The Desert

The impact was so much worse than Cameron could have ever imagined.

Montreal, Quebec

Lynn stopped mid-stride, the plethora of shopping bags held in her arms continued to swing, though she froze to the spot. Timothy bounced off the halted girl who had suddenly stood still in the middle of the crosswalk, offering an apology for running into her - such a Canadian thing to do.

Rachel sensed something was amiss with the Were as a wave of fright came off the girl. The psychic gave Lynn a gentle shake, waiting until her eyes focused back on the here and now before asking: “What’s wrong?”

“Cameron, he’s…” uttered the stunned Precog, as if her mind was someplace else completely different from the time and place her body stood.

“What?” Sought the now wary Psychic, filling in the only detail that added up: “Dead?”

In a burst of tears, Lynn could only whisper: “I don’t know, his thread disappeared, I don’t see him anymore.”

Lynn wasn’t in any condition to fend off the bombardment of questions unleashed from her companions that her distressed comment elicited furthered by Rachel’s conclusion.. Her friends didn’t understand, she didn’t know what to tell them since she couldn’t say what she couldn’t see. The world spun out of control around the baffled girl, due to the onslaught of information - or the lack thereof. Either way, Lynn fainted, caught in Rho’s outstretched arms.

~o~O~o~

Lynn stirred hearing birdsong, it created a mental image of all those cartoons when someone gets bonked on the head. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to, but opened her eyes anyway’s, finding herself reclined on a park bench in the shade of a large tree. All her friends, including Grace and Marcus Johnson sat in the grass nearby drinking from large cups, entertaining little Mark and in turn being entertained by him, cute kid.

Upon seeing Lynn’s recovery, Rachel handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her when Lynn slowly sat upright with a slight sway.

“Are you okay? We were so worried,” spoke Rachel, attempting to not overwhelm her friend again.

Gauging how best to respond, Lynn nodded her head in the affirmative, and gladly took a sip of water before asking: “What happened?”

“You passed out,” claimed Rachel.

“Were don’t pass out,” refuted Lynn, it was absurd to suggest such a thing - the embarrassment it brought if news got out.

“Okay. So you momentarily slipped into an unintentional unconscious state due to sensory overload. Is that better?” Comforted Rachel with a huge heaping of sarcasm.

“Much. I’ll never live this down will I,” realized Lynn at her show of weakness.

“We’ve got your back. If anyone asks - we’ll say you had a bad reaction to the maple syrup-coated beaver tail you ate.”

“But I enjoyed that,” moaned Lynn, still tasting the sweetness on her lips and the doughy goodness of the deep-fried treat.

“I know. But it’s the only excuse I could come up with on short notice,” Psychics might know everybody else’s secrets, but that doesn’t mean they can keep them - very well that is. Rachel was at least trying her hand at subterfuge.

“Thanks,” offered Lynn with her head held low, perhaps it was a display of shame to the untrained eye, but her mind was racing as it was searching far and wide.

“So, what happened?” Sought Rachel, she didn’t usually need to pry information from people but Precognition created a barrier that threw Psychics off - too much interference from too many possibilities all at once.

After a second of soul searching, she begrudgingly confessed: “I don’t see Cameron.”

“As in; he’s hiding?”

“No, I don’t see any future that includes him. It’s like he’s been erased, but that can’t be, he was my tomorrow … I’m lost - without Cameron anchoring me, I don’t …” Lynn shuddered and leaned back to rest her head since she felt woozy again.

Rachel slid close and hugged her. “I get it, don’t get worked up just yet, maybe we just need to give it time. We should head back to the hotel and let you rest. We’ve only got a few more items left on our Whateley shopping list.”

The Desert

The only thing Cameron knew for absolute certainty was, he hurt. In fact, he hurt so much he wished he was dead.

How come he didn’t splat like a ripe melon when he hit the ground was a question that simply had to wait. It took all the concentration he could muster to narrow down the impulses from his blaring nerve endings to even begin to tell how bad his injuries were.

Cameron lay in a heap at the bottom of a valley between sand dunes. He’d landed on the side of a steep slope, his initial impact had made a crater in the sand, after which he’d rolled down the hill, flailing about like a limp rag doll until ending up as the broken mess he’d woken up as.

It felt like his ankles had been pushed up to his knees, his knees into his hips, and his hips up into his shoulder blades, which is very likely just exactly what happened. Coughing up blood, Cameron took shallow breaths and began to scan his pains, from the outset he knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. Few bones came away unscathed, and his internal organs looked to have gone through a meat grinder, it wasn’t a question of where to start, it was more a matter of why try?

Cameron’s sight began to progressively diminish until it was like looking down a long tunnel, he was sleepy - so sleepy. He offered a prayer of apology for his failures, then, after drawing in one last haggard breath he slowly released it, and was ready to let himself go. It was peaceful.

~o~O~o~

A voice called to him: “Cameron, come on son, there’s work to be done.”

What was it Dad always used to say? ‘No rest for the wicked.’ I suppose I better re-evaluate my life ‘cause I could really go for some rest right now.

“Up and at-em. I know you can hear me.”

“Leave me alone, I’m dead,” rebuked Cameron at being interrupted.

“No you’re not.”

“Dead tired then,” negotiated Cameron.

“I grant you that. I’ve let you rest for as long as possible.”

“I should be dead,” realized Cameron, a little slow on the uptake - not altogether unexpected given the circumstances.

“True. As landings go, you really botched that one.”

“Not helping,” he didn’t need to be reminded, the memory was too fresh.

“I’ve been nothing but helpful, your healthy - aren’t you?”

“Thanks for … “ It was true, he wasn’t in agony anymore. Cameron flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes - all present and accounted for, still, it’s just that he was really sore - all over. He’d been smiling up at his mentor to show his appreciation - but it rather suddenly turned sour: “Wait a minute, are you implying I should be able to fly?” Sometimes the hits just keep coming, the boy’s mind wasn’t ready for that tidbit.

“Fly? No. More like ignore the Earth’s pull in favour of other forces.”

“Like my levitation belt?” Cameron was looking for an excuse, anything other than …

“That toy of yours didn’t save you now, did it? You can do much better.”

“I hate heights, they freak me out,” affirmed Cameron, accompanied by a fervent head shake. "Feet! Firmly on the ground - from now on,” call it petulance, but there needs to be ground rules, and Cameron’s rule was: being on the ground.

“If you must.”

“I’m really sorry, I wasn’t ready for getting tossed out of an airplane. Or for dying - again,” explained Cameron.

“You didn’t die. You were on the verge, but we couldn’t let you go. There’s still too much work to be done.”

“Yes, yes, keep an eye on Whateley Academy, I know,” acquiesced Cameron, feeling chastised for failing in his duty.

“Actually, there’s been a development. Conditions have deteriorated to the degree that honest-hearted people are in danger. A Truth Speaker had been trying to maintain calm, she was directed to have those who’d listen flee.”

“If you already had somebody there, what am I supposed to do?” If ever in doubt - ask questions, the only stupid question is the one left unasked, or so Cameron’s Mom used to say.

“You’re to gather evidence.”

“I see,” garnered Cameron.

“Precisely. Head towards the rising moon, she awaits your arrival.”

Cameron received his marching orders, he opened his eyes to see a blaze of colour stretching across the horizon as the sun began to set. After quickly gathering up his widely strewn belongings along with the defunct parachute, Cameron started walking. Every joint and muscle hurt at first, eliciting grunts and groans from the hurting boy, but after a while, the motion eased his body’s aches, and he maintained a steady pace.

Walking alone in the desert gave Cameron time to reflect on recent events, the often-heard expression is that hindsight is twenty/twenty, Cameron took it to mean that looking back provides clarity. In the heat of the moment, clarity is not a person’s foremost concern, it’s only afterwards that you can reason on what happened. Only then, when panic has faded, can the mind harp upon the shoulda - coulda - woulda, like why didn’t I say … instead of …, missed opportunities that always come to you later on.

As Cameron fell, with the ground rushing up at him, he couldn’t think straight, he froze, his fear hindering his reactions and preventing him from taking action. Now, however, after the fact, he thought of things he might have done to prevent … a rather nasty owwie, one he still hurt from. Cameron was confident he hadn’t resorted to flapping his arms like a plucked chicken, that would have looked darned silly.

How did Grandma put it: ‘If God meant for men to fly he’d have given us wings.’ Oddly, of all the people Cameron had seen who could fly, only a couple actually had wings, and of those wings, most were more decorative in nature than truly capable of sustaining flight. So, how do they do it?

He was perplexed, maybe if he’d made a big kite, like those hang gliders, no, he’d never paid much attention to them, he didn’t know how they worked, too much like flying to be of interest. How about a balloon, or what if he’d made a whole bunch of small balloons and filled them with helium, that might have worked. It’s just how many balloons would it take, and he didn’t have any helium in Warehouse, thinking about it, he didn’t have any place to store gases - that could be useful.

Since there was time aplenty as he trudged along, Cameron checked his battery, he recalled having his energy gathering cranked up in hopes … sure enough, it must have done some good in the end because his stored energy level had increased considerably. He was alive - well, lived, which is a good thing, but credit must go where it’s due, for his part he blew it big time.

The recent conversation with his mentor nagged upon Cameron; meeting a Truth Speaker. Could someone else pull out truth from a person like his glowing eyes did? How many others like him were there? Did they each have an assignment like his? Was there a club, with semi-annual meetings? Nobody ever said anything to him about it so this was going to be a first.

The night air was crisp, Camron had to guess that he’d been laying in the sand for a while, since the moon had already been up when they’d left Camp Nimpkish, how long had he been out of it?

He checked his satellite phone, he’d lost a day. Nothing he could do about that now, just keep walking and allow events to unfurl according to plan. He chuckled at that, Captain Patel’s plan hadn’t even lasted a second - at least not for Cameron, nobody’s boots had even hit the ground - unless you counted Cameron landing feet first.

He couldn’t help but wonder what became of the extraction team, Boot was okay, the others - not so much, but he’d not had much interaction to support that assessment. Boot, did he know he was a mutant? That low a level manifestation, barely even a level one Exemplar, had it even been noticed?

Cameron stopped walking, thinking about Boot made him realize his own boots were full of sand and had begun irritating his feet. He took off his boots and emptied them - knocking out copious amounts of sand, after taking off his socks to clean them, he decided that walking in sand took lots and lots of effort, and was slow going.

Removing his levitation belt from his Cupboard, he strapped it on - raising himself up so that his feet barely touched the ground, it had the effect of letting him skim over the sand at a much faster pace. This he could do - flying? NO, no way! In consideration, it would have been pointless to have tried using the belt to break his fall, since the levitation effect needed to start from something solid to then build upwards.

Cameron picked out a route between the dunes to provide the most protection, and began making a skating movement to increase his speed. It occurred to him that the wind would drift sand to cover over his tracks from before, now however he left nothing to follow. He wondered if anyone from the extraction team had bothered to find him, with a day’s delay they must be long gone, the captives already freed and heading back to Canada.

The desert was surprisingly cold at night, he always thought it would be blistering hot - night or day, he huddled into his light jacket lifting the lapel and putting his hands into the pockets, then cranked up the heat to keep warm.

He watched the moon rise higher in the night sky, it was just a sliver but it was comforting nonetheless. It reminded him of Billie, and Jade, and the rest of the Kimbas for that matter, odd to consider that he missed them - missed Whateley. As much as he’d deny it, he was looking forward to returning there. Was it because he’d be with his friends? Be with Lynn? He was comforted by that thought.

A din ahead alerted Cameron, it sounded like a large number of vehicles’ engines running. Coming around a dune he saw them, layering his sight Outlook gazed upon a long convoy of assorted vehicles parked alongside a road. He watched as more vehicles joined up with them, all having come from the City, still a distance away. It was a muster point for people fleeing from the unrest, following the Truth Speaker’s admonition.

The gathering of people puzzled the boy, amidst all the confusion and turmoil, there was an old person sitting on a blanket away from the hustle and bustle. She sat facing Cameron, sipping on tea, waiting, like she knew he was there. An attendant would come every so often to see to her needs, but otherwise, it was just her and an old worn stick laid out beside her.

It was the energy signature that convinced Cameron to approach.

“Peace be with you!” Called out a voice, carried across the sand with surprising clarity.

“May light guide your path,” responded Cameron.

A weathered arm beckoned him closer, and a hand patted the rug in front of her. Cameron sat down with a huff of relief, a rest was welcome.

“You sound like I feel,” claimed the elderly woman. “At eighty-three I’ve earned my aches and pains. You’re too young yet.”

“Gravity isn’t concerned with a person’s age, we all hit the ground with the same results.”

“A bad day?” She asked, motioning for her helper to come closer.

“Not the worst, not the best,” admitted Cameron.

“I hear you monitor mutants, no small task. I’m too old for such excitement,” her laugh was endearing, grandmotherly. “Tea?” She asked.

“Please,” he hoped it would warm up his insides. “It would appear you have enough excitement for us both,” gesturing to the amassed crowd. “You’re taking them to safety?”

“A UN refugee camp across the border,” she pointed South toward the intended destination. “These people had the good sense to escape the coming storm.”

“I came to free some children being held hostage,” this conversation intrigued Cameron, how much would she have been told about him, he’d received little regarding her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are being kept?”

“I doubt you need even ask that question, we both know what motives lie in the hearts of men,” a truer statement had never been said, but the elderly lady said it nonetheless.

“A church,” surmised Cameron, his original inclination bearing up under scrutiny.

“Indeed,” nodded the lady in agreement. “Before I forget, I have something for you,” waving her arm an attendant brought forward a parcel. “It’s a prophet’s cloak, with it - people will see you as a holy man, so no one will question you.”

“I don’t think I can wear it,” wavered Cameron at the implication such a garment represented. Sure, the rough-sewn camel hair looked itchy, but more importantly, it was a symbol - a token of a position Cameron didn’t feel entitled to.

“You aren’t a Truth Speaker, are you?” Gleaned the lady from his hesitance to accept the garment. “What role do you play?”

“A spy, I’m only to observe - and stir the pot as needed,” her question was enlightening, Cameron pondered how many spies there were and where they were, for that matter how many Truth Speakers were out there? Maybe his mentor knew; if he would divulge such information.

“I’ve never met a spy before, although you do look like a young James Bond,” the lady smirked while teasing the boy.

“The first rule of spying is not looking like you're a spy,” proclaimed Cameron.

“Then consider the prophet’s cloak as another disguise. Just like those glasses you wear to hide your eyes behind, this cloak will grant you passage through the City,” she could see right through Cameron’s doubts.

“Okay, thank you,” bowing his head in gratitude.

“There is more,” informed the woman, beckoning him to move a little closer. “My gift allows me to speak a person’s truth.”

“I don’t understand,” said a baffled Cameron.

“You will. I need to hold your hands.” She gently took Cameron’s hands in hers and held them for a moment.

“Alright,” was Cameron’s response, uncertain if he was ready or not for what she might say.

“Hmmm. You needn’t be afraid of loving others,” she spoke softly, like it was a secret.

Cameron sat unmoving, as if in shock, he’d kept that notion buried deep. He stayed stationary for a long time, his thoughts running wild until his eyes couldn’t hold back the floodgates and tears began to track down his cheeks.

“I’m cursed, or damned, or worse. Everyone whom I’ve ever loved - really deeply completely loved, all my family, they're all dead. I can’t let people get close to me, not like that, never again.” The boy’s heart rent in two from saying the words aloud.

“It isn’t true. You didn’t cause anyone’s death,” the Truth Speaker empathized.

“Then, why?” Begged Cameron at the question he'd carried around ever since the accident stole her family.

“Perhaps you feel they needed to be sacrificed? The price to pay for you to be of service to the Creator. If that’s the case, do you place the blame on God for their deaths?” Revealed the woman about the reasonings in Cameron’s heart.

“No.” Cameron’s response lacked true conviction, he was on virgin territory emotionally, he didn’t feel prepared to deal with the loss yet, there was too much pain attached. However, it was wrong to imagine God took her family, it had been an accident - a terrible damned accident that destroyed all she held dear. With nothing left to live for, Cameron had given herself to do God’s will, that’s when Grace showed up and promised her that she’d be okay.

“Good, because God doesn’t work that way, he doesn’t ask such sacrifices of us. Our service shouldn’t be given begrudgingly, nor from compulsion or what we might gain. Foremost, God lets us retain our free will in all things, and we can be blessed to lead long - fulfilling - happy lives. Look at me, I’ve been at this for over sixty years.”

“Did you marry?” It just popped up - coming out of Cameron’s mouth without thinking, some might call it a Freudian slip.

“Yes, twice as a matter of fact. But I feel your concern has more to do with opening your heart up and actually trusting somebody.”

“I don’t feel I can trust anyone, I don’t know how, not when you can’t depend on people.”

“That’s the whole point! You give of yourself despite the other person’s faults and failings. It requires forgiveness, and long-suffering - it’s the cost of caring and sharing, but love - real love is worth any price. Remember, nobody’s perfect, not yet, so you need to make allowances for yourself and others.”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m not ready,” moaned a grieved Cameron.

“With maturity comes a better relationship with yourself. It’ll come, in time, you’re still young,” was said as she patted the back of his one hand in consolation.

“Until then?” Cameron raised his eyes to look directly at the lady, her smile widened at having touched his heart.

“Don’t put too high an expectation upon yourself and those close to you,” she advised, grandmotherly counsel always sounded so sweet.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all we can do, give our best, let God bless the effort we show.”

