. I’m not certain if he isn’t precognitive as well.”

“Interesting, I suppose that is yet to be determined.”

“Indeed. As you know, precognition has no ranking system. So, I’m taking on the challenge to try and classify the ability and maybe arrive at a means to rank how powerful a PreCog might be.”

“How can I be of help?”

“I have a series of questions designed to describe your experience as a PreCog. Please answer as honestly as possible so I can tabulate the results.”

“Okay, ask away.”

“Would you describe your Precognition as an inkling, a premonition, or a vision?”

“What is the difference between an inkling and a premonition?”

“It’s a way to distinguish how a person receives an insight into future events. If someone has an inkling it’s a sensation that something is going to happen, often described as a danger sense. I’ve heard it described as knowing you need to sneeze, but it hasn’t happened yet. A premonition is like you’d experienced an event before and can avoid adverse consequences, some have described it as deja-vu, the feeling you’ve been there before.”

“That helps. I’d say I get all three to lesser or greater degrees depending on the circumstances. For example: it’s like – knowing someone is sneaking up behind you, on the other hand I see an accident before it happens and can move out of the way. But I’ll also see what can – or could happen by following a certain path which might be a long time to come to fruition.”

“Wow, that’s unexpected. So far, nobody has claimed to experience all three. One or two perhaps. I’m so glad I get to speak with you."

“I know my mom has premonitions of what could happen. But Cameron gets dreams in his sleep which he claims to come from God, so I suspect he might not fit into a premonition category.”

“I have already spoken with your mother: wonderful lady. Does premonition run in your family?”

“Yes, there’s a long line of PreCogs in my family tree, only the females have the gift, and it skips generations now and then. My mom’s a PreCog but my aunt isn’t.”

“When did you notice receiving precognitive insights?”

“It showed up a couple weeks before my thirteenth birthday. It was a very quick onset.”

“Did you notice any physical changes?”

Lynn coughed to cover her discomfort at the question, changing gender was a physical change that was hard to ignore, but not something she wished to openly discuss. So resorted to deflection: “Yes. My eyes were always green, but afterwards they took on a different hue, becoming much brighter.”

“They’re very striking.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you noticed a pattern to the inkling feeling, does it only occur when you are bodily at risk?”

“I need to think about that for sec,” reasoned Lynn, looking off into space collecting her memories. “It’s consistent for myself but can include my family and friends when circumstances are dire.”

“How about other people, not in close association?”

“It happens, but they need to be in close proximity to me.”

“That seems to be a common thread, as if there’s a sphere of influence.”

“Have you heard of it being triggered by touch? I can get a clearer insight when I touch somebody.”

“Interesting, physical contact being needed to establish a link. I’ve got to make a note about that.” Tanya wrote a comment into a notebook rather than onto her spreadsheet. “Now, premonition: does it follow a specific topic, or does it wander around?”

“I’d say it follows a specific topic, but it can go off on tangents. Think of a pool ball, when it strikes another ball, it veers off from the contact.”

“That’s a great analogy, I’ve got to remember to use that,” gushed Tanya. “So, in keeping with what you said: do you follow the original balls trajectory, or the one that was struck?”

“It depends, it can be one, or both, or maybe the effect upon the whole table.”

“I’m going to have to revisit some of my other subjects to get clarification, this is an unexpected consequence,” surmised Tanya. “Can you direct what you experience?”

“Not with premonition, it’s more superficial.”

“Opening up a question about visions, I’ll put that aside for a moment. Could you predict an outcome, such as a lottery’s winning numbers?”

“I’d like to refrain from answering that question. I’m obliged not to lie, but if such an ability was possible, a PreCog would never get a moments peace, everybody would apply pressure on them to disclose a desired future, especially easy money.”

“You make a valid point; one your mother also holds to.”

“She helped me set boundaries and kept me sane when my mind felt overwhelmed.”

“You were fortunate to have a guide, I’m sure it would have been hard to cope with the mental onslaught.”

“Part of the reason I agreed to be interviewed was to increase my understanding about PreCogs, to help others gain a grasp about what’s happening to them.”

“Is that a precognitive insight?”

“Maybe, I thought it was a worthwhile endeavour at any rate.”

“I appreciate your willing assistance.”

“You have more questions?”

“Indeed I do. How would you describe your visions? Do you zone out when they happen? Can you plot what you see? Direct the outcome?”

“All good questions,” mused Lynn. “There are times when it happens in a momentary flash, it takes a second to return to what you’d being doing, but it happens so fast nobody notices – unless thier very observant: Cameron can tell. For the most part, I consciously allow my mind to explore the possibilities, for that I need to be resting, some might equate it to meditating.”

“Excellent, very insightful. What about plotting your vision?”

“That’s very much a question Cameron, my mom, and I have asked. We’ve determined that the past is written in stone – unchangeable, the future however can be altered, to a limited degree. But to answer your question: I can follow a path to see what consequences could happen if a course change is made. To know when and what change is needed. But I’ve been stymied as to why, how it fits into the big picture, only that it’s the best outcome for the now.”

“I didn’t realize.”

“It’s hard to explain, and harder to understand. Seeing the future can be discouraging, you can see what a person needs to do, but you can’t force anyone to do what’s in their best interests. It’s like trying to steer a boat through whitewater rapids, you might be able to point out a smooth course to take, but either though inexperience, laziness, or indifference a person chooses to take the worst possible route, increasing the danger their in.”

“How do you deal with that?”

“Cameron believes that you must grant people freedom of choice, to make their own decisions. So’s that they are responsible for their own lives. I am beginning to see the wisdom in that approach: I tried to direct my brother away from what I felt was a dumb choice, he didn’t listen to me and suffered terribly, but it worked out in the end for him. So, I won’t attempt to control what a person does again, cause maybe it’s what’s supposed to happen.”

“Implying there’s a grand plan?”

“I suppose so, I don’t claim to know what it is, only that I get glimpses of what’s in store. But the long range – I’m talking like years away; I can’t tell what’s gonna happen."

“How far into the future have you seen?”

“Oh man! That’s a tough one. I’ve still got some pots in the fire from visions I got as far back as when I became a PreCog, and some visions are still in play, and I don’t know when they’ll be finished. For example: I knew I had to meet Cameron, but just what exactly that means for my future hasn’t been revealed.”

“I can’t imagine having to stay on top of events for such a long time. It seems unfathomable, how do you do it?”

“One day at a time. I think the biggest thing for a PreCog to remember is to live each day, don’t let the precious moments slip by, and don’t separate yourself from others – friends can be an encouragement and comfort.”

“Good advice, something I think all PreCog’s need to hear.”

Department of Defence Headquarters, Ottawa, Canada.

“I call these proceeding to order,” announced the central judge of the triune seated behind a long high podium, it was a female Lieutenant-Colonel, she was chair of the three judges adjudicating Cameron’s case. “The defendant: Private Outlook, is facing court martial, charged with dereliction of duty, insubordination, and desertion. How do you plead?”

Cameron looked around the courtroom, to the side of the judges sat a row of jurors. All of them dressed to the nines in military uniforms – including the prosecutor: a Lieutenant. Beside Cameron on his right was Emit Paulson, his personal lawyer, to Cameron’s left was Mike Williamson: his friend, guardian, and legal strategist.

Military court held to different protocols to what civil proceedings do, those differences could make or break a case. Fortunately, Mr. Paulson had started his career as a military lawyer, so he wasn’t phased by the climate, even if he’d served in the US not Canada.

Mike Williamson had been studying prior case files to build up a better defence, so the two legal minds had devised a sound foundation for Cameron’s defence.

Emit nudged Cameron, reminding him to stand and address the court.

“Not guilty your honours.” Stated Cameron.

Of course, the prosecution had sought Cameron to plead guilty, even the judges winced at the announcement – it meant what looked like a simple open and shut case would get dragged out indefinitely.

Not that Cameron had indefinitely to waste, he was due back at Whateley in three weeks to start the next semester, and he had promised to visit the Franklin’s in Alberta since Lynn had gone home to spend time with her family over the winter break.

So, to plead not guilty meant that everyone in the court room was going to be tied up – potential over the entire precious holiday period.

Another judge: a Major, spoke: “To expedite this case, we request that the accused provide us a detailed narrative, explaining events leading up to these charges. We do note however, that the defendant has previously submitted a record of events, but upon review, we’ve found it lacking in certain details and contains some blaring omissions.”

Emit Paulson stood to address the judges: “Yes, your honours. We are happy to comply with your request. And we had hoped such an opportunity would be presented. For your benefit, we have prepared a visual demonstration which coincides with my client’s accounting of events.” Smoothed Mr. Paulson, trying to curry the courts favour. “If at all possible, we would ask the court that questions be kept to the topic at hand? Since, as you say, you wish to be expeditious.”

“That depends upon your client’s portrayal of events,” Instructed the lead judge. “Please proceed."

Emit motioned for Cameron to remain standing during the discourse, while he himself resumed sitting, Mr. Paulson then initiated the visual presentation showing it on a large monitor positioned for the audience to see, particularly the judges and jury.

Cameron, dressed in a charcoal grey two-piece suit, waited for Mr. Paulson to give a ‘go ahead’ cue. Which the lawyer gave once the slideshow was ready, giving Cameron a wink and a nod, along with a reassuring smile, Cameron commenced:

“Thank you for allowing me to speak as to the events that transpired back in early September. For those not aware, my name is Alex Cameron Burke, please note that my common name is Cameron, but I use Outlook as my codename.” Cameron addressed the judges directly, but tried to cast his gaze upon the jurors as well. “I was approached at a social gathering,” on the screen a photograph showed well attired folks gathered into groups, conversing. Cameron could be seen in a huddle wearing his RCMP dress uniform of red serge, “and was asked to assist with the recovery of children …”

“What was the nature of the social gathering?” sought the prosecutor, a Lieutenant.

Cameron had been forewarned that questions would be raised to throw him off guard, make him stumble, try to catch him in a lie. He responded: “I don’t see how that is relevant?”

“You raised the subject, opening the door for scrutiny. Answer the question.” Directed the left most judge: another Major.

“Very well. I had only wished to protect individual’s privacy. I was attending the wedding of a good friend and colleague: Kenneth Tallman. His marriage to Veronique Gosselin was held on her family’s property at Trios-Rivieres – Quebec. Do I need to provide you co-ordinates?”

“We know where Trois-Rivieres is.” Replied a dour judge.

“Good, I wasn’t sure how much detail you required,” jested Cameron, his attempt at humour falling flat, the room held no levity that he could discern.

“Are we to assume it was a theme wedding, given the nature of garb worn?” asked the judge on the right.

“I don’t understand the question?” puzzled Cameron.

“The groom and groomsmen, including yourself I might add, are all wearing formal RCMP uniforms. Isn’t there a law forbidding impersonating a policeman?”

“Yes, it is against the law to impersonate a police officer. However, an active RCMP officer is granted permission to wear the red serge at formal occasions outside official duties, such as his wedding,” explained Cameron.” To answer your other question: all the men shown in the photo are RCMP officers.”

“This court does not appreciate your attempt to falsely represent yourself.” Accused the right-most judge.

“Excuse me, but: Mr. Paulson represents me.” Said a confused Cameron.

“Don’t play games! You are too young to be in the ranks of the RCMP.” Rebuffed the same judge.

“But, apparently, not too young to be shanghaied into Military service.” Muttered Cameron.

“You are out of order Private Burke. We will not allow you to malign the fine name of the men and women who serve this country with distinction.” Barked the center judge.

“That was not my intent, only that you refuse to dignify my appointment in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.” Countered Cameron with a calm demeanour, indicating to Mr. Paulson to advance to another prepared picture.

On the screen was a still shot showing Cameron’s RCMP identification, set beside that was his badge.

“I work in a task force called the Special Investigations Unit, who’s mandate is policing the empowered community in Canada, including oversight of the MCO.” Detailed Cameron, holding up his ID in support of his claim.

“How many strings did you have to pull to forge those documents,” disparaged the Prosecutor.

“If the voracity of my claim is doubted,” directed Cameron. “Perhaps you would like to hear from my supervisor with the RCMP: Mr. Ray Martin, fortunately he’s attending today to observe these proceedings.”

Ray stood, making his presence known.

“Sir, please approach the bench.”

Ray joined Cameron standing before the judges, he shook Cameron’s hand before giving the judges his full attention.

“Please identify yourself.”

“I am Raymond Arturo Martin, Commissioner of the RCMP’s Special Investigations Unit.” Stated Ray, handing over his identification to be inspected. “I can verify that Outlook has been a member of the RCMP for roughly sixteen months, serving with distinction.”

“Has the RCMP taken to cradle robbing?” scoffed the center judge.

“That question is one the Canadian Armed Forces should answer, considering it conscripted Outlook,” retorted Ray with a raised eyebrow, an indicator he didn’t appreciate the perceived double standard. “However, Outlook meets all requirements, and is thoroughly qualified to be a member of the RCMP.”

“He doesn’t look a day over fourteen.” Complained the right-hand judge.

“Indeed, his appearance has been most advantageous in diffusing hostile situations.” Admitted Ray, facing Cameron, giving him a wink. “He’s suffered physical setbacks which have resulted in his youthful appearance. Moreover: the RCMP does not discriminate against age, race, colour, or religion.”

“You insinuate that the Military does?” The lead judge glared at Ray.

“That is yet to be determined.” Was said cooly by Ray, almost a challenge to be proved wrong.