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you.”

“It was your truth. I’m glad I could help.”

“What may I do for you?” Cameron felt obliged to give something in return.

“I have a simple life, with few needs or wants.”

“Your staff looks a might worn, perhaps I could provide you with a new one?”

“I can always find another stick to lean on.”

“Then please, let me give you one,” Cameron manufactured a staff from his energy-absorbing material, roughly the same length as her old one, and handed it to her.

“This isn’t wood,” she observed hefting the staff up.

“No, it has special properties, it absorbs energy and retains it like a battery. Black is empty - white is full. I’ve made it so one end draws in, the other pushes out. You can stun or daze accordingly by touching someone with it.”

“Non lethal?”

“Of course.”

Looking admiringly at her new staff the woman provided more detail: “Inside the city, look for an empty riverbed, follow the well-worn trail in the river bottom until the fifth bridge, the building you seek is built on the riverbank.”

~o~O~o~

As a parting gesture of goodwill from the Truth Speaker, a thoroughly abused old motorbike was gifted to Cameron. The bike ran, just barely, Cameron could have attempted a restoration, but it might have defeated the whole purpose of not drawing attention to himself. It was a good thing her brother James had a little dirt bike back home so Cameron knew how to drive it - sort of.

It was still dark out in the early morning hours, the few people he came across had been fleeing the City with whatever conveyance they could muster. Upon seeing his cloak they bowed in reverence - taking delight in receiving a gesture to proceed with haste.

The beat-up old motorbike got Cameron to his destination, his cloak flapping in the wind, or so he imagined. It was difficult to keep his vision narrowed down to permit driving, it required going slowly, still, Cameron hit every pothole, bump, and rut along the way, it was like he aimed for them on purpose - which he hadn’t. Stopping under the fifth bridge, he was torn at leaving the bike behind, but decided to tuck it into Warehouse, he might need it again.

The fifth bridge spanned the dry river bed, well it would have, if somebody hadn’t blown the middle section up leaving a massive gap, evidence that the coup wasn’t all that popular. In the distance flashes of light and the sound of gunfire punctuated the night’s stillness. It was eerie to walk into the centre of a centuries-old civilization, and witness it crumbling from within, eroded by conflict. Climbing up the river’s embankment, Cameron exited onto an almost entirely deserted street.

The religious edifice before him was massive, the structure was comprised of multiple buildings supporting tall spires standing overtop open-air gathering spaces, the dominating feature was a huge bowl-like amphitheatre that allowed seating almost the entire way around. The space was built to maximize acoustics, so that all present could see and hear what transpired on the central raised platform.

The place of worship was closed up tight, all nice and secure behind a high fence - with few gates, there was little activity going on inside at this hour, with guards protecting each gate. Cameron counted fifty men within, some walking patrols, others engaged in meetings, most rested in rooms with blankets spread out on the floor.

For his disguise to be convincing, he fashioned a staff for himself to look the part. He didn’t wish to sully the prophetess’ name, but he walked with a stoop to mimic her movements. Cameron wandered around the perimeter of the huge complex to get a good look inside. It had a confusing underground, tunnels going every which way, creating a maze which needed much study to make sense of the warren.

In a deep section - almost dead center, and under heavy guard, he found what he suspected, a cluster of children sealed up in a room. The extraction team hadn’t succeeded, too bad, it left the onus upon Cameron to free them. The prison room held no conveniences like running water, just a couple of chamber pots set down leaving no privacy. All told he counted eighteen present, ranging from kindergarten age to pubescent teens, that would have been good intel to have been provided in the first place.

It soon became apparent that there would be no easy escape route, every possible exit would require passing guards down in that rats’ nest. ‘If you build a better mouse trap, the world will beat a path to your door.’ He wasn’t certain who had told him that nugget, maybe Ray, anyway - the lesson he’d taken was that you can succeed at nearly anything, if you put your mind to it, at least that’s what Cameron got from it.

Cameron mentally ran potential scenarios, trying different approaches and routes to take. When an idea held merit, something would prevent that possibility - like a sentry patrol, or guard post, or a dead-end tunnel. Getting himself in wasn’t the problem so much, it was making sure the kids got out safely that made it challenging.

This church was a beast, and the children were in the belly of it; physically and metaphorically. Outlook took heart from knowing that: if it was easy, they could have sent anyone. Yay me!

Yes, getting the kids out - all the kids, was going to be tough. He couldn’t just go in, ask for the Canadians, then go, leaving the rest behind. No. That wasn’t even remotely an option, if you rescue one - you rescue them all. But once out, then what? He needed to find a means to aid in making the escape a success: some transportation.

Outlook scanned the church’s surroundings, at one time it would have been a prosperous neighbourhood, but now it was in shambles. The buildings nearby were ravaged by fighting, resulting in collapsed walls and burned-out structures, destroyed lives left desolate and barren by a violent bid to seize power.

If he was to find anything, he’d need to head to another part of town. The sun would rise soon, the sky had brightened, it only felt like midday to Cameron, which is likely what it was back home. He’d never experienced jet-`lag before, cause, well, it required flying. Was teleporter-`lag a thing? He’d have to ask.

Cameron’s feet complained about more walking, he debated bringing the busted-up old motorbike out from Warehouse, but decided it might draw more attention than he wanted to deal with. The thing about being in disguise was to not be noticed, so walking it was.

A common thread shared between equatorial communities is that the busiest time of day is the mornings, before the heat becomes intolerable. That wasn’t the case here, not that Cameron had noticed, the streets remained empty, hardly a soul left the safety of their homes. Cameron came upon an area that showed evidence of being a market square, wooden stalls stood empty, void of wares and abandoned by the vendors who’d hawk goods and services.

The buildings here showed little sign of the ongoing conflict, still, windows and doors were tightly closed. Now and again a curious face would look out at the disguised boy, clad in his camel hair prophet’s cloak, only to have the people within hide away in case he noticed them.

In the market’s courtyard stood a large water fountain, a simple basin with a standpipe. However the fountain was bone dry, from the standpipe came a single drip every couple of seconds, below the standpipe was stationed a bucket to catch the drips, it only held an inch worth of water, hardly even a mouthful all-told.

From out of his Reservoirs holdings Cameron brought forth enough water to fill the fountain’s basin, then from beneath the folds of his cloak, Cameron withdrew a tin cup - it had been in his Cupboard, but those watching didn’t know that. Cameron dipped his cup into the now overflowing fountain basin - drinking deeply with satisfaction, wiping his mouth on a sleeve.

It was as if a dam burst, people suddenly clamoured around him, bringing buckets and pots, anything that would hold water. Soon Cameron was squeezed out by the crowd in the mad rush to get at the water. Cameron didn’t blame them for their obsession to obtain life’s necessity, but a little gratitude or some simple courtesy would have been appreciated.

Turning away from the bustle, Cameron chose a new direction and headed off. He approached a street, no different from any of the others at this civic hub, but his way was blocked by a young boy holding a pail in one hand and the rope lead for a donkey in the other. As Cameron tried to walk around the obstruction, the boy would sidestep preventing his departure, this happened thrice before Cameron stopped trying.

Cameron looked at the boy closely, young, maybe nine or ten, big brown eyes that never looked away. Cameron reached out his hand to which the boy didn’t react, Cameron gestured with his hand to pass it to him.

The boy was confused, holding up both the donkey’s rope and the pail. Cameron took the pail and filled it to the brim with water, setting it down for the donkey to drink. Outlook then withdrew his canteen from his belt, handing it to the young boy. The boy’s reach was unsteady at first, but he raised the canteen up and pulled a long drink from it, after which he briefly came up for air, he took another long drink before returning the empty container.

The donkey had drained his pail so Cameron refilled it, giving the animal’s neck a stroke which loosed dust and a few flies. Once satiated the donkey gave a snort and stamped a foot upon the cobblestones. Perhaps a cue between the two, but the boy grabbed Cameron’s hand and began to drag him along, the boy walked backwards at first, tugging to ensure Cameron came along, soon, since Cameron hadn’t objected, the boy walked beside Cameron but never did the boy let go of Cameron’s hand.

As they walked, occasionally the donkey bumped into Cameron, the first time it happened Cameron nearly lost his balance, for such a small critter it was solid as all get out, the boy gave out a restrained, but silent laugh, it was his unrelenting grip that helped keep Cameron upright. The second donkey bump wasn’t as severe, but made Cameron misstep slightly, the third time followed, and this time, Cameron was ready for and pushed back against the rub.

By this time the hand grip had changed from a pulling affair to a friendly gesture with some swing in it. The distance travelled had been many city blocks after which the boy halted, offering by gestures for Cameron to ride on the donkey. Instead, Cameron picked the boy up and set him upon the donkey’s back, the hand holding resumed as they continued along, as did an occasional donkey bump, it had become a game.

The donkey stopped at a gate in a stone wall, at which the boy swung his feet off the animal’s back, opening the gate. The donkey was put into a pen, at which Cameron filled the water trough and placed some vegetables from Storage into his feed bin. The food became the donkey’s sole focus as the boy brought Cameron into the house.

The activity within the house came to a sudden stop when a stranger entered, Cameron bowed deeply with arms outstretched, little of his person could be seen beneath the camel cloak’s folds.

“Prophetess, you honour our humble home,” was offered by a man who stood as a wall in front of his family.

What struck Cameron most was the greeting being said in English, not the common tongue. “You’ve already deduced that I’m not her.”

“In truth, I couldn’t be sure. She was leaving yesterday,” the man admitted, gathering the young boy into a one-handed hold near to his body. Cameron couldn’t fail to notice he only had one hand: his left, he had no right hand.

“I met her on the road, she lent me this cloak,” confessed Cameron, giving the borrowed garment a flourish.

“We meant to evacuate the city with her, but during the unrest, my vehicle was damaged, so we couldn’t leave.” The man was deeply troubled by his admission, his heart was heavy due to the situation that endangered his family.

If precognition wasn’t a hard enough pill to swallow, to put this encounter down as coincidence defied reason, all you can do is roll with the punches ‘cause they’re just gonna keep coming. Cameron had learned that lesson already, how the plans of men might fall apart in mere seconds, but the grand scheme always finds a way.

“How many people could you take, if your vehicle ran?”

“I’m a bus driver, I have … had my own bus. I could carry up to eighty people on busy days, but it only has fifty seats. But it’s pointless, it’s damaged beyond repair. We’ve looked for another way to flee, but with the war - you can’t even get fuel.”

“Say for a moment your bus could run, and we had fuel. Would you be willing to help me take somewhere around twenty people to safety?”

“Twenty! So many, you are alone. Who - where are they?”

“Children, being held captive.”

“Ahy - yihy, the Brotherhood no doubt.”

“You know them?”

“It was they who took my hand, just over two years ago now. I was a teacher before … before the brotherhood changed from a peaceable faith, to embracing fear and hatred. I spoke out against them, it cost me my hand. Now, without my right hand, I am ostracized, I must wear a false hand when I drive or else nobody would ride my bus.”

“It has that much significance?”

“In my society, the right hand is only used for honourable purposes: eating, greeting, and giving your bond. Without it, I am seen as dishonourable and an outcast.”

“I’m sorry, that’s horrible.”

“You can see why I wish to leave, under the Brotherhood, it is no life for my family.”

“My name is Cameron.”

“I am Ahmed, and my son - also Ahmed.”

“Does he speak?”

“No, he used to. But he has become withdrawn ever since the Brotherhood’s campaign of terror began and won’t talk anymore.”

“I’m doubly sorry, he brought me here, he was insistent.”

Little Ahmed made the universal indication of putting food into one’s mouth.

“Do you need food?” Clued in Cameron.

“There’s no food in the city, supplies ran out days ago. We had some staples set aside for the trip, but with so many mouths, we have nothing left.”

“How many are you caring for?” There was a large number of people watching them, peeking around corners, curious but cautious of the stranger.

“My family is large, with my wife’s parents, our aunts, uncles, and cousins. All told, we are thirty-three under this roof, we gathered here to leave with the Prophetess, but …” Ahmed shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that belied the futility of the situation he faced.

“You got trapped,” an easy enough conclusion to deduce. “Perhaps we can assist each other, I am in need of a ride out of the city, you have a vehicle capable of carrying us all - but it requires repairs. Are you willing to help me in exchange?”

“I believed the Prophetess, I extend that belief to you.” Ahmed held out his left hand - Cameron gladly took it and they shook in agreement.

“Thank you. First up, let’s see about some food for your family, then we can take a look at your bus.”

~o~O~o~

The bus was very colourfully painted, Ahmed explained that it helped passengers determine which one to catch, instead of relying on numbers or scheduled routes. At a glance, the obvious issues were that on one side the rear tires had been burned up, a large scorch mark told of a fire engulfing the busses rear, resulting in the set of rear rubber having been completely consumed with only the burnt rims remaining. Bullet holes riddled that side of the bus, leaving most of those windows broken with shattered glass strewn everywhere.

From appearances, the engine looked to be in working order, good thing, Cameron didn’t have a decent knowledge of mechanical systems to attempt rebuilding it. Perhaps that was a course he should take at Whateley.

He undertook the obvious repairs, like the damaged radiator which had leaked all its fluids, the twisted front bumper and smashed windshield. He had plenty of rubber held in Warehouse from his visits to landfills, it required forming tires to match those on the other side, then mounting them upon the existing rims.

He replenished the charge within the bus’s batteries and ensured the electrical system was intact. After repairing the bullet holes in the gas tank, Cameron filled it with fuel - another resource he’d acquired from the train wreck. Wanting to keep the bus discrete, he didn’t renew the burnt area, instead, he just put a primer coat on to cover it, besides he couldn’t match the colour scheme. Outlook closed up all the bullet holes, but left them looking as though the metal was still damaged.

The bus’s insides were in complete disarray, what seats remained were either burned, dismembered, or torn up beyond recognition, its deplorable condition saddened Ahmed who’d taken pride in his family’s conveyance. After making the bus interior presentable, much like his Mom’s school bus had been, he received approval from Ahmed.

Montreal, Quebec

Lynn sat in the hotel room’s chair with her legs tucked up underneath her, although the TV was on she wasn’t watching it, it provided background noise as she searched for some indicator of Cameron. She’d been at it for a day now and was worse for wear.

Rhododendron volunteered to find them some ice cream, and had left Lynn alone in the room, not Rho’s first choice, but she would have done anything to cheer the demoralized girl up. Lynn had sunken into a depression that had sucked the life out of her former vibrant self.

The day’s shopping had been called off in favour of bringing Lynn back to her healthy - hearty self. None of her friends would come right out and call what had happened as fainting, doing so put them at risk of having a snarling snout with exposed fangs … but these friends had already learned she was a pussycat at heart, the gruff exterior hid a tenderness that the Were girl stowed away deep down.

Friendship broke down barriers, even the ones Lynn had built up from necessity. Cameron was a bad influence, or perhaps the best kind … Lynn was in such turmoil she couldn’t have told you which it was. She was worried, and that was something new for her, Precognition excluded fretting over the unknown.

“Lynn Franklin.”

She jumped, almost out of her skin. Nobody should be able to sneak up on the heightened senses of a Werecat, it had happened only once before.

“Please pardon my unannounced entrance.”

Lynn spun round to see a man standing just inside the room’s locked doorway. “How…?” Lynn caught herself before saying the wrong thing, exposing her true nature. “Who are you?”

“We met before, we share a common interest in young Cameron.”

“You’re Cameron’s …” clued in Lynn, she should have known - but if Cameron wasn’t here; Oh No!

“Yes, let’s leave it at that. I have come to make you aware of recent events.”

“Is Cameron alright?” Sought Lynn near to hysteria.

“I haven’t the context to convey ‘all-right’. He sustained life-endangering injuries but has been rejuvenated, does this satisfy the question?”

“I can’t see him,” bemoaned Lynn.

“Yes, about that. Cameron’s mission has become critical, extra measures have been taken for his safety. It included placing a block around him to prevent foreign interference.”

“But, why? I can’t see him at all, it’s like he doesn’t exist,” described Lynn about the empty feeling she was experiencing.

“An unfortunate occurrence, but necessary for his continued protection.”

“Is he in danger?” The girl’s curiosity was piqued.

“Yes, he is. I came to tell you this because the two of you have developed feelings for each other. Your distress speaks to that growing bond, you deserve to know.”

“I don’t understand, what do you need Cameron for?”

“For any matter to be established effectively four things must happen before a resolution is undertaken: a warning is given to avoid escalation, irrefutable proof is collected of wrongdoing, a judgement is rendered by reviewing all evidence, then that judgement is enacted. Cameron’s role is to collect proof, he is an observer - a spy if you prefer, his task is to uncover truth.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself very well,” corrected Lynn. “You’ve answered a concern of mine thou. But, why did Cameron have to go so far away?”

“A valid question. Cameron’s dealings with the Were’s fight against the corrupting effects of the dark Blade makes him the best suited to face the current situation’s potential difficulties.”

“Are the Bastard’s forces making another stand? Is that what Cameron’s up against? All alone?” Lynn was becoming frantic at the very thought of what another attack could mean.

“Do you know the history behind the Blade?”

“No. Only that it would overwhelm an infected Were, make them do terrible things.”