“Thank you for your testimony, you are excused Commissioner Martin.” The judge said in disgust. “Let the record show that Mr. Burke is a Constable with the Royal Canadian Police.”

Mr. Paulson hurriedly stood: “Objection your honour. If Cameron Burke’s status is being recognized, let the record reflect his rank as an Inspector.”

“This court wasn’t aware that Inspector was a rank used by the RCMP. What does the Special Investigations Unit do?”

Cameron replied: “When a situation arises requiring Special Investigations presence; typically involving empowered individuals, we assume supervision of the scene and take over control of the local detachments resources.”

“As an Inspector, what role do you play?” it was a validly asked question by the left judge, expressing honest curiosity.

“I am the field teams designated leader. I ensure situations involving empowered individual s doesn’t escalate or endanger the general populous.” Supplied Cameron, not giving more details that necessary.

“How do you achieve such a task?” again asked by the left judge.

Mr. Paulson ran interference: “Outlook is not obliged to answer that question as it’s protected information under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.”

“We’d hoped he’d willingly divulge his abilities.” Sought the left judge.

“I shall refrain from providing you an answer, under advice that it is a violation of my rights and freedoms.” Replied Cameron.

“If that is your choice, but your unwillingness to be forthcoming may impede our ability to render an impartial judgment.” Counseled the center judge.

Emit Paulson jumped up, saying in earnest: “Your honours, making a claim - such as was just made: implies that this court holds a bias, a direct violation of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms of Canadian citizens. The jury should be instructed to ignore that comment, and if any of the presiding justices cannot render a fair judgement – they need to recuse themselves immediately. Otherwise, I am forced to a request a mistrial and have all charges dropped.”

“I misspoke, I merely suggested that refusing to answer a question might sour the jury’s determination of events. However, I direct the jurors to not hold the Defendant in contempt for adhering to his Rights.”

“Thank you, your honour.” Acquiesced Mr. Paulson.

“Can we get back to the narration of events?” Asked the left judge.

“Yes, of course. Please resume.” Agreed the center judge.

“As I had mentioned, after the wedding ceremony, Veronique Gosselin – now Tallman, asked if I would be willing to assist in the rescue of captured children: Canadian embassy staff’s children specifically.”

“Why?” asked the center judge.

“Because … they’d been taken captive, and … their parents were worried about them?”

“Why were YOU asked to help?” clarified the center judge.

“Due to my work with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s Special Investigations Unit solving challenging situations I imagine. I really can’t speak to Veronique’s motivations, I recommend you interrogate Veronique herself. However, she did mention that the office of Foreign Affairs had received a request from the Prime Minister’ Office to provide assistance in repatriating the captured children. That’s my assumption anyway.”

“Why would Foreign Affairs approach you?” Demanded the right judge.

“I am on temporary assignment with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, acting as an emissary out of Canada’s embassy to the United States. I retain my current rank of Inspector for the task of assessing an educational institution’s specialized instruction for gifted students. Before you ask: I am not permitted to reveal the institution’s location for security reasons.”

“Why send an RCMP officer to inspect a school?”

“As has been already established, I’m not what you’d expect an RCMP officer to look like.” Explained Cameron. “However, the school has a specifically tailored curriculum for youths who’ve manifested abilities. As more and more children are exhibiting mutant traits, a way to ensure they can control these abilities is seen as the best solution to integrate them into society.”

“What makes you a suitable candidate for such an assignment? To be sought after by both the RCMP and Foreign Affairs?” asked the right-hand judge.

“An interesting question,” paused Cameron from his narrative. “Perhaps the Canadian Armed Forces could enlighten me as to why they feel justified in pursuing me with such vigour? That would most assuredly provide an answer we all would like to know.”

“We are not the one’s facing court martial.” Sneered the spiteful judge at his line of question being turned back onto himself.

“If you’re unwilling, or unable to provide a clear answer. Then I find I can’t answer your question, as it requires me to speculate about the motivations of others.” Countered Cameron.

“Surely you must have an inkling as to why.” Weaseled the same judge attempting to gain traction.

“Perhaps it could be my reasonable rates, or maybe my charming disposition,” Cameron’s smile faded as quickly as it came. “Quite honestly, I’d rather not speculate on the matter.”

“You are gifted, are you not? Your posting with the RCMP and to the US suggests as much.” The right-hand judge finally demanded an answer.

“Yes. I’m imbued by God. Hence, why at times, I use the codename Outlook.” Agreed Cameron.

“There isn’t a record of your registration with the MCO.” Questioned the center judge after getting an update from an aid.

“No, you won’t find such. I’m not a mutant, so don’t fall under the MCO’s jurisdiction.” Informed Cameron.

“How convenient, what is your power set?” directed the right judge.

“We’ve already danced to that tune: according to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, that’s a question you’re not allowed to ask me.” Countered Cameron.

“It’s information crucial to our deliberations.” Demanded the right-hand judge.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. But given the adversarial manner in which you’ve chosen to conduct these proceedings, and the harsh treatment I’ve received by the Department of Defence, I’m not inclined to offer anything beyond the bare minimum required of me.” Asserted Cameron.

“How unfortunate, we’re not the enemy.” Insisted the middle judge.

“Not from my perspective,” remarked Cameron with an unmistakable tone of bitterness. “Do you want me to resume the narrative, or shall we continue to waste time?”

“Proceed.” Waved off the lead judge.

“I was requested to assist in the recovery of embassy staff children …” Cameron was once again cut-off.

“Who made the request?” the judge on the right again being a pain.

“As I’d already said: I was approached by Veronique Tallman, a representative of Foreign Affairs. It was assigned to her by her superiors coming down from the Prime Ministers Office, a member of the embassy was a personal friend of the Prime Minister.”

“Who?” sought the judge on the right.

“Please be more specific, do you wish to know who the Prime Minister is, or the person at the embassy?” Cameron couldn’t help himself from being a little snarky.

“The embassy of course.” Dismissed the persistent judge.

“I don’t know. I was never told. All I went from was that there were children in trouble, that was enough information to convince me to go.” Added Cameron.

“How long did it take for you to arrange affairs before departing?” redirected the left judge.

“In hindsight not long at all: I sought permission to go and was granted a window of opportunity, then arranged transport, picked up a Foreign Affairs liaison officer on the way. All told, it was less than a half hour from being asked until arriving a Canada’s forward operating base: Nimpkish. So, all told: a half hour.” Supplied Cameron.

“You had to ask for your parents’ permission?” was the snidely asked question said in as belittling a manner possible by the judge on the right.

“Not as such, although I did send my guardian a text to let him know my whereabouts. But: No, I needed to seek approval from God to detour from my existing assignment. I can’t do anything without God’s backing. So, I suppose I did need to ask my ‘parents’ permission.” Cameron used hand quotes to emphasize parent.

“How were you able to travel from Quebec to the Middle East so quickly?” was asked by the left judge.

“I hired a Teleporter,” replied Cameron.

“Who exactly?” required the right judge.

“I don’t have permission to make her name public, she is however on the RCMP approved services list, and the bill was footed by Foreign Affairs.” Answered Cameron, to add: “Those agencies may be willing to provide you with her details.”

“Who acted as your liaison?” redirected the lead judge.

“Next slide please,” requested Cameron. “Commander Ron DeVouge, retired from the Canadian Navy. The Commander and I arrived at Nimpkish to be greeted by Captain Gareth Patel. The extraction team was still a few hours out, so it was recommended that I get some sleep in the meantime.”

As no questions got asked to further interrupt Cameron’s train of thought, Cameron continued: “I was woken to attend a meeting with Captain Patel and Commander DeVouge. I was notified that I could not participate in the recovery operation unless I signed documentation linking me to the armed forces. I was handed an enlistment form, which I read and found to be entirely unsuitable.”

“I took it upon myself to alter that document into something I could abide by …” Cameron knew an objection was coming, still it took him by surprise.

“What gave you the right to tamper with a government form?” demanded the judge on the right.

“I followed standard business practice, if a contract is inaccurate, or conditions are unattainable, entering into negotiations to achieve suitable terms which both parties can agree upon is conducted. To do otherwise could ruin a company, lead to misunderstandings and cost overruns.” Cameron spoke from experience.

“Canada has used a standard recruitment document for years, why did you feel it was ‘ unsuitable’?”

“The form, as provided, required that I commit to serving in the military for a three-year minimum, As I am already engaged – full time, to serve God, it would be impossible for me to fulfill both roles. Now, I’m certain you’re all chomping at the bit to pepper me with a barrage of questions – so let me explain: My work with the RCMP is done on a part-time basis, I am asked if I’m able to provide aid before any deployment, as well, my posting in Foreign Affairs fits into my God given objectives.” Explained Cameron.

“Rescuing children was, for a brief moment in time, aligned with what Canada wanted to achieve, so I could proceed in that endeavour.” Cameron informed. “But, what was being asked of me was for me to submit to the Canadian Armed Forces whims, at the risk of forgoing God’s blessing – and favour. Doing such would leave me powerless and thereby of no use to anyone.”

“It boiled down to Canada attempting to tell God what to do. That is not a situation God will tolerate. As the Brotherhood of the Hand found out.”

“But you signed the recruitment papers.” Countered the middle judge.

“I signed papers, but it was not your recruitment form,” next slide please directed Cameron. “On the screen you can see photos of the four-page document as signed by myself, notarized by Captain Patel, and witnessed by Commander DeVouge. Please play the video.”

The video footage showed the four-page document being flipped over by Cameron’s hand, to then have Cameron’s signature affixed to the last page. For all the pages to then be handed to Captain Patel to which his signature was affixed, and finally the Commander sealing the deal by witnessing the signatures.

“Please note: all recruitment text has been stricken in red ink, replaced by the terms and conditions of a Memorandum of Agreement.” Cameron’s statement reinforced by the picture images shown on the screen.

“Had Captain Patel been aware of these changes?” puzzled the lead judge.

“I recommend you ask the captain.” Redirected Cameron.

“Captain Patel died in the bombardment of camp Nimpkish.” The left judge provided the grave news.

“How unfortunate. What about Commander DeVouge?” was Cameron’s nest question.

“He is still recovering in a hospital in Germany from his injuries.” Again the left judge supplied the answer.

“I was not informed. Regardless, as you can see, I never agreed to a blanket recruitment, I did, however, agree to be inducted into the military for the specified period of five days – the limited window of opportunity I had been granted. My position and renumeration commensurate with the rank I hold among the RCMP.”

“That is completely unacceptable …” interjected the right-hand judge.

“I ask your indulgence to let me finish, then I’ll answer whatever questions you wish,” requested Cameron. “As for terms and conditions of the agreement, one is of particular importance: defining that should I undergo unfair treatment, endangerment, or outright hostility from within Canada’s forces, then the agreement in whole is voided the terms being inseverable. It is key for me to point that out, before viewing this next video.”

On screen, it showed the interior of an airplane, briefly the footage paned to detail two men working in tandem on what appeared to be a backpack. Freezing the frame, Cameron then commented:

“What you’ve just seen was taken from aboard a Canadian Hercules aircraft, it was boarded at Nimpkish on a flight to drop the extraction team into hostile territory. The gentlemen you just observed were Lieutenant Tarnowsky and Sergeant Meikle, the package they were working on was a parachute – the parachute I was provided. ExplAined Cameron, to then ask: “Continue the video.”

The exchange between the Lieutenant and Outlook was shown, including audio, then the moment Cameron was pushed out of the plane was seen, next was footage of Cameron tumbling midair as the ground approached rapidly. The scene was cut before impact.

“I was handed a defective parachute; the flaps having been fastened closed and the rip cords cut preventing its deployment. This constitutes endangerment and open hostility from members of the Canadian military. It resulted in grievous injury to my person. Further, there was no attempt to render aid or the recovery of my body. It was at this point when my agreement with the Department of Defence was terminated with just cause.”

No one made a comment, leaving Cameron open to finish up.

“So, you see, I am left puzzled about the charges against me. As for desertion, I was the one left in the desert to die. I suppose I was insubordinate in that I didn’t die as my commanding officer sought. Dereliction of duty could only apply if I was negligent in performing an assigned task, apparently the task given was to be left behind. I did not seek further association with the recovery team members after having been cast out.”

“Now, in considering that release of the captured children was accomplished – I completed my mission.”

“Do you have copies of that agreement?” was asked by the lead judge.

“You don’t have the original copy that Captain Patel sent?” pondered Cameron.

“It never made it out of Nimpkish.” Supplied by the left judge.

“Then certainly I can provide you with copies, would you like a copy of the video as well?”

“Please.” Meekly replied the lead judge.

“I am open to questions?” stated Cameron.

“The report you submitted didn’t included interactions with local assets, or the Brotherhood of the Hand, why didn’t you provide us details about that?”

“To what end?” Puzzled Cameron. “After the events I’ve already addressed, I was no longer held to any accountability towards the Canadian Armed Forces.” Summarized Cameron, trying to hold his tongue from providing the tribunal further ammunition, but he couldn’t help himself: “Granted, I continued with the mission under the auspices of Foreign Affairs, since they had been the ones to seek my assistance in the first place.”

“Then why provide any of those details at all?” doubted the right judge.