“Ages ago, a collective of queens sought to subjugate the world by wielding unlimited power. Three artifacts were commissioned: the mind Amulet, the body Blade, and the heart Bracelet. With these three tokens, a person could be controlled entirely. The enslaved Artificer died while making them due to the absolute evil these objects represented. Only two were ever finished, the Amulet and the Blade.”

“The Bastard has the Blade, what became of the Amulet?”

“It was used to unleash a war that threatened to consume the entire globe. It resulted in the Cleansing, the removal of all traces of that evil, at that the Amulet was destroyed.”

“How about the Blade?”

“The Bastard stole it from the queens, and used it to build an army for himself prior to the Cleansing, and now again he attempts to wield its corrupting influence.”

“The Were.”

“Indeed. It was fortuitous that you and Cameron halted the dark’s most recent advance, but the thirst for power cannot be satiated, he will undoubtedly push forward again.”

“So, if it isn’t the Bastard. Why is Cameron at risk?” Puzzled the Precog at the mystery.

“That needs to be seen, evidence must be collected.”

“That explains his eyes, he’s like a camera, all he has to do is watch,” gleaned Lynn deducing something that had nagged at her. “But, how come you need him in the first place?”

“Because man buries truth under many layers of lies. Men will even resort to murder to prevent getting exposed. But man will act without restraint if nobody’s watching.”

“Okay, so why Cameron?” Curiosity can be deadly if left unchecked, and unfulfilled. It was Lynn’s greatest fault.

“Cameron volunteered, rare for one so young to be so selfless. There is a strong desire to help and much love in that one’s heart, as you have seen.”

“Will he come back?” It was asked in hope, desire, and desperation by Lynn, she was coming undone.

“It is not my place to decide. While it’s true Cameron has an assignment to fulfill at Whateley Academy, with his youth making him ideal to attend and not draw attention, another could be arranged to take his place, but it is not preferred.”

“So he’s important to you,” assessed Lynn of the motivations at play.

“It is his exercise of freewill in helping others that makes him important - to man, even if man doesn’t recognize it.”

“Will you protect him?” Sought Lynn, press any advantage, it’s how battles are won - according to Ella.

“You mistake my role, I am not a guardian, only a teacher and guide. Your questions reveal the depth of fondness you have for Cameron, let the answers provided soothe your mind and build within you faith and trust. Farewell Lynn Franklin, till we meet again.”

~o~O~o~

Cameron was drowsy - again, the side effect of matter manipulation he’d discovered. The energy transfer left a toll on his body much like running a marathon might, plus he hadn’t shaken his overall fatigue since arriving. So Cameron laid down in a quiet corner of Ahmed’s house and slept.

When he awoke, Cameron noticed the number of people in the house had grown. Nothing spreads faster in dire times than good news - although bad news spreads like gangrene, so maybe not a worthwhile analogy.

Regardless, Cameron had work to do. Finding Ahmed directing the loading of supplies onto the bus, they sat to plan what came next. Bossman Ray was a firm believer in ‘knowing your enemy’, the more you knew the better equipped you were to deal with surprises, plus, it was his job to uncover truth. So recognizance of the church was a priority, if anything, he needed to find a way to rescue the children being held hostage.

Ahmed explained that he couldn’t go, not without a right hand, without it he couldn’t enter the church. As an outcast, he was banished from much of society, so it puzzled Cameron how he could drive a bus and not offend the passengers. Ahmed showed Cameron his prosthetic hand, a plaster fake, a poor copy but it gave Cameron an idea.

Ahmed further explained that it was his uncle who gathered the bus fare, it had been his bus to begin with but the man’s eyesight was failing, so both he and Ahmed worked together. Meeting Akbar: Ahmed’s uncle, set the wheels in motion for Cameron.

Cameron asked Akbar if he could borrow his face, he made a latex copy - mimicking the facial hair, bald head and features, further he added whited-out eyes much like the man’s cataracts had done - but more to hide his own golden glow. Donning some of Akbar’s clothes Cameron looked the part.

Cameron put a cast over the top of Ahmed’s prosthetic right hand and fashioned a sling for him to wear. Satisfied with the subterfuge, they set off with a measure of trepidation. Cameron manifested his motorbike with Ahmed letting the boy drive - a mistake. Ahmed commented that Cameron was easily the worst driver he’d ever seen, how he didn’t crash and kill them both was a miracle.

After many a frayed nerve, they arrived at the religious edifice. What a difference a day makes, the site was awash with people, everyone clamouring to enter, something big was going down. The rush of people seeking entrance allowed Cameron and Ahmed to blend in, but leaving would be a chore, especially with a bunch of children in tow.

At the gate, they were stopped by a guard asking to see their right hands. Being blind wasn’t a crime so little attention was paid to Cameron’s disguise, with only Ahmed’s fingertips exposed Cameron could quickly alter the man’s false fingers to point - or curl, it was enough to convince the guard and they were let in.

Inside it was a massive gathering, Ahmed described the goings on, as he might have done for his blind uncle, but he translated for Cameron. It seems the Brotherhood claimed victory, having won the coup, the faithful had been called to revel in the win, and begin the next step in their grand scheme.

The focal point of the assembly was a huge amphitheatre, a quick scan said two and half thousand were present. Cameron and Ahmed stood near the back to avoid detection. Down on the raised platform were thirteen men who had formed a circle, when a gong rang the men sat in seats facing the crowd. One of the thirteen - the designated speaker stood, calling the gathering to quiet, once settled he motioned for guards to bring out prisoners.

Three men were brought onto the stage, stripped down to their pants, with sacks covering their heads. The raw skin on these men’s upper torsos spoke of torture, they were pushed forward to then be chained to rings set into the floor. The beaten men faced the audience, allowing Cameron to get a good look at them: Boot and Git, he didn’t know the third man.

The speaker commenced: “We present to you the infidels who attacked our lands without provocation, people from afar whose despicable nations deride our beliefs and seek our defeat. For this reason, we have declared war upon those nations: Canada, and the so-called Great Briton. They sought to slap us in the face, deny us our rights - ignore our might. But we bested them, we caught these invaders in the act of espionage.”

Letting his words soak in, the speaker paused, to then firmly announce: “So it shall be Brothers, just as we’ve bested those who’ve stood against us these last weeks, we shall prevail against any who deny the superiority of the Shard’s might.”

Cameron asked Ahmed to clarify that last statement - the shard? What the heck is that?

The speaker moved to stand between two of the chained captives and pointed accusingly at them: “These foolish Canadians sought to desecrate our holy temple, rob us, and dishonour the Brotherhood.”

The speaker relished in the show, and his audience lapped it up: “Death is what they deserve, representatives of a desolate and frozen wasteland - devoid of dignity, worst of all - lovers of forsaken mutants.”

Cameron only knew of the army’s extraction team to free the hostages, had something else transpired, or had everything gone entirely wrong? Git and Boot looked to be scapegoats offered up on an alter to a bigger issue.

The speaker drew in his noose to capture his audience’s full attention: “They threw down the gauntlet, slapped our faces, if Canada wants war - war it is. The Shard prevails - always! None can stand against us! Nothing in heaven or on earth can defeat us - we who've been blessed by God to bear the Shard’s gifts.”

Again with the Shard! It perplexed Cameron, it made no sense. What gifts? He layered his sight, checking over the men standing nearby. Physically there was nothing untoward to speak of about them, heightened adrenaline was odd but not all that unusual.

Adjusting his vision to read energy signatures his sight revealed nothing, they were men, nothing more. Granted, they didn’t act like normal people, more like agitated - aggressive - unhinged mad-men, but there was no underlying cause. Of course, Cameron couldn’t look inside a person, not like a Psychic or Empath to see emotions or thoughts.

The speaker quelled the audience’s uproar by holding up his arms, “You ask, how can we defeat a whole nation? I’ll show you how easy it will be! Bring them out!”

From the sidelines another three men were shown onto the platform, these were not in chains, nor had they been beaten, rather they were being paraded before the crowd in a glorious triumphant procession.

“I present you proof positive that our enemies will fall at our very feet, no power will be found in their hands.” Rallied the speaker holding his fisted right arm high to signify the might readily at their disposal: “Three of Canada’s own, soldiers who’ve seen the righteousness of our cause.”

The mass of gathered men, almost as one, gave off a delighted ‘whoop’.

“Step forward Eric Bartlett and state your worth.”

Cameron watched as Chuck / Eric from Edmonton, approached the speaker to be handed a microphone, everyone listening intently for the promised evidence that their cause was well founded.

“My name is Eric, I was born and raised in Canada, but I have sworn to follow the Brotherhood of the Shard, my heart is joined with yours.”

“What makes you worthy of the gift?”

“For three generations my family have been active members of Humanity First - fighting against the scourge that mutants and their supporters bring. I am a chapter leader in my community and have given chase to known mutants, beating them and those who would hide them. I have personally aided in killing a mutant, hanging them. I was the one who informed the Brotherhood of Canada’s betrayal, and told you where to find these two cowards, with the Lieutenant’s blessing.”

“Tell me, Eric of Canada, is Humanity First prevalent in Canada? Will they align themselves to the Brotherhood?”

“Humanity First is a grassroots organization, every town and village has adherents sworn to preserving man’s inherent dominance. All it needs, all we ask for, is a reason to rise up, a cause to get behind. Once people back home hear what you have to offer - see the Shard’s power, and your intolerance of mutants, they will flock to your door.”

“We welcome you Eric. Now, I call forward Wayne Meikle, what makes you think you’re worthy?”

“I am Wayne Meikle, a sergeant in Canada’s Armed Forces. As a child I was a juvenile delinquent - instead of prison, I was sent to military school, where my violent behaviour was put to good use. As a soldier I’m expected to kill, having done so many times - not always in combat, and received honours for doing it. I am a pagan, each Halloween I light a candle to mourn the Nephilim. Recently, I rigged a parachute so it wouldn’t open, thereby killing a mutant.”

“Excellent, you’ll do nicely. Now I call forth Gary Tarnowski, What makes you worthy of the Shard’s blessing?”

“I am a lieutenant in Canada’s elite forces, I know of many others who also detest mutants within the ranks. Throughout my life, I have been a bully, tormenting society’s misfits. I, together with my brother Trevor: an MCO agent, captured and tortured three mutants. We killed two of them and mutilated the third. With Sergeant Meikle’s help, I killed another mutant by pushing him out of an airplane.”

“You all are worthy of bearing the Shard’s blessing. We welcome three new adherents, let the ceremony commence.”

A cloth-covered box on a wheeled stand was brought onto the platform, followed by an ornately dressed priest. When the box’s lid was opened, it astonished Cameron how all light was dimmed around the opening, in his sight, energy was pulled in like a magnet grabbing nearby metal.

The priest dipped a broad-tipped pen inside the box, Cameron wasn’t able to see into the box, whatever it was - plus the box itself, was made from something impossible to look through. When the priest withdrew the pen, its tip was pitch black, acting like a black hole drawing light into itself, to Cameron: it defied analysis. It was revolting and made him nauseous to be close to, yet a barrier prevented the energy drain from affecting Cameron.

Each of the three men rolled up their sleeves, exposing their right biceps. The Priest in a display of pomp drew identical symbols upon each man, they looking like small case t tattoos.

On the exterior, the tattoos looked very much like a normal inking. Inside was a different story, darkness crept along the veins and arteries towards the heart, where it began to wrap around the pump’s muscles. It may only be a figurative expression that a person’s heart is the seat of emotion, whether it be true or not, these men’s hearts had been corrupted. They smiled wickedly, like they’d been granted insight into a great secret.

Scanning the audience around him, Cameron noticed that nearly everyone present had an identical tattoo, it had no significance before so it hadn’t meant anything to him. Delving deeper, Cameron noticed how the ‘ink’ wormed its way into the men’s hearts, embedding itself into the flesh.

No matter how hard Cameron tried to see with his eyes, whichever layering he chose, he couldn’t find what he sought. That corrupting cancer-like infection - that black filth that consumed Were’s upon contact. Cameron was certain he’d find something similar, a cancerous growth imparting some kind of dark hue, there was nothing of the sort, only the initial tattoo inking.

After the darkness had taken hold within the three soldiers on stage, they all stood with arms stretched outward, fists clenched tight, all in attendance followed harmoniously in suit. It was a stance of defiance, a stance of might, a display of unbridled power, a unified brotherhood - hence the imagery imparted by the t tattoo.

The gathered throng erupted into applause and cheered loudly as this new chapter unfolded before them; world conquest was within their grasp, a powerful right hand with which to rule mankind. After the ceremony was concluded, the priest and the box left center stage to then stand back, yielding to let the speaker continue. Cameron reeled at the revelation, dumbfounded at the perversity and utter disregard of how this religious whitewash entirely obscured the sanctity of life.

How dare they paint God as cruel and spiteful! How could they be so stupid!

His mentor’s lesson snuck into the back of his mind: the account of the Amulet and the Blade. An Artificer died in the process of making them, how that using the Amulet led to unleashing the Cleansing. Did these crackpots somehow get their hands on the Amulet? No, it had been destroyed according to his mentor. The blade? No, it always twisted any human body it touched - killing them almost immediately, it was a horrendous death too. So what is this Shard?

If Cameron remembered the story correctly, after the enslaved Artificer died from the strain of making the body Blade and mind Amulet, there was some material left over, it looked like nothing more than a lump of coal, what remained to make the third artifact - the heart Bracelet. Unlimited power over someone comes from controlling the mind, the body, and the heart. This was bad on so many levels, the heart of men was being defiled.

The Speaker called for silence once more, ending Cameron’s memory trip.

“Before your final acceptance into the Brotherhood of the Shard, we require a small demonstration of your loyalty. Bring them out!”

Surrounded by armed guards, a huddled cluster of children entered, hands bound with heads covered by sacks. It was the captured school kids, all eighteen of them. The children were pushed out into the platform’s center and shoved to the ground, so they might cower on their knees before their superiors.

In expectation the crowd went into a hush of anticipation, knowing what entertainment the spectacle offered.

The scared group of children panicked when three of the youngest among them were forcibly grabbed and dragged away from their midst, these were brought forward to then be held in place below looming guards.

Cameron was aghast, he looked about trying to figure out how to stop this travesty. He and Ahmed were thirty rows away from the platform having chosen to stay distant, worse yet was that the closest aisle was quite a distance away. As a quick estimate he put at least a hundred men between him and the stage. More than he’d ever tried to subdue at one time, even so, how to overcome a swarm of thousands? His intervention would undoubtedly incite the entire gathering against him.

Each of the three men on stage was handed wicked-looking curved knives, with Lieutenant Tarnowski ushered forward first, he stood behind one of the hooded children, the smallest of the group. The mask was taken off to reveal a sweet little blonde-haired girl, she had pretty blue eyes but the terror in them tore into Cameron’s very fabric, he sobbed audibly.

In a swift, merciless move, Tarnowski without hesitation cut across her throat, blood splattered out coating the stage and soaked through her dress. She slumped to the ground in a puddle of her own blood.

The amassed men went into a frenzy, the gore of the blood-letting drove them wild with ecstasy.

Then all hell broke loose.

Cameron allowed the energy stored in his battery to surge, every hair on his body stood on end as the static charge built up exponentially in mere milliseconds. Outlook grabbed Ahmed, pulling him into the boy’s arms, ensuring Ahmed’s eyes were covered, he told him: “Don't look, on your life - keep your eyes closed.”

Suddenly, the entire assembly was bathed in a brilliant golden light that seared any eyes that looked upon it, staring at the sun was merciful in comparison. From within the blinding light came a booming voice as unmistakable as thunder:

“ENOUGH!”

End Part 2

“ENOUGH!”

The searing light had such intensity it burned retinas in a single glance, it even forced Cameron to look away and cover his eyes. Even with his enhanced vision Cameron couldn’t endure keeping his eyes open, he needed to blink several times in order to clear the penetrating glare.

Cameron had been convinced beyond a doubt that this travesty couldn’t be allowed to continue, he’d been preparing to generate an electrical shock wave that would impede mental activity, hopefully incapacitating the crowd. How far he could have reached would’ve been guess work. The solution at hand was far superior to anything Cameron could muster.

Checking on Ahmed, the man was trembling as he pressed his face hard against Cameron’s shoulder, ensuring he didn’t look at the blinding light. Cameron quickly glanced to the side, seeing people begin dropping to the ground, fainting from fear.

The incredible display of raw power had welded everyone present to the exact spot they occupied, rendering them unable to move, unable to escape the impending judgement. Cameron lifted his foot to see if he too was grounded, both he and Ahmed could move so he guided Ahmed outside the amphitheatre. Getting removed from proximity to the intense brilliance lessened the feeling of static electricity in the air, although it wasn’t until they’d stepped outside the church that Cameron allowed Ahmed to open his eyes.

Once Ahmed calmed down enough to stop shaking, Cameron asked Ahmed to go get the bus with all haste, giving him the old motorcycle to quicken him on his way. Removing his disguise and tucking it away in his Cupboard, Cameron pulled out his silver visor and donned the clothes he’d started the mission with.

Cameron attempted to return into the grand arena, but his access was barred, a glowing presence prevented his entrance. An outstretched hand stopped Cameron in his tracks, at which he was told: “Your work here is done.”

The youth was taken aback, being told ‘no’ is hard to contend with when you’ve tried so hard. It was not so much a matter of being disappointed. It was more an issue that he’d not completed his assignment and he didn’t want to let those kids down. He felt like he’d been going a hundred miles an hour, and now, suddenly, he was supposed to come to a complete stop. It was tough to wrap his head around, he now appreciated how Swift must feel every time he put on the brakes.