Cameron stood his ground by saying: “My intention was to illustrate the activities that members of the Extraction Team engaged in; the good, the bad, and the ugly. I had hoped that my report would provide evidence of Corporal Boot and Private Git’s meritorious service, and that they receive due recognition. Conversely, that Lieutenant Tarnowsky, Seargent Meikle, and Corporal Chuck be given suitable reprimands for their treasonous acts. Those details should not be considered pertinent or relevant into your inquisition over my court martial.”

“You have given us much to deliberate on. We will adjourn for today and reconvene tomorrow after lunch” directed the lead judge, stymieing the right judges anger.

Cameron sat, taking a load off his feet, and gave a heavy sigh – that had been brutal, No wonder Mr. Bardue raked Whateley’s students over the coals, he was getting them ready to face the worlds contentious nature, Cameron would have to thank the man next time they met.

Both of his lawyers gave the boy a pat on the back saying he did great. Cameron didn’t know what to feel, it was no relief at their reassurance, his legs wobbled, and his nerves were wracked from the stresses of the day.

Ray Martin: his RCMP boss, came to take Cameron back to SI’s office in the Bunker, it was Cameron’s secure place to stay while in Ottawa. Ken and Veronique joined them on the walk out of the building.

Nique stopped them a distance away from the militaries offices. “I am to ask, should you be able, tomorrow morning, to attend a small private ceremony at Parliament Building?”

“What time? Sought Ray, he’s the boss so Cameron wasn’t going to contradict him.

“Half past nine,” Supplied Nique, given with a huge smile and a wink at Cameron.

“We’ll be there,’ informed Ray.

Mike and Emit had arranged a planning session to go over legal strategies. Ken and Nique had matters to attend to and took their leave. It was just Ray and Cameron who headed to the bunker.

“Any idea what’s on the menu for dinner tonight?” wondered Cameron

“Cabbage rolls” informed Ray.

~o~O~o~

Canada’s Parliament building consisted of grand old stone architecture, it cast an image of pomp, a place of ceremony and pageantry, which for a seat of government was likely the desired effect. To Cameron, he felt out of sorts being here, the surroundings felt daunting to someone who’d run afoul of the institution on a number of occasions now.

Ray led Cameron into a central area he called the Rotunda, a place with all the trappings of political aggrandizing with flags and banners complete with portraits of former Prime Ministers adorning the walls.

In the middle or the room, standing in small huddle of people, Cameron noticed Ken and Veronique who turned as Cameron approached. But another face caught Cameron off guard: sweet little Lucy. Cameron’s first reaction was to drop to his knees and hold his arms wide, Lucy ran from where she stood and jumped into his arms giving off a squee of delight.

They held the hug for an extended period, after which Lucy self-consciously attempted to straighten her frilly dress, to then return back to the side of a formally attired woman – Lucy took up holding the ladies hand and looking up sheepishly at her in hopes she hadn’t broken protocol.

Nique arranged everyone for a photo shoot, after which the Minister of Foreign Affairs moved to a podium, calling for everyone’s attention.

“I will keep this brief,” he commented. “Of all the tasks I get to perform, recognizing an individual for outstanding endeavours that have benefited Canada rates well up there.” “Mr. Burke corralled the MCO for overstepping their mandate and made that agency responsible for, and responsive to, the needs of all Canadians. His ongoing role within the Royal Canadian Mounted Police has promoted Canada into a haven for oppressed people worldwide. I have been authorized to induct Mr. Burke as a Commander of the Order of Canada.”

On cue, Veronique stepped up to Cameron and affixed a pin in the shape of a flower to his lapel. Nique gave Cameron a hug, whispering: “I am sorry for all the trouble I have brought.”

In reply Cameron said: “No trouble. It all happened in the Nique of time.”

The exchange was cut short when the minister asked Ray to speak. As the Bossman approached the podium he gave Cameron a mirthful smile. The RCMP Director came right to the point, which was the man’s style.

“I am hereby recognizing the outstanding contributions made by Inspector Cameron Burke, for the excelling value of his police work, for the betterment of our community, and ensuring the peace is upheld no matter the odds or situation. Mr. Burke is hereby awarded Commander of the Order of Merit of the Police Forces.”

Cameron was directed to step forward to receive the medal, he was embarrassed at the attention given, but gave a polite thank you.

Next, the new British Ambassador to Canada was introduced: Mrs. Marie Moore, Lucy’s Mom.

It may not have been the most dignified way to greet an ambassador, but she kissed Cameron on the cheek, thanking him for returning her daughter to her. Cameron was at a loss for words but managed to say: “It was my privilege.”

Addressing the room Mrs. Moore commenced: “I was welcomed just this week as my countries newest ambassador to Canada, and one of my first official duties brings me deep personal joy, in that I get to thank the young man who saved my daughter and returned her home to me.”

“I have been instructed by the government of her Majesty; Queen Elizabeth II, to award Cameron Burke to be an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, for the services of valour and sacrifice in the rescue of consulate staff and family.”

At that Lucy stepped forward from beside her mom, holding up an ornate purple pillow on which rested a shiny medal. Cameron knelt so his neck was within reach, allowing Lucy to slip the medallion around his neck. She gave Cameron another hug before decorum won over and she returned to her mom.

Refreshments had been prepared, giving opportunity for congratulations to be offered. Cameron was overwhelmed at the outpouring of attention and affection, he never sought recognition for his actions and tried to direct all praise to God for sending him in the first place.

~o~O~o~

The court room, just like yesterday, was bereft of any joy, even the curtains were closed to prevent sunshine from interrupting the proceedings that sucked all happiness from any who fell into the unyielding jaws of military discipline.

Cameron was again joined by his lawyer contingent: Mr. Paulson and Mike Williamson, they had spent long hours reviewing case law and looked worse for wear. The courtroom held many well wishers attending on Cameron’s behalf, including the entire SI team.

The judges filed in and took up their positions, little acknowledgement was given to Cameron, a bad indicator felt the boy.

Once the protocol of starting sessions was concluded, Cameron was asked: “Do you have anything to add to yesterday’s testimony?”

“I neglected to mention that after having received the notification to attend this court martial, and the promissory letter assuring me unhindered passage, I was accosted by members of the Canadian Navy, who attempted my murder – and that of my friends. I have asked the RCMP to commence an investigation and provided them substantiating evidence.”

“You didn’t see fit to report this to the Department of Defence?”

“It happened in Canada, which is the purview of the RCMP, and I haven’t faith that the military would take appropriate action.”

Cameron’s comment raised the judge’s ire, which sadly was an expected result from raising the issue in the first place. Which made his next comment even more distasteful: “I have also asked that a review be made of all recruitments of powered individuals be conducted. I’ve been made aware of blatant coercion and pressure applied through the misapplication of civil law, such as immigration and landed refuge’s status. All to bolster the militaries ranks with mutants. My case is among those the RCMP will investigate, and I’ve volunteered my services in that regard.”