But still, Cameron needed to know. He was torn up inside, so asked: “What’s going to happen?”

“It is not your concern, your services are no longer required.”

Was he really expected to just walk away? To forget about it? It didn’t sit well, too many loose ends left over, besides - it had become personal. He’d suffered because of this. The willpower it was taking to not press forward and stay involved, it was like trying to put a plug on a volcano. Yet, he took a deep breath, cooled his heals as it were. Letting his emotions settle caused his demeanour to slacken, reflecting a submission to authority.

“Your desire to help speaks well of you. But know this, had you interfered, it would have tainted the evidence you gathered and corrupted the rendering of judgement, making everything that’s happened this day invalid.”

It was a reprimand. It was true - he’d nearly taken matters into his own hands. Seeing what they did to that poor little girl had pushed Cameron into hysteria. The cruelty and hatred had almost consumed him. He’d been ready to step beyond his role, despite all the warning provided against letting such happen.

“I apologize for letting myself get too involved,” confessed Cameron, admitting he was in the wrong. “I won’t get attached again.”

“It is not a crime to care. Take heart, these will be judged, the evidence you uncovered leaves no doubt regarding guilt. Remember that no man who values hatred and violence greater than compassion shall go unpunished. If they act like wild beasts then they shall be treated as beasts.”

“It’s the Shard’s doing, it corrupts the heart,” recounted Cameron. He wondered aloud: “Could the Shard be the Artificer’s Amulet?”

“No, the Amulet was destroyed at the Cleansing, besides, it affected the mind - not the heart. We shall investigate this Shard further, your contribution is appreciated.”

Cameron nodded at the compliment, but he needed to ask: “What of the innocent, the children held against their will?”

“They are given into your hand, take them far away from here.”

“The little girl,” he mentioned remorsefully, “her throat was slit.” The memory hurt to even mention it. Cameron hadn’t been near enough to be able to do anything to help her and she had undoubtedly died.

“She too is given to you.”

Cameron gasped in amazement, it was a kindness rarely granted, but since they served the God of life, death wasn’t much of a hurdle. Cameron was directed to stand aside so that a line of people could approach. Walking in single file were all the hostages, not only the children - including the little blonde girl, but also the three captured soldiers. Additionally, there were an assortment of other captured people, some youths along with a few adults. Cameron noted that three mutants walked in their midst.

The entire ensemble were being herded out, in a daze of sorts, but nobody was hooded or bound in any way. As they neared Cameron, he determined that they weren’t fully cognizant of the events transpiring around them. Their eyes were open but didn’t focus on anything or anyone. Cameron guessed it was a protection so as not to be overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” said Cameron with a slight bow to express his gratitude. He approached the freed captives and took charge of directing them. He led them through the church’s vast halls to bring them out through the main gates.

Much like how little Ahmed had led him by the hand, the hostages walked with one arm touching the person ahead. No-one stopped them and nobody noticed their departure. The Brotherhood of the Shard had more pressing matters to contend with at the moment.

Once outside Cameron gently touched each person’s face with both hands, it allowed them to open their eyes fully, it also ensured they saw his smiling face as assurance that they really were okay. Cameron greeted each of them in turn, saying with a calm and delicate tone: “My name is Outlook, I’m here to take you to safety.” When asking their names, the completely baffled looks upon some of the youth’s faces gave Cameron pause, so he asked: “How many of you speak English?”

Of the newly freed children a dozen held up their hands, three from the group containing the mutants, plus each of the soldiers. A pregnant lady who’d been with the mutants spoke up saying: “I’m a translator, perhaps I can help.” At that, the third soldier rushed up to her, embracing her, and they engaged in a long passionate kiss. They must know each other gathered Cameron, either that or local customs were perhaps a touch too affectionate for his comfort.

Upon closer inspection the woman wore garb akin to the ladies in Ahmed’s family, and she was - six months pregnant according to Cameron’s detailed sight, however, she was not a mutant. She and the soldier wore matching rings, so their reunion was warranted and heartfelt, both a relief and heart warming.

Once his lips weren’t under assault the soldier addressed Cameron: “My name is John, I was posted at the British consulate, this is my wife Cassandra. We were captured at the airport trying to get a flight out. What happened back there?”

A worthwhile question, one that Cameron was uncertain about how much to tell, how much they already knew, how much they would believe. So he needed to deflect the topic for the time being.

“Can we return to that later, once we get further away from here?” Cameron asked, hoping it wouldn’t become confrontational. Thankfully he received a nod of acceptance from John.

Having the group walk a couple blocks away from the religious edifice, which sang out with sounds of anguish, Cameron set up a table with food and drink upon it. Why it is that captors always felt justified denying life’s necessities was beyond the boy, but these people would need some nourishment if they were to travel.

“There is food and drink available. Please help yourselves,” invited Outlook, motioning them to partake of what was on the table. The lady translated for the benefit of those who didn’t understand. A few simply followed what the others did without further prompts, sometimes the language of an empty stomach overrides the spoken word.

Cameron took Boot and Git aside, asking how they felt, determining if they could act as guards for the rescued group to which they agreed. In particular, they introduced themselves to the four Canadian children to let them know to stay close and that they’d be reunited with their parents soon.

The group heard the bus before seeing it. Cameron hadn’t fixed the muffler, another reminder that he needed mechanical training. The bus rolled around the corner and halted beside them. When the door opened Ahmed greeted them warmly. The bus was already almost full, his ‘family’ had grown closer to fifty from Ahmed’s initial estimate of thirty three. To be fair, Cameron’s twenty was now thirty one - thirty two including Outlook. It was going to be standing room only on the bus.

Cameron couldn’t help but notice that slung across the bus’s rear was the battered old motorbike, it had more lives than … him. Interestingly, one of the bus’s rear bench seats had been removed to make space for the donkey - Cameron was delighted to see it, and it was happy to see Cameron, giving out a loud bray when he stepped aboard.

With a roar, Ahmed got the bus underway. It was deafening inside so Cameron quickly repaired the noisy muffler, much to the passengers relief which included some quizzical looks at the sudden change. People adjusted their seating to make room. Fortunately, with so many children passengers, each bench seat could accommodate several without too much discomfort.

Cameron was offered an entire bench, it might have been a display of honour, perhaps fear. However, little Ahmed had kept the seat vacant. Once Cameron came close the boy latched onto Cameron’s hand once again, Cameron patted the seat beside him which brought a huge smile to the silent boys face. Seeing a dilemma brewing Cameron offered for Cassandra to join them.

Boot and Git positioned themselves close to the Canadian children as protectors, but stayed alert to guard the entire ensemble within the bus. John for his part stayed close to Cassandra and kept an eye on the two children from the English embassy. Cameron’s seat was in-between those two groups.

Looking down the aisle Cameron couldn’t help but notice the little blond girl, she stood in confusion, looking around still in shock - unsure about what to do. She had a bright smile on her little face, but it was a fake. She was afraid and it made Cameron shift gears mentally.

She was a pretty little thing, blue eyes with tussled long blond curls and cute as can be. In fact, the image reminded him of photos kept in his family album. It was almost exactly how he looked at that age. The pull on his heartstrings almost made him cry. Cameron motioned for her to come closer and tentatively she approached so Cameron could ask: “Are you okay?”

“I think I died. Is this heaven?”

“No sweetie, not heaven.”

“Oh. Good! Too much sand without any beach,” she admitted. “Momma said heaven would be nice.”

“What do you remember?”

“Do I hav-ta?”

“Only if you want to,” comforted Cameron.

The little girls bottom lip must have grown threefold, stuck outward in concentration as she contemplated. “I was made to look up at big scary man and he dragged something across my neck. Then … you walked us outside. It’s kinda fuzzy.”

“That’s alright, fuzzy is good. What’s your name?”

“Lucy, I’m seven.”

“It’s nice to meet you Lucy Seven.”

“That’s not my name! It’s Lucy Scott.”

“My mistake,” he teased, placing his unencumbered hand over his mouth in mock surprise. “My name is Cameron Burke.”

“You called yourself Outlook before, you spoofing me?”

“No, I use the name Outlook when I need to keep my identity secret, but you seem like the trustworthy sort. You won’t tell anyone - will you?”

The little darling made the motion of closing a zipper over her mouth.

“Would you like to sit down?”

She hesitated before saying: “I’m scared.”

“Of sitting down beside me?”

“Of dying,” she said with a shudder that made its way to her extremities.

“How about I hold onto you, would that be okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded meekly.

The little girl climbed up onto Cameron’s lap and snuggled into his arms, within minutes her head slumped onto his shoulder as she fell asleep, a condition Cameron nudged her into. Boot caught Cameron’s eye, nodding at the girl and boy, then giving him a smile, Boot had remained standing - keeping on watch as the bus manoeuvred down the war ravaged streets.

Ahmed had been negotiating a difficult route through the city. Few people ventured out to expose themselves to the turmoil that embroiled the community. That said, the streets weren’t exactly empty, although no traffic hindered their departure, and rarely was anyone brave enough to even look at the bus. Bomb craters and abandoned vehicles littered the roads.

They drove past much devastation, whole city blocks burnt to the ground with rubble still smouldering. There was no water available to extinguish the flames, or firefighters left either. The abandoned cars in the streets made it difficult for the bus to worm its way past, torched husks was all that remained of some cars. Nobody said much at the scenery, some sobs could be heard from the people whose lives had been shattered by the conflict, but words fail to convey a hearts tears.

Ahmed had been eking out the best route through the city he could, avoiding some of the worst sections of the city. Even so, the deserted buildings told a gruesome tale. Shortly after turning a corner Ahmed stopped the bus, this street was different. The vehicles had been purposely set to create a funnel, which now made reversing difficult, especially for something as large as this bus.

They were caught in the throat of a choke point.

As if in unison, from the nearby buildings, out poured masked ne’er-do-wells, Boot and Git warned everyone to shut the windows and stay away from the glass. These assailants looked to be youths as they rushed up to the bus and began banging on the sides, shouting and cursing, throwing rocks and bricks, smashing many of the windows.

The soldiers and other adults tried using whatever they could find to beat back those who attempted to climb in. Ahmed and Akbar kept the buses door closed and pushed away any who tried prying it open. Unfortunately, a locked door and closed windows only provides so much deterrence against those motivated by mischief.

Vermin always answer when opportunity knocks, and war provides an ideal time for lawlessness to flourish. Riots and looting occur whenever society falters, how true it is that even the most law abiding citizen will speed when a policeman isn’t watching. How many times has the news reported on the madness that overcomes normally behaved people when restraint is loosened, like during a power outage. Man’s savage nature comes to the fore at the very time when the qualities of love and compassion are most needed and the underlying beast becomes evident.

The soldiers present cursed the peaceful nature of Ahmed’s family, they carried no guns - choosing instead to flee hostilities. It left the bus without defences to fend off these attackers. When no retaliatory action was encountered it emboldened the advancing swarm to overwhelm the bus.

The younger of the children aboard began to cry as the adults tried to calm them. Ahmed called out loudly: “They’re after the fuel!” Cameron looked out the window as three people approached the bus carrying jerry cans and syphon hoses. Cameron wasn’t impressed. Had they asked for help he’d have gladly given them gas, or food, or water, but resorting to theft and intimidation, that was low.

The three thieves set to work stealing fuel as others climbed on top of the bus and began rifling through the items tied down on the roof, seeking to rob the passengers of the few possessions they had with them.

Cameron was deeply offended so he put a halt to it. He collapsed the syphon hoses and filled the jerry cans with sawdust. Cameron counted some twenty miscreants in the vicinity, and deadened the nerves in all their arms. Each one of them immediately lost use of both their arms. The result was that arms hung uselessly at their sides.

If having no right hand was deemed suitable punishment in this community, having no working arms would be shocking, and a humiliation - at least until the numbing effect wore off, in a couple days … maybe.

The troublemakers ran off unable to continue, or carry away the old motorcycle which they’d stripped off from the bus’s back. Cameron put the dilapidated old thing into his Warehouse. It was damaged even worse now, but he couldn’t in fair conscience leave it behind.

Ahmed inched the bus forward until it bumped up against a car that had been used to block the road. It was put sideways to prevent passage and the bus pushed upon it roughly, nudging it down the street until there was room to drive around it.

When they finally left the city, a collective sigh of relief could be heard. The landscape turned to wide open desert, without any vegetation to speak of. Sand swept across the road in whorls, drifts accumulated on the asphalt making bumps that shook the entire bus as it drove over them. A cloud of dust kicked up behind them in a plume to be carried off by the wind.

After one particular harsh bump little Lucy stirred. She snuggled in closer but didn’t go back to sleep. Instead, she stared up curiously at Cameron’s glasses, Cameron smiled at her.

“Are you magic?” she asked, not taking her eyes off him.

“That would be the easiest answer I suppose, but isn’t true,” softly replied Cameron. “I’m what you’d call gifted. God has granted me special abilities to help people.”

“Like rescue me?” Lucy surmised.

“Yes, just like that. To help return little girls to their parents.” Cameron said giving her a squeeze.

“What does God look like?”

Lucy’s question took Cameron aback: “I don’t know, I’ve never met him.”

“How do you know he’s a he?”

“I don’t, it’s just how everyone refers to him as.”

“I think I must have seen an angel then.”

“Oh?”

"There was somebody standing in a bright light, I thought it might have been God.”

“Were you scared?” worried Cameron, it could be a terrifying experience.

“No. It was kinda peaceful, like when I look at your eyes.”

“That’s good, God doesn’t want people to be afraid of him.”

“What do I do now?” asked Lucy.

“How do you mean?” replied a puzzled Cameron.

“I died, but I’m not dead. What am I supposed to do?”

“What is it that you want to do?”

“Go home,” admitted Lucy.

“Then that’s what you should do.”

“But …”

“God’s greatest gift is free will, he doesn’t expect more of you - than for you to be the best you you can be.”

“What’s free will?”

“It’s getting to decide for yourself who you’re going to be and what you’ll do. The worst kind of evil is somebody taking that freedom from you.”

“Like Mom saying it’s bedtime?” sounded out Lucy, trying to understand.

“No, she’s got your best interests at heart. It’s like with those bad men who captured you back there, putting you in prison.”

“They were mean.”

“They wanted to force their will onto you, make you do what they wanted.”

“Like eating porridge. I hate porridge, it’s gross and slimy.”

“But it’s good for you, at least that’s what my Mom always said.”

“You can have it. Bleah!”

“Are you feeling hungry?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m sure we’ll stop soon, think you can wait?”

“Nu-uh. I gotta pee.”

From those nearby came voices in agreement, full bladders and near empty stomachs, a bad combination. It was obvious from the soldier’s looks of concern that they didn’t think it safe to stop, but children have different priorities. Cameron asked for the bus to stop and Ahmed complied.

Git took point, the first to exit the bus, followed by Cameron who had his hands full. Little Ahmed held onto one hand and Lucy attached to the other. Git quickly set about climbing the nearest sand dune to scout for danger, while Cameron asked if Lucy and Ahmed could hold each others hands for a moment. They looked warily at each other, but, did eventually take up the offer.

Cameron found some level ground and set out a row of porte-potties. Having worked construction with Buck over the summer he’d become familiar with the worksite lavatories. As the passengers disembarked for a break Cameron ensured there was bottled water and snacks for everyone.

On top of the sand dune Git whistled to get attention, John and Boot raced to join him and Cameron and Ahmed climbed up a little slower. In the distance could be seen clouds of dust. Cameron used his telescopic sight to glean details. A convoy of speeding military vehicles carrying the Brotherhood’s flag were attempting to overtake the escapees.

The convoy consisted of a column of fast moving light trucks following the exact Southerly route the bus had taken. Taking a look around Cameron noticed that to the East was another dust cloud kicked up by a larger contingent of army vehicles. Armoured trucks bounced violently over the sand - trying to block them off from their escape route. To the West was a third advance, more army trucks and two tanks plowing through the deep sand, but they had a greater distance to cover than the other two. Apparently, they wanted to prevent them crossing the border into another country.

Something caught Cameron’s attention. Looking further to the West, far beyond and into neutral territory, Cameron spotted Canada’s encampment, Camp Nimpkish was under fire. The Brotherhood was living up to its declaration of war and bombarding the Canadians stationed there, cutting off any hopes of escaping in that direction. Again it held true, the plans of men always fall apart at the seams, especially when you begin to believe that things are going your way.

Scanning for another possibility, Cameron looked towards the UN refugee camp which was roughly ten miles away, South-East across the border. It was the destination Ahmed would take his family after dropping off Cameron’s group. From appearances, the border was still letting people cross, still held by the forces loyal to the old regime. A hasty explanation from Cameron to the men resulted in an agreement, they ran back to the bus. They needed to get moving - fast.

Ahmed did the best he could, pushing his bus to travel as fast as possible, but it was a bus after-all, loaded down and full to capacity. The army was quickly closing the distance between them and they would soon be overtaken.

Cassandra was conversing with a young girl, she’d introduced herself earlier as Gale. Gale could make wind, hence her name - she was an air manipulator. Gale explained that she could kick up a dust storm. Cameron concurred to her plan and he focused upon the surrounding terrain, beginning to throw sand up into the air, since there was ever so much sand laying all around them and not much else. Working together the two created an impromptu sand storm.

The swept up sand obscured the bus from view as it rumbled along down the road. The wind made a wall that the army couldn’t penetrate and they needed to slow down so as not to be swallowed up into the storm. The storm kept pace with the bus holding the army at bay.

The impenetrable wall of windswept sand was as tall as it was wide. Nobody was willing to risk entering the swirling maelstrom. The sand storm barrier was a scant hundred feet thick, yet it was enough to confound the brotherhood’s forces.

The military’s other front, the Eastern push, was still ten minutes away from overtaking them when the bus arrived at the border. As a grand finale, Gale pushed her wall of sand full blast into the army, halting them in their tracks. One and all of the military men ducked for cover to avoid being blasted by sand.

The men manning the border stood agog watching as the sandstorm approached.
It was too localized to be an actual storm as it chased a bus across the desert. Now, it suddenly reversed and dissipated. It was a secondary realization that a heavily laden bus was waiting at the gate. The guards quickly waved the bus through the border stop without delaying it. In fact, many of the outpost’s guards climbed aboard the bus when the delayed army began to dig themselves out - only seconds away from the border.

Crossing the short distance to the other side to the border, the neighbouring guards welcomed them, waving them through. Once the last refugees had passed this nation’s guards lowered the barricades into place, as two tanks rolled in to block the roadway. It was a visible discouragement to the opposing army which had overtaken the recently evacuated border station.

Even if the brotherhood had still wanted to capture them, Cameron had ensured sand had crippled the vehicles and jammed up their guns. Weaponless and immobile the Brotherhood’s army didn’t pursue them any further. A cheer rose up from everyone aboard the bus as it rumbled away.

The UN refugee camp was a vast collection of tents and some quickly erected structures, supported by a temporary landing strip. The UN’s blue helmeted personal and flags were on display and the mixture of languages being used showed the multinational effort underway.

The bus was directed to a check-in point where everyone needed to disembark and get sorted. Cameron asked for his group to hold back and let Ahmed’s family leave first. It also allowed Cameron to do a quick change of clothes so he looked to be nothing more than one of the rescued children.

Cameron wasn’t seeking recognition, he didn’t want anyone to know who he was. So he allowed Boot, Git, and John to take the lead and the credit for the rescue. It also meant they would face the brunt of any questions over the rescue and escape. Had Cameron showed his diplomatic passport and told them he was with Foreign Affairs, it would create unwanted attention. That was not what he’d come here to deal with.

When the UN determined that they were children of foreign nationals, the group was taken for medical assessment. Then, notifying the various countries and the concerned parents was a task the camp authorities had to contend with. After everyone was sorted, all the Canadians were set aside in a Doctor’s Without Borders tent for some rest.

Cameron checked his phone, the poor thing was dead, again. He’d needed to make some repairs earlier after the bad landing. Now, it must have been totally fried in the aftermath of the amphitheatre. It would take time to make repairs to the burned out circuitry and resurrect the battery. Cameron dug into Smith’s devise, it required an almost complete rebuild.

Checking the phone over, Cameron rewound the playback to find it had definitely died with the power surge back at the Brotherhood’s compound. To test its operation Cameron called for a Teleporter. His lift would arrive later that evening so Cameron had time to say goodbye to those he’d rescued, and offer thanks to Ahmed for his help.

Ahmed’s family was in the process of being admitted into the refugee camp and Cameron took him aside. Clearing up Uncle Akbar’s cataracts was simple enough, but a missing hand was something else completely. Cameron couldn’t make something from nothing, he could only build upon existing materials. If it was a matter of repairing a hand - okay, replacing one? Not so okay.

Cameron had Ahmed sit down and he placed a covering overtop them so he could focus. Cameron robbed bone from elsewhere in Ahmed’s anatomy so it wouldn’t be rejected, He used it to form the skeletal basis, adding calcium to increase the mass. He then needed to take muscle tissue to layer up over the bone, not taking too much from one place to minimize damage. He scraped up layers of skin from across parts of the man’s body.

Once blood could circulate, Cameron watched its flow, ensuring there was no blockages. Attaching nerve endings took so much attention due to the complexity involved, Cameron was getting dizzy from the minute details. But he didn’t stop. Ahmed had stayed still, as requested. When Cameron squeezed a finger the man startled and yelped, he’d felt that. He held up the new hand near his face and Ahmed turned it slowly, bending the fingers one digit at a time, the man was speechless.

Cameron hugged him as Ahmed cried. Cameron put a single finger to his lips, the universal indicator to not say anything. Ahmed nodded and gave the youth a hug kissing his cheeks. After telling the man to slowly build up strength in his hand, Cameron left after hugging Little Ahmed, telling him to grow up and be just like his father.

Stopping by the tent given to the group from England, John and Cassandra asked what they should say. Cameron advised them to tell the truth. Lucy cried and wouldn’t let Cameron go, he kissed her forehead, saying he was needed elsewhere now. There were other people who needed rescuing. She relented, but her sniffles didn’t.

When the Teleporter arrived at dusk Boot and Git gave him a farewell salute, then Cameron was whisked away.

~o~O~o~

Arriving at the offices of Foreign Affairs in Ottawa just before noon Cameron asked to speak with whomever was Veronique’s supervisor since she was still on her honeymoon. The suited man whose office he was ushered into was beyond surprised by the unexpected visitor. The man stood to greet Cameron attired in his work-day RCMP uniform, asking what this was about.

“Sorry to intrude unannounced. My name is Outlook, I’m an Inspector with the RCMP on assignment to your office and posted to the American Embassy. I was recently asked by Veronique Tallman to assist with rescuing several captured children. I’ve just returned and felt someone should be made aware.”

“Oh my! There hasn’t been any recent updates. What happened?” the man said, nearly falling into his chair at the news.

“The children are fine. They’re in good hands at a UN refugee camp waiting to be reunited with their families.”

“Are they with Commander DeVouge?”

“No, I believe he’s still at the Canadian Forces base which was under attack when I left, so it wasn’t an option to return there. The children are under the care of two members of the extraction team, along with some asylum seekers wishing to immigrate to Canada.”

“That’s incredible! Congratulations on a successful mission. I’ll let our people on this end know. Is there something else I can do for you?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. If I’m not mistaken, It’s likely that I'm required to undergo a mission debrief. The problem is, I don’t know who I’m to report to. I wasn’t given alternate contact information.”

“I can ask my counterparts in National Defence. Would you like anything in the meantime?”

“It was terribly dry and dusty over there. I’ve been craving a root beer for days, with ice - lots of ice please. And, if I can make use of a desk to compile my report?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Cameron was shown to a conference room and provided a tall mug loaded with ice and a couple bottles of chilled root beer. He’d downed two drinks in short order before he could truly focus on writing anything. After an hour he’d finished his account of events and sent a completely detailed copy over to Ray Martin at RCMP Special Investigations headquarters.

His other, abbreviated report, minus details about using his abilities, were made out in triplicate, which seemed to be a government prerequisite. It was worse than being in school if Cameron was being honest. However, a set was provided to Foreign Affairs which he left with the lady he’d met at reception. Cameron held onto another set, the one he’d prepared for the military. He was certain he’d get the most grief from that group.

Having received directions of where he needed to go to make his report to the military, Cameron walked the distance over to the offices of National Defence. His wanderings had him go past a food stand at which he bought lunch. His internal clock was so messed up - if it hadn’t been for the sun up at the peak of day it could have been midnight. But, he was hungry so that counted for something.

Stepping into the military’s Ottawa offices, he provided his codename and was asked to take a seat in the reception area. He sat for a long time, waiting. Long enough to eat his sandwich, after which the teleporter-lag started to make him drowsy, his head dropping onto his chest when it became too heavy to hold up any longer.

A uniformed lady interrupted his sleep. She stood beside him, then coughed loudly to get his attention and directed him into a meeting room, closing the door after they both entered. Three officers in crisp looking uniforms sat behind a table speaking with each other and ignored the boy as he entered. The lady sat in a chair off to the side. She had some kind of typewriter and a recorder at her desk.

Cameron was pointed to a spot front and center in front of the three officers, the disdain upon the officers’ faces at his RCMP clothes spoke volumes.

“State your name and rank for the record,” barked the officer seated in the middle.

“My name is Outlook, I’m an Inspector with RCMP Special Investigations.”

The officers bristled at that, it mustn’t have been the answer they sought.

“Continue,” was sourly directed.

Cameron took off his backpack and pulled out his mission report. He quickly added a fourth copy, one for himself, just in case. He held the documents out, asking: “To whom do I give my mission report?”

The uniformed lady asked for them, she in turn stamped each of them as being received before distributing them to the three officers at the table and gave one back to Cameron. Cameron had only supplied the top most paper copy with a data storage device affixed. It contained the audio and video recordings he’d pieced together from his rebuilt phone.

Cameron had expected a debrief like what Ray always did after any field activity, a discussion of what happened and what could be done better next time. It was apparent that the military had a different management style which left Cameron feeling uncomfortable - likely what was intended. So far, Cameron had no inkling as to what kind of information they’d like, how much detail they wanted - within reason that is.

Cameron spoke: “I can report that the four Canadian embassy staff’s children have been successfully retrieved, as per my mission parameters.”

“Why isn’t the Officer in charge submitting this report?”

“I don’t know his whereabouts or current situation. My last direct contact with Lieutenant Tarnowski and Sergeant Meikle had them throwing me out of an aircraft, without a functioning parachute I might add. You’ll find that account on the second page of my report.”

A derisive scoff was heard, followed by the question: “What about the other members of the extraction team?”

“I am only aware of two members: Harlan Walker, aka Boot, and Randy Galbraith, aka Git. I left them with the rescued children almost four hours ago at a United Nations refugee camp, as per page eleven.”

“Why did you abandon them?”

“My services were no longer required.”

“Who relieved you?”

“I left of my own accord. The men - who I already mentioned - had the situation well in hand, the children were safe.”

“You admit to leaving without permission.”

“Yes, in consideration that I had fulfilled my obligation. My only outstanding responsibility was to provide a mission debrief, which for obvious reasons couldn’t be done in the field.”

“And why is that?”

“Commander DeVouge, my liaison with Foreign Affairs, and Captain Patel were under fire from the Brotherhood’s hostile bid to overtake Camp Nimpkish. Page ten of the report describes the decision made to go to the UN camp, rather than jeopardize the children’s safety any further.”

“Are you aware that war was declared against Canada by these religious fanatics, the Brotherhood as you call them?”

“Yes, I heard about that, an unfortunate development to be certain. Please refer to page eight where that is mentioned.”

“What did you do to provoke this escalation?”

“Again, page eight addresses that issue,” deflected Cameron at the accusation. “The question that should be asked is why attack embassies in the first place? Canada’s wasn’t the only one targeted. What was the Brotherhood’s motive? Had they sought a ransom?”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So, why was Canada’s embassy attacked? Why were we at war?”

“I am but a simple policeman, I’m only accustomed to dealing with shoplifters and jaywalkers. I must defer to experts such as yourselves to explain these events. But it sounds like the war has ended.”

“That is not your concern.”

“May I ask what my concern is?”

“You may not. We’re going to need time to review this report in full.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” commented Cameron as he turned to go. Halting after taking a couple steps he turned to add: “If you have any questions, I can be reached through the RCMP.”

“You haven’t been dismissed.”

“Haven’t I?” quizzically asked Cameron. “My obligations have been fulfilled once I submitted my report.”

“You’re in the army, you don’t leave until we tell you to leave.”

“I don’t understand your assessment of the situation.”

“You signed recruitment papers, we own you.”

“You are very much mistaken, you cannot own me - because I already belong to God. So, I suggest you take another look at those papers of yours.”

“Until we receive inbound mail from Nimpkish, you’ll be held in the brig under charges of dereliction of duty, insubordination, and being absent without leave.”

“Oh! Can I get put into solitary confinement? I’ve been looking forward to getting some sleep, it’s been a tough couple days,” mentioned Cameron as he held out his arms in full expectation of handcuffs. Instead he had zip-ties put around his wrists and secured behind his back.

He was taken into custody by a couple of military police. The stern looking men placed him into a truck with solid panelled walls without windows. Cameron was chained to the wall and floor before the door was bolted and locked on the outside. As the vehicle began to move, Cameron had second thoughts saying to himself: “Nuts to this.”

He was done playing peoples’ games. All anybody ever seemed to do was to send him to his room, or whatever room they had available. No more, he had places to be and things to do. Besides, he had no interest in being cooped up in prison again, the food was terrible and the decor was lousy.

Getting rid of his bonds in a blue flash, he then make a quick change of clothes into a pair of faded jeans and a grey hoodie. Cameron waited until the truck stopped at a traffic light. He made an opening in the vehicle’s side and stepped out onto the street, restoring the hole he’d made - let them figure that one out.

He patiently stood on the sidewalk until the truck drove off, then he casually walked into the business hub of Ottawa. Finding a post office he sent a priority letter to Ray Martin at the RCMP. It contained an explanation that he was skipping town, but not his destination.

Cameron detailed how he was at odds with the military and could the RCMP investigate the Department of National Defence for attempting to entrap him. He included a copy of his modified employment contract. He also promised he wouldn’t dishonour the RCMP by acting as an officer of the law until the dispute was settled.

Thinking about it a little more, Cameron also sent a parcel to Emit Paulson his lawyer, again providing a copy of the contract. And finally, he posted a letter to Veronique at Foreign Affairs, making her aware of the situation once she returned to work. He had no intention of getting wrangled into further government entanglements for the foreseeable future.

At that point Cameron placed his satellite phone and laptop into Storage, if anybody could find his location by tracking items in another dimension - one without time, then kudos’ to them.
He was about to enter a hotel to get a room when he saw a transport truck across the street unloading its cargo at a retail store.

Cameron listened in to the delivery men’s conversation as they moved boxes, they would be heading back to the States today. When the men took a load inside leaving the truck unattended, Cameron snuck into the back, forming a false wall behind which he could hide. The men didn’t notice anything amiss and finished their job. By the time the truck began to move Cameron had fashioned a nice comfortable hideout replete with a bed.

The trucks motion lulled Cameron to sleep, like rocking a baby, so when the truck stopped at the border crossing into the United States, Cameron woke up to watch the goings on. A border guard had the driver open the rear, which was empty to all appearances. That the inside was smaller than the outside wasn’t observed, and for some reason the x-ray unit didn’t work for a second when the truck passed over it - Cameron might be to blame for that.

~o~O~o~

The trip to Schenectady took several hours, which suited Cameron fine, he managed to get more than forty winks, more like sixty. Arriving at the trucks depot, the men parked the vehicle in a compound and left. Ensuring the coast was clear, Cameron exited the truck, erasing any evidence of his presence. The depot had security cameras, which had a small glitch on their recordings as Cameron left.

It was night, and the industrial park was dimly lit, towards the highway was a 24 hour truck stop with a restaurant. Cameron entered the establishment to find the patrons consisted entirely of truckers - which kinda made sense since the business catered to the long haul transport workers. Cameron grabbed a booth and scanned the menu, selecting the Salisbury steak special.

Cameron was halfway through his dinner when a woman entered, he’d watched as she pulled up in a big pink semi truck. The men in the restaurant eyed her up with predatory looks, the curse of being an attractive woman. She made a disgusted face as she scanned the place for an empty seat. Being a single woman amidst a rough crowd meant she needed to be leery of where to sit. Cameron assessed the situation calling to her: “Aunt Peggy! I was worried you’d got lost,” and waved her to come over.

She hesitated a minute, but the testosterone fuelled interest in her had faded quickly with Cameron’s comment, so she joined the youth at the table.

“What’s your story kid?” she asked as she sat.

“Why do I have to have a story?”

“Nobody sticks their neck out unless they want something.”

“Turtles are some of the longest lived animals, because they’re good at avoiding danger.”

“Thick shells help too,” she added. “So which are you, too thick or too young to know any better?”

Cameron choked on his food and coughed, she was smart and funny, a dangerous combination. “Let’s go with a little of both. I’m Cameron.”

“Peggy, but you knew that already, I’d like to know how?”

“It’s written on the door of your truck.”

“It’s parked, like - two hundred feet away, how did you see that far?” She dropped close to the table and whispered, “are you a mutant?”

“And if I was?”

“It would explain a lot.”

Reaching into a pocket, Cameron withdrew his wallet - from out of his Cupboard, and pulled out his MCO card identifying him as not being a mutant, handing it over for Peggy to read.

“Well, don’t that just beat all!” Peggy exclaimed, taking another look at him. “But you ain’t normal, are you?”

“Normal is highly over rated. Besides, what is normal nowadays anyway? Everybody strives to stand out from the crowd, unless they’re purposely hiding something.”

“Now, that just proves you’re in trouble - right there. What is it? You a runaway or something?”

“I’m hiding from the army, they’re being less than forthcoming with their intentions. I’m not certain if they want to experiment on me or just kill me and be done with it.”

“That’s some serious s**t!”

“Ain’t it just,” remarked Cameron. “Story of my life … I guess you’re right, I do have a story,” he mused over another bite of food.

“We all do hon, trust me,” said Peggy as she perused the menu.

“I’d like to, but you haven’t told me your story yet.”

“Me? What’s to tell? Down on my luck, piling up the miles, working to pay the bills.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Could be worse, I’d prefer otherwise, but hey, what can you do. How’s the steak by the way?”

“Pretty good, I like the gravy, and it’s real potato too.”

“Good to hear, I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.” Peggy placed her order with the waitress.

“I hope that’s just a figure of speech,” mused Cameron as he pushed the meat around his plate.