The judges paled at the revelation. But nevertheless, the lead judge commenced with her duty: “We will render a judgement at this time, in light of the evidence received.”

“Firstly, we extend apologies to Inspector Burke, and in kind every member of the RCMP who have served alongside military personnel in peacekeeping and wartime deployments.”

“Secondly, we are obliged to drop the Insubordination charge leveled by Captain Anderson. We have been unable to determine what rank Mr. Burke should have been afforded, a records search has been undertaken to seek prior instances of cooperation between our respective organizations. It was a grievous injustice for Inspector Burke to have been relegated to the most basic rank in the military.”

Cameron refrained from letting his guarded expression fall, lest he be viewed as weak. Rather he simply nodded his acceptance and stayed seated to await what came next.

“With regards to the charge of Desertion, also levied by Captain Anderson upon receiving the Inspector’s report, this too, was mistakenly laid, and hereby dropped.”

Cameron needed to keep his composure, two out of three ain’t bad, but with one still left – it was enough to result in a harsh sentence.

“We had dissent upon arriving at a decision over Dereliction of Duty, we do not recognize a Memorandum of Agreement as a suitable replacement to an official induction into the military. But, in consideration that no other RCMP officer has ever needed to make such a declaration in the past, it is, in our opinion, an overzealous application of a DoD requirement to protect all who share in military actions.”

“We are referring the enlistment and ensuing interpretation of the alleged agreement to undergo a full legal deconstruction of the terms and conditions as listed. We will wait for a completed legal opinion before a final judgement is given.”

“We are adjourned.” Called the lead judge, striking her gavel to officially end proceedings.

Cameron breathed a sigh of relief, he’d been exonerated of most of the charges, and a reprieve from having his bank accounts frozen. He congratulated Mr. Paulson and Mike Williamson – their help had made the whole ordeal less painful.

As the trio exited, the Colonel would lead the legal proceedings against Cameron approached, she asked to speak with Cameron. “Young man, The DoD is wondering if you would be agreeable to an arrangement similar to the one you presently have with the RCMP? Being on-call, but with the military?”

Cameron didn’t hesitate: “I must refrain, as I doubt there will be another alignment of our objectives, also I am resistant to the possibility due to prior entanglements having proven fruitless and futile.”

“We have need of individuals with talents such as yourself.” Replied the Coronal.

“Of that I have no doubt. Regrettably, I have found your organization to be both dishonourable and untrustworthy. I shall decline any further association. However, should you ever see me coming in the future, I suggest you run.”

Passing Wind Ranche, Southern Alberta.

Whateley was shut down for a two-week school break, enough time for Lynn to get home and reconnect with her parents. Cameron was invited to join her, but had pressing matters to deal with first in Ottawa, and he had wanted to spend some time in Prince George with friends there. But promised he would make an appearance.

In fact, when hearing of Lynn’s plans, Cameron volunteered to get a Teleporter to take Lynn home, which was sweet, and something Lynn begrudgingly accepted – the closest airport was in Calgary, and the growing hatred towards mutants had made travel into Alberta a painful experience – one to be avoided if at all possible.

A few days in and Lynn was finally starting to feel relaxed, her own bedroom, her mom’s cooking, her dad’s corny jokes, it was home. The only thing missing was Cameron, of course forgoing dad’s dreadful jokes went without saying, no degree of precognition could prepare you for when he dropped one of those stinkers.

One thing Lynn had wanted, no - needed, was to have a long heart to heart talk about Precognition with her mom, the questions Tanya Nelson had asked opened up so many doors that it had Lynn puzzled. Surprisingly, many of the same questions were also on Terry Franklin’s mind.
They had been at it for hours, each sharing thoughts and ideas about the how’s and why’s of Precognition, it was enough for Doug Franklin to say he was going out to spend time with the cows – they would be better company.

With just the girls in the house, Terry got serious: “Lynn, you’ve been upset since you got home. What’s wrong?”
“Mom …” It was a tough subject to broach, and Lynn wasn’t sure she about revealing what weighted heavily on her heart, but it was a big part of the reason she’d chosen to come, rather than be with Cameron. “I’ve been hanging around with young girls for a time now, and – well, each of them has had their periods, even Charlotte who’s a couple years younger than me. I still haven’t.”

“Lynn, some girls are late bloomers”

“You’ve said that before mom. I wanted to be sure, see if maybe something was wrong.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry.”

“I got an exam. They confirmed I’m all girl, but …” Lynn looked at her mom’s green eyes and the emotion in them froze her mind and tongue.

“Go on,” encouraged Terry.

“I’m sterile,” burst out Lynn, finally getting it out in the open.

“How can they be sure?”

“They did an MRI, I haven’t any eggs in my ovaries.”

“But …”

“Think about it Mom, I wasn’t born a female, I never had the female bits to begin with. So, I can’t have children.” It was a statement of fact, but still Lynn was shaking from having to explain what was wrong with her.

“Honey …” started Terry, building up a way to console her daughter.

“You wanna know what’s funny? The idea of having a baby scares me to death, I should be relieved. But …”

“Every girl is scared about being a mother.”

“That’s just it Mom: I’m not a girl. Inside, under this wrapping, I’m still a guy.”

“You will always be you, it’s just - you’ve been acting feminine, so I thought…”

“You nailed it: acting. My life is nothing but a big fat lie. Everyday I look in the mirror and all I see is another lie, and you know how hard it is for Were to lie. You’d be amazed how easy it is to fool people – they want to see a pretty girl, and on the surface that’s what they get. Did I tell you I was asked to be a model at Whateley? That’s not gonna happen.”

“Did something trigger these feelings?”

“When Tanya asked if there were any physical changes when I started to get premonitions, I just about slipped and told her just how much of a change I experienced.”

“Have you talked with Cameron?”

“Mom, I don’t know what to do. Cameron is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, he’s sweet and caring, honest and gentle, he’s the type of girl I could have really fallen for. I though I knew what I was getting into. I had it all planned out - by choosing him as the Golden Eyed Man and marking him, all the pieces lined up perfectly.”

“But?"

“I never asked Cameron what he wanted. I just went ahead and did what I’d decided upon,” confessed Lynn. “What if he wants kids? What if he wants a big family - in a house with a picket fence, a dotting wife. I can’t give him that.”

“Baby. Life is an exercise in give and take, if you both give more then you take that’s how a relationship works. So, give Cameron a chance, don’t just give up on him. I bet he’s hurting too.”

“Is that precognition? Cause I haven’t seen anything to tell me what direction to take. What happens if Cameron feels I pointed him down a dead-end street, one without children, and doesn’t want me around anymore?”

“That doesn’t sound like Cameron, he doesn’t just give up on people.”

“I hope you’re right.”

~o~O~o~

Lynn answered the phone after the first ring, she was waiting beside the phone – not for long mind you, only a minute or so. “Hi Cameron” she said, she didn’t even need to look at call display to know who it was. Her Precognition gave her a heads up of what to expect.

“Hi Lynn. How’s it going?” Asked a chipper Cameron.

“All good here, how about for you?” Lynn hadn’t received much detail – just enough to say Cameron had been on an emotional rollercoaster.

“Ottawa went about as expected, so another crisis averted. Marcus and Grace are doing fine, little Mark is a going concern, cute kid.” Lynn’s heart sank hearing Cameron’s comment but held her composure as Cameron continued: “The Trifecta of Trouble arrived safe, their plane landed in Edmonton, but they didn’t need to disembark, so no issue. I’ll tell you about it when I arrive, still good for me to visit?”

“Of course. Dad can’t wait to unload his latest feeble excuse of a joke on you.”

“Oh joy,” cringed Cameron. “The Teleporter will be picking me up in a couple minutes. Anything I should bring?”

“Just yourself.”

~o~O~o~

Lynn and Cameron volunteered to stay behind when Doug and Terry announced they needed to go to town on a supply run. It was a nifty plan, having someone stay around home in case Alan and Ella showed up early. It was the opportunity Lynn had sought to have some alone with Cameron. The wink given to Terry may have been an indicator of collusion between them.

Sitting at the table, they played a game of gin rummy. Pitting a PreCog: who knew what was coming, against someone with enhanced vision: who could see each cards value – it was a not a game of chance, every move was calculated and strategic. Which brought its own measure of fun.

Speaking of being strategic, So to was the question Lynn put forth: “Do you want children?” Direct and to the point was typical of Lynn, unfortunately it could be construed a number of ways.

Cameron tightened his lips and drooped his head in a downcast manner. When he did look at Lynn again, he had tears running down his face, saying: “I’m sorry, I don’t.” His whole being trembled, as his countenance begged Lynn’s forgiveness and understanding.

Trying to avert calamity, Cameron quickly explained: “I grew up dreaming of the day I’d be a mother. But that dream died after I got poisoned,” admitted the boy. “After the sex surgery Dr. Samuels warned me that my DNA was compromised. It means that - if I have a child, they most likely would suffer from mental or physical deformities. I can’t do that – can’t risk that, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“I didn’t realize,” for it to then dawn on Lynn, “Is that why you’ve never tried to revert back to being a girl?”

“I tried,” admitted Cameron. “But I couldn’t find any undamaged DNA to use as a blueprint.”

“I’m sorry,” commiserated Lynn, realizing she wasn’t the only one hurting.

“Me too,” sighed Cameron, it was tough to talk about, he might be resigned to the new reality of his life, but it came with a hefty price tag. Cameron felt compelled to explain further: “Did you ever see the pictures in biology class of mutated fruit fly’s, how it takes several generations for the fly to become normal again?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s me. I’m damaged goods, any children will carry that damage. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.” Confessed Cameron, who after a few moments - still with tears in his eyes looked at Lynn, and asked: “How many kids do you want?”

“There was a time I though two kids sounded right, just like my brother and me. But that was before I changed into a girl, since then, the very thought of having a baby freaked me out something fierce. And now, since I found out I can’t have children,” Lynn paused before saying anything more, her emotions a jumble, she watched Cameron for an indicator - receiving only a look of concern. She forced herself to continue: “I’d hoped you wouldn’t be disappointed.” Lynn looked again at Cameron begging for a reassurance, winning a smile. “Seems we’re a better match than either of us realized.”

Cameron debated if he should speak, deciding it worthwhile: “I need to mention something else: It may not be wise for us to consider raising a child in a world that’s on a crash course with disaster.”

It took the conversation off topic, but Lynn was curious, and it was her worst personality fault. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Many people are choosing not to have children. It’s the single greatest non-confidence vote a person can make about society and government in general. Deciding not to propagate means populations are dropping. It’s like people are in expectation of critical times.”

“That doesn’t answer my question?”

“You’ve mentioned before that when exploring different precognitive paths, most end abruptly in a black morass. I wonder if people sense a bleak future ahead.”

“I hadn’t thought how an uncertain future might be a reason to not to have kids,” pondered Lynn. “Obviously, I’m going to need to try harder scouting out which paths lead somewhere.”

“How do you decide which path to take?”

“I don’t have a simple answer, sometimes its easy - minimize potential damage; the fewest casualties is a good metric. Other times: best outcome, will folks be happy with the results.”

“Does that include yourself?”

“Not always,” confessed Lynn with a hint of a cringe. “At times extenuating circumstances muddy the water. Like choosing you, I didn’t know if you’d accept me or not, or be willing to help the Were.”

“But you committed yourself and are locked into a bond with me. Didn’t your happiness impact your choice?”

“A sacrifice needed to be made, doing so saved countless lives,” explained Lynn, attempting to describe her motives. “I was asked recently if precognition is patterned after the head or the heart. I’m discovering it’s a matter of balancing both and hoping for the best.”

“So having an insight into the future still relies on guesswork.”

“Nothing is set in stone until it’s in the past.”

As if on cue, a vehicle drove into the yard. Alan and Ella arrived at the Franklin’s Ranch ending Cameron and Lynn’s battle over the latest hand of rummy. Welcoming the tired couple and helping them get settled after a long trip took precedence.

Driving across the continent from Whateley in a cloth top convertible was an arduous trip in the winter, it had taken them several days to get to Southern Alberta, which included making multiple stops at Were villages along the way.

A quick update about the ongoing efforts to reclaim infected Were was discussed, which included good and bad news, no huge battles fought only minor skirmishes with patrols encountered recently.

An ongoing issue was regarding Alan’s status as an outcast, he wasn’t welcomed by most Were, which strained relations wherever Ella went, something Lynn knew only too well about, working with the Council of Were Chiefs as she did.

The roar of an engine disturbed their conversation, looking through the window Doug and Terry’s truck screeched to a halt. Terry jumped out of the drivers’ seat – which elicited a gasp, Doug typically drove, mental alarms rang.

Lynn directed Cameron to get changed, no explanation provided, he didn’t even bother asking, just swapped his clothes for his RCMP duty uniform.

Running out the farmhouse door, Cameron caught up with the Franklin’s. Doug remained in the trucks seat, he was bloodied and concussed, barely cognizant. Giving the man a quick inspection Cameron directed he be laid on the ground, layers of blankets awaited him curtesy of Cameron.

Doug suffered from multiple blows to his body, cracked ribs and a fractured jaw, he’d taken a beating. Cameron attempted to alleviate his pain and dampened his anxiety by draining off the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Doug calmed and closed his eyes as his breathing evened out into a sedate pattern.