Peggy laughed out loud, she even had a tear run down her face. “Oh golly, I didn’t mean to …”

“Not a worry, it’s beef, I checked the DNA.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure, although it takes the mystery out of mystery meat.”

“I gotta ask, what’s in spam?”

“Some secrets are better left unanswered. G. I. Joe lied: ‘knowing isn’t half the battle,’ there are things that should just be left alone.”

“Right… So, you heading North? Leaving the country to get away from the army? I hear Canada’s taking in mutant refugees now.”

“Nope, other way around, I just left Canada.”

“No fooling? I had a friend run folks up to the border.”

“More proof that I don’t fit the mold of normal.”

“So, where are you going?”

“I shouldn’t tell you, in case - you know.”

“Gotcha. I’m going East. I’ve got a load of tires I’m taking to Bangor.”

“If you’re willing to take a passenger part of the way, I can pay.”

“I wouldn’t charge a kid for giving them a lift.”

“That’s very kind, but really, I have enough money and I want to help out.”

“You really aren’t normal, are you!”

“Nope, it’s one of my best qualities too.”

She laughed easily, she drank three cups of coffee over dinner as they ate, Peggy even convinced Cameron to try a piece of cherry pie for desert. It was worthwhile enough to buy the two entire pies on display and tuck them into Storage.

Peggy asked for a huge thermos full of coffee to go when getting ready to leave, Cameron paid the bill and left a big tip.

Peggy’s truck was pink, the cab anyway, the trailer was your typical white. She did a circle check around her rig with Cameron tagging along, she said they’d need to gas up before hitting the road, Cameron told her to check her fuel gauge, he’d filled the tank from his dimensional stash. She wouldn’t budge until he spilled the beans on how he did that. He didn’t mention how he’d built up the rubber treads and brake pads on her truck.

Life on the highway can be a solitary existence, so Peggy was happy to have company. They talked long into the evening, with Cameron providing some more details about his abilities. Finding out Cameron was gifted by God subsided any worry she might have had, in fact she was in awe.

It was long past dark when Peggy pulled off the road into a rest stop. There was a couple other trucks and campers already parked, but she selected a quiet place and shut her rig down. Her sleeper cab had bunk beds, and Cameron was offered the upper berth.

Cameron was stirred awake, Peggy had heard something outside. Cameron looked around and determined that some drunken nerfherders were vandalizing the rest stops amenities. Cameron disabled their get away vehicle, and put so much alcohol into their blood stream that they passed out in mere seconds. Peggy called for the police on her CB radio and they showed up to arrest the vandals without incident. Peggy gave her statement, without mentioning Cameron’s involvement.

Peggy and Cameron made use of the newly refreshed rest area’s showers in the morning, and grabbed some breakfast sandwiches to eat on the road, along with another big thermos full of coffee. At some point Peggy asked what music Cameron liked, he handed her one of the CD’s he’d made. They both sang along to the mix, she even enjoyed the Canadian artists like April Wine and Prism whom she’d never heard before.

Peggy knew by heart the best roads to take, the best places to stop and eat, and she pointed out the most interesting sights along the way, Cameron was having a great time. To avoid heavy traffic, Peggy chose to take a secondary route through New Hampshire, which suited Cameron perfectly.

An alert on the CB radio warned of an accident ahead, a truck driver had witnesses the whole thing. A car had struck something crossing the road and was badly damaged. Police and ambulance had been called and were on the way. Peggy rounded a corner and slowed when passing the accident scene, glass and car parts were strewn everywhere.

Three people sat roadside, no apparent injuries thanks to automobile safety devices, with other motorists having stopped to render aid. Cameron took in the details, but considered the risks and held his inclination to help at bay. However, something didn’t add up. His first impression of his recent dream was that it was only another nightmare about the accident that had killed her family.

It wasn’t until actually seeing this car wreck that he was irked by the huge differences in the details. For a car to be that badly messed up - it must have hit something really big, but what? That was the problem, whatever had been hit didn’t stick around, he couldn’t ignore this.

Cameron asked Peggy to pull over and she obliged. Cameron thanked her for the ride, handing her a stack of hundred dollar bills.

Trying to return the cash, Peggy said: “I was serious about not taking your money.”

“I know,” responded Cameron, “I’m sorry that the only kindness I can repay you with is money, Please take it. Put it to good use.”

Peggy was torn, she had debts and overdue payments mounting up so she tucked away the bills. “You sure you’re okay? There’s nothing around for miles?”

“Not a worry, this is perfect,” promised Cameron, yelling: “Thanks so much!” as he let Peggy pull away, after he’d topped up her gas tanks and giving her a farewell wave.

The remote area was forested with some farmlands scattered about. A stream ran North of the road which Cameron hiked towards, then followed the embankment back in the direction of the accident scene. Not too far along, Cameron’s suspicions proved true, standing in the water was one of the biggest people Cameron had ever met, on par with Buck for height at just over seven foot tall, but weighted four times as much.

The guy was washing himself in the stream, without a stitch of clothes on. As GSD went, he had it bad. His skin was rough, like a wart - but sadly it covered his entire body. Cameron remained quiet but moved closer, finding some clothes laying in the dirt, they were shredded and completely trashed, not to mention soiled. Come to think of it, if Cameron had been run down by a car, he’d likely poop his drawers too.

Cameron cleaned and repaired the clothes, setting them over a low hanging branch. Cameron proceeded to light a fire nearby and set some water on to boil and a large pot beside it, then sat facing away from the big guy to afford him some privacy. He heard him walking, the ground even shook with his footfalls, the big guy exclaimed: “Wah?”

Moments later the walking mountain approached.

“You hungry?” asked Cameron turning to face him.

“Yeth,” came a reply that sounded like gravel when you rake it.

“Coffee, Tea, or hot chocolate?” was offered, as Cameron gave him a deep scan, trying to be discrete. Buck mentioned how he hated people staring at him all the time, no doubt a common issue for someone so extraordinary.

The guy stood there in expectation of the revulsion the sight of him typically elicited. It didn’t come. After a second he said with difficulty: “Co-co.”

Cameron poured hot water into two mugs, one being much larger, he stirred them both and handed the large one over. “I have marshmallows if you’d like?”

“No,” was rumbled, as he emptied the drink in a single gulp.

“Another?” asked Cameron, reaching for the empty mug.

“Yeth.”

A quick pour of hot water later, another drink was in his massive hand, this one he sipped. “Who?”

“Who am I?” questioned Cameron, his scan had shown a badly deformed tongue and mouth, speech was hard for the guy.

The land mass sitting across the fire nodded his head.

“I take it your condition has made speaking difficult for you, I’ll do my best to keep my conversation to the point. My name is Outlook,” at which he raised his reflective silver visor to show the golden hue given off by his eyes. “In certain circles anyway.”

“How?” was asked, as the giant pinched his reconditioned flannel shirt between two fingers.

“Ah yes, that. I hope you don’t mind, but I figured you might prefer some modesty.”

Again a nodded head.

“I am able to alter molecules, I repaired your clothes by renewing the molecular bonds.”

“Thhuh,”

“Your welcome. I hope the stew’s ready, I’m famished.”

Cameron scooped out a bowl for himself, then handed the whole pot over to the big guy, including a large spoon. Cameron hadn’t even finished half his bowl when the big guy set down the pot and began licking the spoon; his tongue was just as rough as the rest of his body, there was no way he could form words with so twisted a mouth.

“Would you like more?”

It was an emphatic head nod.

Cameron returned the pot to the fire, refilled it from his supplies in Storage, and sat back down. “What may I call you?”

“Mm, Mmaath.”

“Matt?”

The big guy stared at Cameron, his eyes reflecting how desperately he wanted to talk as he tried to force his mouth around what he wanted to say. But eventually he shook his head in frustration, grabbing a stick and wrote into the dirt ‘MAX’.

“Alright, Max. Is that your real name or codename?” Cameron regretted asking the question immediately when Max slumped his shoulders and just began to tap his stick against the ground. “Sorry Max, It doesn’t matter.”

The smile given was hard to distinguish from a grimace. Nevertheless, Cameron brought him the warmed up stew and let him enjoy it in peace.

Eventually, after the meal was finished, Max stood pointing at himself, then pointed off into the trees. The direction confirmed Cameron’s estimation as to the mutant’s destination.

“Am I wrong in guessing you’re going to Whateley Academy?”

The affirmative head shake said he’d hit the mark.

“If we goes East a ways, we’ll come across train tracks that go up to Dunwich. It may be easier to take that route, instead of bushwhacking through the forest.”

Max thought about it, he looked at Cameron, then looked over to where he was going. He used his massive hand to point at himself, then pointed at Cameron, then made a sweeping motion to the East that turned Northward.

“Why yes, I would be glad to join you,” agreed Cameron.

The first obstacle was crossing the creek, which Max just stomped through, Cameron jumped from rock to rock without getting wet. Max didn’t wear shoes, finding something to fit those feet would be near on impossible, as it was, his clothes consisted of a pair of canvas bib overalls and a blue flannel shirt. A mens clothing store would be hard pressed to carry anything in this guy’s size.

They avoided the highway, Cameron didn’t question Max’s aversion to being seen, he could imagine the grief - his own eyes gave him enough trouble, there was no hiding for Max. Walking along they came upon an infrequently used backroad, so travelling became quicker. The lack of shoes didn’t seem to bother Max in the slightest. Cameron estimated that Max’s skin was tough as nails, the wart like appearance was akin to layer upon layer of calluses.

Before nightfall they found the railroad, turned North, and began following the tracks. Approaching twilight the pair stopped when Cameron suggested they set up camp for the night. Max shrugged his shoulders agreeably, Cameron guessed he’d slept on the ground wherever in the past, since he had no sleeping bag or tent.

Cameron had been right, Max had the strength of an ox, lifting huge fallen trees out of the way and snapping tree trunks over a foot in diameter into chunks like matchsticks; it took him no effort at all. The wood was used to start a fire as daylight faded.

Cameron put his biggest pot onto the fire and began to prepare spaghetti. As it simmered, Cameron and Max strung up a tarp for shelter, since up above the building clouds looked like rain. The fire gave off some light, which Max stayed close to, Cameron manifested one of his flashlights and gave it to him, the big guy used it to step into the woods for a few minutes of privacy. When nature calls you gotta answer it.

Max ate enough to feed an army, Cameron had seen bottomless pits for stomachs before. In fact, Billie Watson had nothing on this guy, or he’d just not had much food to eat recently. Cameron cleaned up camp and doused the fire. Taking off his visor, he eyed up Max to take his measure - then linked up some foam mattresses from his Warehouse to match his size, setting it on a ground sheet. Another regular size bed was brought out for himself, along with blankets and pillows for them both.

Max became emotional, almost crying, he looked away and turned off his flashlight so Cameron wouldn’t see his tears. He’d had it rough, Cameron had gleaned as much. The rains started a slow drizzle, but it picked up into a steady downpour; the sound was easy to fall asleep to.

With morning came overcast sky’s, it was cool and damp. Max sat beside the fire Cameron had started as Cameron made pancakes - lots of them, big ones too, each the size of dinner plates. Cameron set over a dozen huge pancakes onto a platter for Max, then handed Max a knife and fork three times the usual size. It didn’t take long to empty the jug of maple syrup, good thing Cameron kept more in Storage.

In the night a couple trains had rumbled past, so the tracks were in use, but not part of a main line. They would need to be cautious in case a train came along while they walked the tracks. They walked in companionable silence, Max wanted to talk but couldn’t, so Cameron would sing just so there was something happening between them. Max for his part would hum, especially on songs he knew, and would eventually pick up the tune on those he didn’t recognize.

Taking a break they sat beside a river, soaking their feet in the cool water. Cameron came up with an idea, saying: “I could make a wheeled cart to put on the tracks.”

Max shook his head, pointed at himself, then using both hands pushed together giving them a twist to show how it would break.

“Not if I made it strong enough it could carry you, I’m sure of it. My problem is I don’t know how to power it, I’ve seen how transmissions and gears work, I just don’t know the dynamics involved to set something like that up.”

Max nodded, giving the problem some thought. He made a grin and began to hum “mm, mm, Mm mm mm mmm, Mm mm mmmmmm mm mm mm.”

The melody resonated with Cameron, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Max tried again, with Cameron taking the cue to join along, then it clicked.

“Flintstones, meet the Flintstones!”

Max was very pleased with that, he then held his hands like he was holding a steering wheel.

Cameron reasoned: “The Flintstones … had a car, they used their feet to propel it. I get it, we can use our feet to move the cart.”

Max shook his head, pointing at himself and paddled his feet in the water. He pointed at Cameron while holding his other hand above his eyes, turning his head looking about.

Cameron conceded: “Yeah, we need to keep an eye out for trains. Okay, I’ll keep watch if you’re okay with keeping us moving.”

He thumped his chest once and nodded in agreement, it was a deal.

Cameron brought some train wheel sets out from Warehouse, he had several left over from the wreck clean up. He fastened some heavy duty metal beams between them with cross members. He had Max stand on the tracks to get an idea of height and width needed, then Max tried different positions so he could push with his feet while sitting, or run hanging onto handles to then jump up onto the cart.

Max could alternate from facing forwards or backwards, while Cameron sat looking ahead. As a precaution, Cameron made an awning overhead, it was going to rain again so some shelter would be nice. Looking at the cart from the side, it really did look like the Flintstone mobile.

The beauty of railroads are the mild grades, no big hills. Max needed to push harder going up hills, but going down grade was a blast as they picked up speed. Only once during the day did they need to clear the tracks for an oncoming train, which Cameron spotted long before it became a problem, otherwise they made really good time.

The tracks brought them into a community, Max had no interest in showing himself, and Cameron wasn’t all that keen either. But, if there was a bank it would be smart to refresh his supply of American money. Max stayed hidden under a bridge while Cameron walked the distance into town.

Cameron wore a hoodie and his visor to hide his features; the bank was easy enough to find. Taking a large sum of Canadian money out from Cupboard to exchange into American funds, the teller was concerned about handing over that much cash, but since he had an account in good standing she couldn’t say no. A nearby Grocery store permitted Cameron to restock his shelves.

Afterward, Cameron headed back to join up with Max, but stopped at a fast food joint purchasing a dozen hamburgers to go, a mere light snack for Max. As Cameron walked down a lonely street, a rusty old muscle car in less than pristine running condition screeched to a halt beside him. Two delinquents jumped out demanding Cameron hand over all his money, he’d seen them before - loitering at the bank. Cameron reached into his pocket and took out a leather wallet, which he flipped open revealing his police badge.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cameron asked.

The two looked at each other, uncertain about how much trouble they were getting into.

“Walk away now, and I’ll forget all about this,” added Cameron to sweeten the deal. “If not, you’re not gonna be happy.”

The would-be thieves didn’t walk away, in fact, one pulled out a gun. Even if it was plastic, it looked realistic - not to Cameron, but to anyone else, sure.

Cameron sighed, people can’t help but be their own worst enemies. Cameron stunned them both, they toppled over like dominoes. He could have left them laying there, but it wouldn’t change anything, they would undoubtedly do the same again. So, to give them something else to occupy themselves with, he disassembled their car, setting each part out orderly on the roadside right down to the nuts and bolts.

He’d warned them, they wouldn’t be happy.

Cameron however learned a great deal about the internal workings of cars from the experience.

Cameron and Max covered a lot of miles before stopping for the night, they would easily make it to Dunwich tomorrow. They again set up a small campsite, this time beside a creek. Cameron fashioned a shower so they could get cleaned up before arriving at Whateley. While Max was washing himself Cameron spotted a rabbit watching them in the undergrowth. Removing his visor so the golden glow was visible, he said: “Please let the Medawihla know I’m returning to Whateley.”

For dinner Cameron made chicken and dumplings, a stew type dish his/her mother made often and was a family favourite. It was starting to hurt less thinking about losing his family, it may never go away completely, but his emotions weren’t as raw. Max noticed how quiet Cameron had become and in his own - gentle, yet wordless manner asked if Cameron was okay.

“I’m alright my friend, just thinking about what I’ve lost, when I should be focusing on what I’ve gained. Plus, I’m worried about being back at Whateley. Is this your first year?”

Max nodded, Cameron marvelled at this guy’s courage, he’d shy’d away from people to an extreme, but was determined to get to Whateley. He had a goal and nothing was going to stop him. For that resolve Cameron admired Max. There was a lot going on behind those brown eyes, even if he couldn’t say much.

Rolling into Dunwich the next day was almost a let down. For all the pushing and running Max did he never seemed to tire out, or get winded beyond wheezing at times. The little train station was deserted. Since no trains were slated to arrive for hours nobody was around. It was a difficult sell to convince Max that this was one town that welcomed the abnormal. They walked the short distance into the main part of town and Cameron brought them to Cecilia Rodger’s clothing boutique, motioning for Max to come in too.

Cecilia was an absolute pro, she didn’t even flinch at Max’s startling appearance. Rather, she began to address him like a valued customer, laying swaths of different fabric over him. He picked out some colours he favoured, after which Cecilia took his measurements since her scanner devise couldn’t manage such a large frame.

While there, Cecilia also collected Cameron’s measurements, he easily fit into her scanner with room to spare. While getting his order together, Cameron asked about getting team uniforms made, Max made a gesture to see if he could be part of Cameron’s team too. It wasn’t that Cameron knew all that much about Max, but nothing about him yelled danger, so told him if the others agreed, he was welcome.