Cameron attended to the man’s worst injuries, starting with the damaged bones, then the hemorrhaging parts of his body, all told the repairs only took a few minutes, but recover would need plenty of rest. The four Were each took a corner of the blankets Doug rested upon and carried him into the house.

Left alone outside, while everyone else was taking care of Doug, Cameron looked at the Franklin family’s truck – it too had taken a beating, with broken windows and dented panels. How Terry managed to drive it home was truly remarkable without a clear view of the road.
Cameron set about making repairs, he salvaged what he could, withdrawing from Warehouse materials to renew what was missing, before he could finish, he was interrupted.

Bringing his attention back into focus upon his surroundings, he was startled to find two RCMP officers laying on the ground next to him. One held a baton in a vise like grip – his muscles tense even though he was out cold.

Cameron surmised the situation; they had attempted to touch him while he did a deep dive. Too many times, he had been rendered vulnerable when looking at the molecular, so he’d begun to draw energy from his surroundings to offset his depletion, surprisingly it included anyone who got close.

Imparting a slight amount of energy into the two men, Cameron watched the revitalizing of their physical vital signs, he hadn’t drained them completely, but enough to render them incapacitated. It took a couple minute for them to stir and awaken.

The officer with the baton was the first to revive, he raised his weapon defensively. He was the younger of the two, having the insignia of a constable. He asked: “Why did you attack Sergeant Ambrose?”

“I did no such thing,” advised Cameron. “She attempted to touch me and paid the consequences.”

“She was only trying to turn you around, we’d told you to cease and desist, but you didn’t respond to direction.” He accused.

“I see,” Cameron nodded as the pieces fell into place. “So, you decided that striking me was the best solution?”

“The situation warranted subduing a suspect performing a crime.”

“How did that work out for you?”

The constable looked at Cameron in confusion.

“Did the fact I’m wearing an RCMP uniform not register?”

“No, we assumed it to be fake.”

“You know what people say about assuming,” humoured Cameron. “Can you stand? It would be best to get your partner into your car for her to recover comfortably.”

With effort the constable regained his feet underneath him, then the two assisted placing Sergeant Ambrose into the police cruisers passenger seat. Cameron handed Constable Matthews his identification, which was entered into the cruiser’s computer for verification.

The constable’s comment of “Oh crap!” kinda summed things up nicely. He approached Cameron returning his ID and badge trying to apologize. While engaged in the exchange, Sergeant Ambrose awoke, her immediate response was to draw her gun and fire a round at Cameron’s turned back.

The bullet hung in mid air, a mere inch away from Cameron’s torso. Cameron turned around using two fingers to pinch the bullet out of the air. Stepping up to the stunned woman Cameron held it out to her, saying: “This belongs to you I believe.”

“Who the devil …?”

“Careful. I’m one of the good guys.” Corrected Cameron, offering his hand he proffered: “Inspector Burke; Special Investigations Unit.”

“Nobody called in Special Investigations,” she defended.

“The Franklin’s did. They came right to me.” Countered Cameron.

“What were you doing tampering with evidence?” questioned the senior officer.

“Repairing a friend’s vehicle. All the damage has been recorded, so impounding it would be pointless, and a further imposition.” Said Cameron, while handing over numerous photographs of the truck’s damages.

“Are you taking over the investigation?” puzzled Ambrose.

“Heaven’s no. That would be inappropriate, given that the Franklin’s are my personal friends. But I can provide assistance, if you require it.” Advised Cameron.

“No hard feelings?” sought Ambrose.

“I am obliged to submit a full accounting to headquarters, but allowances are typically given for mistakes made in the field.” Detailed Cameron of his obligations.

“I’m sorry, I jumped to conclusions.” Admitted the Sergeant.

“It happens,” granted Cameron. “What happened in town?”

“We responded to a 911 call, a woman claimed her husband was being beaten to death, then the call was disconnected. When we arrived at the scene an angry crowd claimed mutants had accosted the group – for no reason, after which they then fled.” Both the officers alternately provided the details.

“Is there any video?” sought Cameron.

“The store has security cameras. We can arrange to get copies.” Affirmed the constable.

“Good, otherwise it just becomes a matter of: he said – she said.” Mused Cameron. “Sounds like a clear-cut case of self-defence.”

“Four men got taken to hospital, we expected ‘your friends’ would need to seek medical attention.” Questioned Sergeant Ambrose.

“They did, they came to me,” informed Cameron. “Doug Franklin is resting inside. Terresa will be able to provide you a statement.”

“Will you be present during our interview?” a pointed ask to determine Inspector Burke’s involvement.

“No, I’ll keep distanced, no point inserting myself anymore than necessary.” Deflected Cameron. “For the record, I am not a mutant, only a gifted human. In case preferential treatment is called into question over my actions.”

Terry was standing on the porch; she was wrapped in a warm blanket with her arms visible but tightly hugging her body. She beckoned the police inside, offering them coffee.

Cameron remained outside, resuming the work on the Franklin’s truck, and made repairs to other items around the yard.

Almost an hour later Lynn walked the two officers out and joined Cameron as the police car left. Her comment of: “Looks good.” Could have been about the truck repairs or the handling of events, either way, her smile was warm and assuring.

~o~O~o~

The Franklin’s house eventually settled down after the harrowing events of the day. Doug was sore but feeling better, despite the black eyes. Terry had recounted the experience several times, each telling lessoning the hurt, but healing would take awhile. It was shattering to deal with unmitigated violence, and she still felt she should have done worse to those Humanity First morons.

This attack hadn’t been the first encounter the Franklins had had in recent weeks, but never this severe, it foretold of the worsening environment for mutants in Alberta.

Terry, likely passing along a premonition, said: “I was thinking it isn’t safe for Doug and I to remain here any longer; they have a target painted on us. There will be repercussions.”

It left a sour note on the rest of the evening.

Doug suggested everyone relax by watching a movie, he picked out his favourite Christmas movie. They had just gotten into the main plot of the story when Cameron’s satellite SI phone rang, the movie was paused as he answered.

“Outlook.” It was standard practice to use codenames when answering a call.

“Cameron, I’m glad I found you.” It was Ken, the line must be secure.

“Hi Ken, what’s up?”

“We’ve just gotten word that Dr. Diabolik is looting Calgary. Can you respond?”

“Sorry Ken, I’m in the middle of a terrorist attack on a high-rise tower,” what Cameron had gleaned so far of the movies plot. “Isn’t anyone else available?”

“Nope, I haven’t found anyone willing to go to Alberta.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame them. Sadly, it’s a case of: ‘you made the bed – you get to sleep in it’. Talk to you later Ken.”

Some may claim that Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie – just try telling Doug Franklin that. Cameron may not be able to watch a movie, but sitting next to his betrothed warmed his mind, heart, and body. Besides: it was far better than listening to his future father-in-law’s bad jokes.

Cameron returns in: It Just Doesn’t Matter.