Cecilia allowed them to call Whateley on her phone, letting them know they would arrive shortly. It would take hours to walk the remaining distance, and Max was adamant about not getting into a car. There was a story there, but Cameron had to let the reasons slide for now. But an idea hit, they walked over to Dunwich’s Public Works yard and Albert was in the office.

Cameron was greeted like an old time friend, which made Max so curious he even showed himself. Albert whistled saying that Max was easily the biggest guy he’d ever seen, which touched a raw nerve with Max. Cameron asked for a favour; could they be given a lift to Whateley, in a dump truck, the only vehicle around that could carry Max’s weight.

Albert said he’d be glad to do it, and grabbed the vehicle’s keys, Cameron was offered a ride in the cab, but he rode with Max in the back. Fortunately it was sunny and warm enough for riding in the open truck box, although windy. Cameron had strung some rope to act as safety belts to alleviate Albert’s concerns.

Passing through the school’s gates had Cameron worried, so he stripped down his shielding to almost nothing, hoping there wouldn’t be a nasty interaction. The truck bucked and lurched crossing the schools barriers, with Cameron groaning in pain, but the dump trucks shear size pushed them through.

Albert drove them up to the parking area near Shuster Hall. Whateley Academy hadn’t changed, appearance wise anyways, Cameron had hopes that this wasn't a mistake. A few students had already arrived and walked about the grounds. Classes wouldn’t start for a couple days yet so the majority of students would trickle in over the weekend.

Cameron’s friends should be arriving tomorrow or the day after, if everybody's plans held together. He could hardly wait to see Lynn again. Max stood trying to take the place in, if anything, this school could easily overwhelm from first impressions. Cameron thanked Albert profusely and promised he’d come by the shop to visit.

Max was drawing a crowd, even among other freaks he turned heads. A lady exited from the office building with clipboards in hand.

“Misters Burke, and … let’s see, hmmm, Merrell, is it?” She guessed after checking a list.

Max nodded his head to acknowledge she had the right name.

“Very well. I am Mrs. Shugendo, the school’s Dean of Students. You arrived at an opportune time, so I can personally show you around our fine school. Afterwards you will be provided a tour by fellow students,” she informed them. “Here are your student cards, you’ll need these on-campus, so don’t lose them. Now, do you need assistance with your luggage?” she cocked an eyebrow upon not seeing any bags.

“No Ma’am, no need. Max here believes in traveling light and I have mine under control.”

Not certain what the implications no luggage meant gave the Dean pause. Would Outlook really be staying? She proceeded to walk them down a path leading towards the dormitories. Mrs. Shugendo began her oft repeated spiel.

“For Mr. Merrell’s benefit, Whateley Academy’s buildings are all named after famous authors, except for our dining area, which you’ll notice on our right behind Shuster Hall. It’s called the Crystal Hall. Even though the dome is not made from crystal, the translucent composite material shares many characteristics, hence its name.”

“Over to our left is the Beck Library, which is the school’s main Library. We have subsidiary libraries as well, in each dormitory for example. Behind us is Kane Hall, the building with the tower, it contains some classrooms, but also houses this school’s Security department. Ahead on your right is the Doyle Medical Complex, it is our world class hospital facility.“

“Whateley Academy was founded in 1878 by Noah Whateley, it ran as a boarding school until it fell upon hard times and was closed down for a brief period. In the mid 1960s, a group of empowered individuals purchased the school to become a place for gifted children to explore their abilities. Whateley Academy is now the preeminent destination for children of superheroes and villains alike.”

“To our left is Melville Cottage, just ahead of us is Poe, and beyond that is Hawthorne Cottage. Hawthorne is intended for special needs students, such as yourself Mr. Merrell. It has a doctor in residence, and nearly each room is a single. Each Cottage has at least one house parent and each floor has exemplarily students designated as Resident Advisors.”

“Pardon me ma’am, does that mean I won’t be getting put into Hawthorne then?” cut in Cameron at the hinted destination.

“No Mr. Burke, we have chosen other accommodations for you. But attending to Mr. Merrell first seems logical.”

“Yes Ma’am, sorry to interrupt.”

“As I was saying, each Cottage has diverse populations, however, typically every floor is set aside for students of the same year, Freshmen on the first floor, up to Seniors on the topmost, although some exceptions apply. Also, the boys Cottages are Twain and Emerson. Girls dormitories are Dickinson and Whitman, whereas Hawthorne, Poe and Melville Cottages are co-ed.”

They stopped on the steps to Hawthorne, Max had that special look of scared silly and excited beyond belief, all at the same time. Cameron empathized with him.

“Mr. Merrell, your house parent, Mrs. Cantrel, will take it from here.”

Cameron removed from his dimensional holdings a suitcase, into which he’d put some extra clothes he’d made for Max, along with personal items like toiletries, and some towels. Handing the suitcase to him, Cameron said: “I hope to see you soon, look for me at Crystal Hall, we can have dinner together.”

Max walked into the unknown, he looked back nervously to wave thanks, took a deep breath to settle his anxiety to then step into the next chapter of his life, head held high.

Mrs. Shugendo leaned over near to Cameron’s ear, “Mr. Merrell doesn’t say much.”

“He can’t. His mutation has made speaking very difficult.”

“How did you two meet?”

“He walked away from being hit by a car traveling fifty-five miles per hour, without a scratch I should add. I figured that was somebody worth knowing.”

“We’ve never had anyone arrive in a dump truck before.”

“He weights over two thousand pounds so not many vehicles can handle that kind of weight.”

“I better ensure he’s put into a reinforced room. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Mrs. Shugendo hurried inside to inform Mrs. Cantrel in case his room assignment needed adjusting.

Mere seconds later Mrs. Shugendo reappeared. “It’s good you mentioned it, his application didn’t disclose his size.”

“I suspect his mutation is ongoing, his first manifestations might not have been so severe. I noticed his size increased over the last couple days. It would be wise for Doyle to run a full examination, and he should get tested, I didn’t see an MID.”

“His application hadn’t mentioned that.”

“Also, Cecilia Rodgers is making some clothes and school uniforms for him. I’d like that bill to be put onto my account, if that’s allowed?”

“It can be arranged. Anything else?”

“Is Max here on a scholarship?”

“His affairs are private, but I will say that his tuition is paid, and that he’s a legacy student.”

“I need to ask what a legacy student is?”

“Someone in his family attended Whateley previously.”

“Allow me to speak frankly Mrs. Shugendo. Max’s health is questionable at best, I suspect his body will begin to collapse under the strain his mutation is creating. I recommend alerting his family.”

“Your certain?”

“When he sleeps, he stops breathing. The weight of his chest compresses his lungs and his heart has not kept pace with his body’s growth.”

“I’ll let the doctors know. He’s at the best place on earth to deal with the effects of mutations.”

“I see, okay then,” assessed Cameron. “So, where do I pitch my tent this year?”

End Part 3
To be continued.




Dunwich, New Hampshire

Debbie sat on the park bench watching the goings on in the tiny village of Dunwich. Her single little suitcase, plastered with ladybug stickers, rested beside her acting as a deterrent to prevent anyone from sitting next to her.

The girl preferred watching people to engaging with them in any meaningful way. There’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely, her need for companionship was mostly satisfied by observing people from afar. People had been nothing but a disappointment even before manifesting, Deb had learned to keep everyone at arm’s length. It was a tell - how she used her suitcase as a shield to protect her personal space.

A white passenger van stopped curb-side directly in front of her. Deb checked her watch; too early for her ride to Whateley, so her curiosity was piqued. The first person to exit the van was a girl, a really tall girl. Deb only stood five foot three so she already hated her - on principle. Standing at six and a half feet tall, this girl would’ve made her old school’s basketball coach salivate. As it was, the girl’s long slender legs seemed to go on forever. Matched to a slim physique, it made Deb’s loathing spiral deeper, self loathing that is. Deb could never measure up to the expectations placed upon her, by her family, and herself.

The tall girl made a full sweep of her surroundings, giving Deb only a cursory glance. The girl hid her true intent by stretching and bending to remove kinks as she scanned the area. Deb didn’t fail to notice the strands of flame-red hair that were otherwise tucked underneath a hoodie, plus the girl’s remarkable similarity to a young Geena Davis from The Fly; not exactly - but Deb always tried to match people to famous faces. It fed her insecurities.

The second person out of the van was another girl. She exited head first, the crown of her head was blonde as blonde can be, but down the length of her hair near her shoulders, the colour was mixed in with some brunette. Deb took satisfaction from at least having a decent dye job. This girl was almost a foot shorter than her traveling companion. It would be unfair to say the tall girl wasn’t attractive, an injustice actually, but with them standing side by side the newest girl set the bar to a greater height. Full pouty lips with a cute button nose, she would turn heads as a model on any fashion runway. If anyone - she looked like Denise Richards from Starship Troopers, life wasn’t fair.

Debbie had grown up under her mother's shadow, and her mom had ingrained a philosophy that looks were everything. It showed, because her mom was glamorous, spending huge amounts of time and money to create the perfect image. She’d been a beauty contest entrant - hadn’t won anything except her father’s attention. Overall, it was too bad Deb inherited her dad’s looks, aside from her mom’s nose, her original one - not the one the plastic surgeon made for her.

Deb’s introspection took a backseat when the pair on the sidewalk began talking to the remaining occupants in the van, encouraging them to come out. The third to exit was yet another girl, a brunette this time. The second girl offered a hand to steady the latest as she exited their transport. There was some familial similarity between these two. Yes, she was attractive too, but perhaps not to the extent of her sister. Deb began to wonder if she’d stumbled upon contestants for a beauty pageant.

The brunette had sharp piercing eyes; it was like radar how with unerring accuracy she honed in on Deb watching the van. Their eyes touched for the briefest moment of time, but in that millisecond of contact, Deb knew an assessment had been made of her interest, intent, and threat level, and was dismissed.

The brunette stepped out onto the sidewalk, straightening her rumpled clothes as she made space on the sidewalk for the next passenger. She was slightly taller than her sister, so that lent to her being the older of the two, but the blonde had more curves. Had it not been for the blonde’s bright pink backpack, a very teeny-bopper colour, she would have guessed the blonde was older.

The van dipped again as another person came out. This time it was a boy, his movements had an awkwardness to them, like he had to guess where to step and how far to reach. It made him jerky and hesitant and was such a teenager attribute, like when a juvenile’s mind and body hadn’t fully meshed to smoothly fill the space they occupied. However, the boy had an easy smile and said something that made the three girls giggle. A clown, there’s always a clown in every group.

The boy wasn’t as tall as the first girl, few people are so resoundingly over six foot, but this guy had a couple inches overtop the brunette. Again, there was a strong family resemblance going on. Curiously, if three of these travellers are related, how did the tall girl fit into the group?

The boy began to do stretches to limber up. They must have been on the road for a long time.

Another body began to emerge, a fifth passenger slid out of the confining van with a fluidity reserved for highly skilled dancers. After being folded up in a van for hours, it was the most perfect entrance, as onto a stage or the red carpet. Any attempt at being discrete on Deb’s part came to an abrupt end and she stared transfixed like a gopher looking up into the open jaws of an apex predator. Deb had to drop her old standard and recalibrate her scale for ranking beauty. Ten took on a whole new meaning.

At first, the long raven hair hid the last girl’s face until she stood upright and threw her head back, allowing the hair to cascade down her back and settle around her face. Her skin was a sumptuous bronze colour; no tanning booth could imitate such a healthy glow. This newest girl turned her head directly at Deb to unleash a pair of brilliant green eyes that focused upon Deb. The smile Deb received was both unexpected and unnerving. It bore no malice, not even dangerous, if anything it looked mirthful.

Deb had been the recipient of those fake smiles mean girls like to taunt with. She’d been used for target practice many times before, but this smile looked genuine, and that, that was unsettling. Deb turned away. She knew she’d been busted for spying, but tried not to look too guilty. She brought her suitcase a little closer as if it had attempted to run away.

The one thing Deb desperately wanted in life was a friend, an honest-to-goodness true friend, but had stopped dreaming after so many failed attempts. Even coming to a new school Deb only sought to survive; to hope otherwise wasn’t even a remote possibility reasoned Deb, so get a grip.

That lithe girl had left an impression, long black curled hair that bounced - framing her perfect features. She had a little nose above full cupids bow lips, pronounced cheekbones, and a delicate jawline. Deb scrolled through all the images of models and actresses she’d memorized. Of them all, the only one to come close was TV’s Wonder Woman herself: Lynda Carter. It left Deb shell shocked.

The driver rounded the side of the van to begin unloading luggage. He was solidly built, muscular and six feet tall. He wore a checkered red flannel shirt with suspenders holding up a pair of worn jeans. It gave Deb a mental picture of a lumberjack, minus the hobnail boots. He spoke with a thick French accent which sealed her suspicion, Canadians.

The luggage amounted to a large stack all told. Each of the five passengers had a minimum of two suitcases, tags on the bags identical to the ones Deb used for her own belongings. Whateley Academy was their common destination.

When the front passenger joined them on the curb the hugs started in earnest. Deb had determined from her people watching there were four types of hugs; each carried a notation as to the type of relationship between the huggers. Romantic hugs bore the most emotion, ranging from the newly formed attachment to those between lifelong loves. Nobody shared such, although there was something happening between the driver and the female who rode up front; an early romance no doubt.

Family hugs told a lot: parent, siblings, extended family. The way the tall girl hugged the front passenger said they were related, a cousin, an aunt … her mother’s younger sister perhaps. The tall girl was reluctant to touch anyone else, so Deb had to guess the relationship to the others.

Otherwise, it was all close friendly hugs, no superficial perfunctory ones. These travellers had shared experiences and bonded, signs of strong feelings and trust. Although the tall girl had a deep emotional connection to the lumberjack, not infatuation, more like a student/teacher relationship. Again, her reservedness masked the tells.

Seeing people say goodbye was touching and letting people go was a toss up between trust and worry. When Deb left home just a few hours ago, it was a thinly veiled ‘good riddance’. Her parents wanted her gone, plain and simple; let Whateley deal with her. As a parting gesture, her father had secretly given her a gun. She’d spent the last hours trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean, what kind of parent gives a fourteen-year-old a gun?

Deb had lost focus, the van had driven away leaving the group to wait street side, the exact location Deb had been provided as the pick-up point for Whateley Academy in Dunwich. The lone boy in the group sat down on a suitcase as the girls rushed across the street to a clothing boutique.

Cecilia Rogers’ Fabric Boutique had piqued Deb’s interest as well. In the window was a mannequin wearing a school uniform. No doubt Whateley Academy would have a dress code, her last boarding school had one too. It was the system’s way to defeat individualism and churn out automatons. It didn’t matter really. At least she didn’t need to worry about fashion if everyone dressed the same.

Deb only had her small carry-on suitcase which she’d be-speckled with ladybug stickers. She liked ladybugs, they were cute and inoffensive. Daddy had arranged for a delivery service to take her belongings directly to this new school. After getting expelled from her old school when she’d manifested, she’d only been home for a week before getting booted out - again. There was almost no online presence of this mystery school that had accepted her sight unseen. What kind of freak show had her parents signed her up for this time? Why did dad figure she’d need a gun?

Her psychiatrist had pegged Deb as a classic outsider, a loner who preferred to watch rather than become involved. Manifesting as a Gadgeteer had sparked some interest from her aloof father at first, but he quickly dismissed his misfit daughter as an unworthy lesser being, dumping her at the first place that would take her when he opened his wallet wide enough.

It was a huge gap between being alone and being lonely, those couple little letters made all the difference. Deb didn’t like always being a loner, but that was what life handed her. Coming from money meant you could never trust people’s motives; friends only used you for what they could get from you. She watched people from afar because she liked the control distance afforded her, but she was the first to recognize the hole it left in her heart.

Deb noticed how two girls returned and towed the boy over to the clothing store. These girls had a different kind of relationship, it was a love/hate vibe, siblings no doubt. The girls shared too many facial similarities with the boy to ignore. A whole family going to boarding school together was unusual.

The road wasn’t busy, but still, the boy looked at traffic multiple times before crossing the street with slow calculated steps, finally entering the shop. Checking her timepiece, Deb had time before the scheduled ride would arrive, so decided she should look into what the clothing store had to offer and perhaps obtain a school uniform as well.

Stepping into the shop she was taken aback by how astonishingly good the quality of the garments on display were. It rivalled any of the stores on Fifth Avenue or Rodeo Drive her mother had taken her into. The tall redhead and the black-haired girl had been admiring an elegant evening gown while the boy was inside a booth complaining about … whatever boys claimed to dislike about buying clothes. The shopkeeper called over, “I’ll be with you in a moment,” as she finished writing out an order.

Deb began a mental dissection of the school uniform on display. The material used was not your standard stuff and feeling the textile used she gathered it was unconventional. It was tactile grade - perhaps even bulletproof, but felt as soft as a fine brushed cotton. The cloth was unique and disturbing at the same time. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, the only indicator she had of a danger sense. First a gun and now bulletproof clothes - just what kind of school was Whateley?

Her intent scrutiny and musings were interrupted when somehow the raven-haired girl appeared beside her soundlessly, and was staring at her intently with some of the most amazing green eyes. Her gaze pierced right through Deb and it was unnerving to be looked at this way. Deb wondered if she was actually being seen or was this a new way to be ignored.

“Lynn,” was offered with an extended hand. “You are Deborah Maurine Hastings, you haven’t selected a suitable codename as yet. You’re trying to decide between Network and Sourcer-ess; I would recommend neither. Network will result in being called ‘nitwit’ and Sourcer-ess will confuse you with magic users. Consider as an alternative Werx, a derivative of the word works, since Gadgeteers make things work.”

“Uhm, thanks?” was the best Deb could muster, her brain doing backflips. Was this girl a stalker? Was this gonna become a kidnapping situation? Deb contemplated grabbing her gun. How could she know all that about her, she hadn’t told anyone half of that stuff?

“It messes with the head doesn’t it,” empathized the tall redhead who’d come up on her other side. Deb was now trapped between them, she realized.

“Precog,” was given in explanation by the black-haired girl still holding out her hand.

Deb ran down the list of different mutations and their associated abilities; she’d memorized everything she’d found online. The note beside Precognition mutants claimed they were so rare as to be unlikely to ever encounter one, plus Precognition strength was impossible to place on a scale. It was with trepidation that Deb extended her hand. The handshake was firm, but tender too, like nothing needed to be proved between them. It was reassuring while being friendly and nothing was aggressive about it, so Debbie relaxed ever so slightly.

It was the novelty that perplexed Deb, still struggling with the flight response she was debating with. Someone engaged her in a conversation … like a normal person. The problem was … Deb didn’t know a normal way to act.

“You may call me R.E.D. until we become friends,” said the hooded redhead, it wasn’t sarcastic or confrontational in tone, just laid out the how and the who, leaving the door open. But no handshake was presented, in fact, her hands were neatly tucked behind her back.

The boy couldn’t have picked a better time to step out of the fitting room. It took the attention off Deborah so she could regroup.

“Thank you Timothy, I have your measurements now,” instructed the shopkeeper, a young woman of impeccable taste in her attire. "You can expect your school uniforms before next weekend. I’ll have them delivered to Whateley along with your friend’s. Now, have you all decided what colour trim you want on your team uniforms?”

“I like red,” exclaimed Timothy.

“Sorry slowpoke, already taken,” refuted the tall girl, pulling off her hood. Deb could now watch the dim pulsating red light travel down the length of her hair in a rhythm timed to a heartbeat.

“Is orange okay?” he asked, then noticed the newcomer and added with bravado, “A nice deep manly tint of orange of course.”

Deb couldn’t help adding her giggle to that coming from the other girls.

“I think I can find just the right thing,” assured the seamstress. She took from the rack a suit on a hanger. “Outlook asked me to come up with a team design. The fabric will be puncture resistant with flame-retardant features. I’m thinking of using an iridescent material on the right shoulder to mimic the aurora borealis, but I’d like your input if you have any suggestions.”

It looked like a skin-tight unitard, the design had elastic cuffs and waist band, the trim was a golden colour which included a double line down the left sleeve. It was mostly a midnight blue colour with flecks of silver that looked like stars and the addition of scuff-resistant patches of black fabric on the knees and elbows was very functional.

“It needs pockets or a utility belt for hold-outs,” chipped in Deb. She felt she needed to explain, “You know, like Batman.”

“She has a point,” piped up the tall one nodding her head thoughtfully. “I would like a skirt, my mother would not agree to me wearing anything so revealing.”

“I agree, skirts for the girls, shorts for the boys. How about a pocketed vest or light jacket to conceal weapons in?” Suggested Lynn, the raven-haired one.

An agreement was reached, but the boy, Timothy asked, “What about capes?”

“I think Edna Mode’s right, no capes, too pretentious. Besides, it’s not like we’re joining the Future Superheroes of Tomorrow,” reasoned the Precog Lynn.

“Fine,” submitted a disappointed Tim to the group decision.

“Future Superheroes?” startled Deb who was taken aback at the statement, what the heck was this?

“Yeah, it’s a group of wannabe’s at Whateley. They have aspirations of becoming superheroes someday, everyone calls them The Capes. Swift kinda had a crush on one of them.”

“Hey!” complained Tim.

“She was a senior and already had a boyfriend, what part of ‘not interested’ did you misinterpret?” consoled Lynn, patting the boy’s shoulder.

He gave her a small smile.

“I promised to tell you when the love of your life came along,” comforted Lynn further. “Until then, you’ll have to put up with us and your sisters,” she teased.

Deb mentally chalked up a victory on guessing the sibling factor. Lynn was a wildcard who had dispelled each clue Deb had gleaned, it was exciting to be presented a challenge that merited further observation. Cecilia efficiently determined her clothing needs. Her scanner was a novel instrument, one which Deb had difficulty suppressing an irresistible urge to disassemble to discover its internal workings … okay, Werx was sounding better and better for a codename.

While getting her measurements taken, Deb overheard Lynn asking about getting a dress suitable for dancing class. That made Ms. Rogers’ day. There were five posters announcing the class plastered on every available space. Green was definitely the girl’s colour, so it only came down to a question of style and cut. With her beauty, Lynn could make camouflage look good, which Deb hadn’t thought possible.

Deb paid the bill for her school uniforms and an adorable pantsuit she’d found … plus some boots that were simply to die for. It wasn’t cheap, which was Mom’s first rule about buying good clothes, ‘cheap is as cheap does’. She didn’t understand her Mom most days, but what teenager doesn’t feel that way?

A larger throng of students had now gathered on the street, some wore the now familiar school uniform, returning students most likely. Others, like herself, had on assorted clothing reflecting regional tastes, Midwestern functionality, California beach duds. And of course - typical for Canadians, multiple layers of clothes for changing climatic conditions, as was seen on the five she’d been watching.

Deb was impressed, the school’s transportation arrived on schedule. It was a twelve-passenger van with a trailer pulled behind to accommodate the luggage. With only ten students there were enough seats to go around. Even so, Deb shared her bench with the two Canadian sisters. Introductions were made, Charlotte was the blonde, Rachelle the brunette. They had visited Whateley before to scope the school out, but had not been attending classes.

Perhaps it was a good sign that they were excited to be returning. Deb didn’t know what she was getting into, but obviously this was a school for mutants and the pieces began to fit into place. The mystery and secrecy she’d discovered so far was to protect the students and likely the staff as well. She could appreciate the discretion since she had also been discriminated against after manifesting.

The school had chosen to distance itself from close neighbours; the last homestead had been a couple of miles back before the van veered off the road and drove past tall wrought iron gates. Each gate post had a gargoyle mounted above like sentinels watching over who entered, a large rock wall looked to surround the grounds.

Watching the scenery was enlightening, the buildings were an eclectic mix which could be attributed to the architect in charge being epileptic, but more likely it spoke of age. The place had been around for a while and as need arose, new construction and additions didn’t hold to a set theme.

The school bus stopped in a parking lot to join several other vehicles unloading students. There were adults holding clipboards attempting to impart order to the growing chaos, calling out names and directing them into clusters. The students already in the know gathered their belongings and headed off towards predetermined buildings.

Their driver helped unload the luggage, some kids hauled their own stuff around, others leaving it where it lay. Deb only had her small ladybug suitcase to contend with, which had wheels, so she towed it behind herself. Checking in, she was told she was assigned to Melville Cottage and overheard that all the Canadian girls she’d arrived with would be in Dickinson.

If typical norms prevailed, dormitories would be pitted against each other based upon socio-economic standards. It was the way the world thinks, it wasn’t right, but just the way it is. Deb never liked fitting in, she’d found the whole system repulsive. It was almost hypocritical coming from one of the top one percentile, but she had no way to change the status quo.

Her concern today was if she had a roommate again, her last one outed her as a mutant and she was tired of living in fear. A huddle of twenty-some freshman kids began the trek over to Melville Cottage together.

Melville Cottage

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” cautioned Rhododendron, looking around at the imposing entryway of Melville Cottage. It smelled of money and had an air of opulence in contrast to their own dormitories’ simple albeit functional decor.

“Of course it’s a good idea, Cameron will want us to check up on him.” It gave the Precog pause thou, making Lynn stop and join her tall roommate to view the cottage’s interior. It looked like a fancy foyer for an upscale hotel rather than a boarding school’s dormitory. “Besides, we’ve got his school supplies, he’ll need those.”

“It’s not Cameron I’m concerned about. Didn’t you listen during orientation, Melville Cottage houses all the hoity-toity students, you know; the more money than brains sort.”

“Cameron’s not like that,” admonished Lynn, “You know him better than that. Besides, he’ll need a friend or two before he’ll be able to settle in.”

“I am knowing, but …” paused Rho, the stare she’d received from a resident was filled with daggers, “how come he isn’t over in Hawthorne Cottage?”

“All the more reason for us to visit, and find out. Come on!” connived Lynn, almost grabbing onto the Energizer’s hot hand to drag her up to the concierge desk. “Aren’t you even slightly curious to see what his room looks like?” whispered Lynn as they waited for the attendant to notice them.

“Unlike you, I can contain my curiosity,” quietly chastised Rho, wondering how it is this impulsive Were girl always talked her into doing crazy things.

The concierge checked their student ID’s against an approved visitor list, then pointed them to the elevator.

Once the doors closed, Lynn spoke up: “I’m just keeping an eye out for him,” Lynn’s comment raised Rho’s eyebrow. “Okay, fine, keeping my eye on him then,” she mumbled.

“Can you honestly, even for a second, suspect that he’d become enamoured with someone other than you?”

“No … well, maybe.”

“I am beside myself in disbelief. Have you looked in a mirror? You are a boy magnet. I believe I am the stick you hold onto to scare them off.”

Lynn broke out in laughter at her friend’s admission, “That’s not true, you provide comedy relief too. And I thought you hung around me to avoid all the attention you attract.”

“What a pair we make,” chuckled Rho. “You should know, stalking is another feline trait you have issues with,” stated Rho, receiving a huff from her friend as they exited the elevator and began walking down the hallway.

Lynn shrugged off the comment saying, “Stalking, tracking, to-ma-toe, tom-at-oe, what’s the big deal either way.”

The directions they’d received said Cameron’s room was at the end of the hall. “Now that we’re back rooming together, should I expect to be slept on again?”

“Could be, I don’t like strange beds, I don’t sleep well until I get comfortable in new surroundings.”

“I’m not complaining, I just worry that you might get burned.”

“I’m made of tougher stuff than most. Besides, you’re nice and warm to curl up on.”

“Ha, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Fair enough, I’ll try and keep the claws in … in case I do get burned.”

The long hallway had plush carpeting which absorbed the sound of footfalls and was in stark contrast to the plain worn wood floors at Dickinson Cottage. Nice artwork adorned the freshly painted walls. Giving the place a sniff, it even smelled like money or some fancy perfumed cleaner. Just like you’d find in a hotel, each door had electric swipe pads and peepholes installed to provide additional security.

Approaching the hall’s end, the corridor was nearly blocked by heaps upon heaps of luggage. The large steamer trunks along with big wooden crates left little room for the girls to squeeze past. Checking the room number Lynn knocked on Cameron’s door.

“Over here,” rang out a familiar voice from the open door across the hall. Looking into the dormitory, Rho stood slack jawed, it was three times the size of the ones in their dorm, and they shared it; not to mention this room only had a single bed.

Cameron stepped out from behind a corner and beamed a huge smile. He hastened up and embraced Lynn in a hug, saying into her ear, “I missed you.” and he meant it, truly and deeply.

Lynn’s knee’s weakened from his affectionate greeting. She had missed her betrothed as well, but she was still miffed that he’d not returned her calls. A slight she was certain to make him pay for - just not right now. Right now, even though she wasn’t in cat form, she was purring.

As if it was an assembly line, Rho also received a warm hug. Watching the events unfold Deb tilted her head in curiosity. It was apparent her helpful neighbour, and Lynn the girl she’d arrived at Whateley with, had feelings for each other. But the tall redhead, R.E.D., had never displayed such openness with anyone she'd touched before, it altered all the perceptions she’d formulated about the girl.

Catching himself in a lack of manners, Cameron began introductions only to be halted.

“We met in Dunwich and arrived together on the same bus,” informed Lynn. “Is all this stuff yours?” she asked in amazement. “You only had a single suitcase with you!”

“Umm, yeah. I had most of my things shipped here ahead of time. It is a lot isn’t it.” she had to confess. Deb doubted even half of it would fit into her room. “Outlook was helping me carry the more important things in. I figure I’ll need to find storage space or hopefully be assigned a workshop. I’ve kinda been hoarding tools since I became a Gadgeteer.”

Deb didn’t know why she found it necessary to explain herself. She hadn’t been so forthcoming to anyone in recent memory, not even to her psychiatrist. Maybe because she was off balance around the Precog girl who seemed to know her soul better than she did, or because her new neighbour had started helping her with little more than a basic ‘Hello’ shared between them.

“I was wondering about finding a place myself. I already asked our Cottage fixer about a hide-y-hole in the tunnels. She said there were some newly vacated spots up for grabs, but I have to act fast in securing one. I was hoping to do some exploring in the tunnels tonight after dinner.”

“Can I join you?” sought Deb. Having a guide sounded like a good idea since she was disoriented, even after the tour she’d been given, but she needed the additional space nonetheless.

After plans to meet up for dinner were all arranged, and a few of the larger crates were set aside making some room in the hallway, Deb was left to her own devices organizing her room.

Lynn asked point blank to see Cameron’s room.

From the hallway Cameron double-checked his room for presentability, he’d put a lot of effort into making it feel homey, not that it looked anything like his family’s house. Home was still too elusive a thought after losing his/her parents. But he hated the sterile dormitory feel of his new digs the second he’d walked in. It had no personality with plain painted walls lacking warmth or welcome. So Cameron had changed it up. His first guests would make or break his decor decisions made to hopefully to avert judgement upon being assigned to Melville Cottage.

Opening his accommodation’s door by swiping the provided security card, he stepped aside to let his first ever guests enter, Lynn and Rhododendron, albeit a risky name to call Flambé depending on how dearly you valued any exposed flesh or hair follicles. It was a hot button issue for the tall energizer who went by R.E.D. That said, she had been receptive to Rho as a friendly shortened moniker lately.

Neither of them stepped inside. Lynn, who stood nearest to the open door, remained unmoving. A wide eyed Rho was halted behind her, gawking into the room’s interior. Cameron was disheartened, he had hoped to create an inviting space and somewhere to feel relaxed and at ease. Overall, Melville Cottage was too gaudy for Cameron’s tastes, too showy and opulent, not anywhere close to what Cameron felt comfortable within.

Cameron felt embarrassed by the extravagance of this place. If this is what this cottage’s residents were accustomed to he doubted they would get along well at all. But Whateley decided to place him here, he’d kinda hoped to be put in Hawthorne Cottage. He’d requested Hawthorne and even argued he could be of greater benefit to the students there. But for whatever reason Whateley wouldn’t hear it and he wound up stuck in Melville.

“Well, that answers the question of where to hold team meetings,” claimed Flambé, looking at the substantial space.

The room held two large leather couches with two matching recliners; a central ottoman also served as a coffee table arranged in front of a wood burning fireplace set into a corner. Large patio doors looked out onto the treed lands behind Melville cottage and beyond stood the Presidential Mountains easily seen in the distance.

What was hard to comprehend for the newcomers was that the dorm room looked like a log cabin inside. The walls consisted of interlocking round wood logs with rough cut timbers for a ceiling, all finished in a shiny honey coloured varnish. The kitchenette had similar wood touches while the granite counters accented a full complement of apartment sized stainless steel appliances.

“Is it too much?” worriedly asked Cameron, the speechless girls triggering his concern as they wandered around taking the place in.

“Where do you sleep?” questioned Lynn, not having spotted a bed.

“In the bedroom,” informed Cameron, pointing to a side door hanging his head in shame.

“You have to be kidding me! This place is huge compared to our paltry room, and we share it.” claimed Rho, as the two girls set down the parcels that they had brought with them.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” conceded Cameron. He hated the disparity forced upon him. “From what I’ve seen of other dorms it’s excessive. I guess it’s Whateley’s way of trying to make amends. At first, they wanted to put me into a penthouse suite, but I negotiated them down to the second floor because of my vertigo. So it might not seem like it, but this room is a compromise,” explained Cameron, as he opened his bedroom door.

The bedroom was adorned like a Klondike tent having wood rail walls on the lower half and canvas cloth hung to simulate the look of a tent above. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from the ceiling for lighting and each of the three large windows had rolled-up canvas flaps for curtains.

A twin-size bed was positioned near a simple wood desk and chair. As well, the room had a recliner chair in a corner. Opposite to it was a wood-burning stove being the only other furnishing.

“No wardrobe for your clothes?” puzzled Lynn from the discrepancy between her room and Cameron’s.

Cameron walked over to open a door revealing, “Walk-in closet,” then with a sigh added, “and washroom.”

“Oh that’s just …” sputtered Rho as she stepped past the stacked clothes washer and dryer Cameron had installed, to then spy the large glistening white jetted soaker tub, with an accompanying separate shower stall laid out in the huge washroom. “Do you know we have communal washrooms and have to wait in line for a shower?”

“You can use mine anytime,” offered Cameron to appease her.

“It’s not your fault,” soothed Lynn. “But having a long hot bath once in a while is too good an offer to pass up.”

“I can get some bubble bath,” enthused Cameron, trying to ease his guilt.

“Lilac,” instructed Lynn.

“Peaches,” requested Rhododendron.

“Peaches? I thought you liked Lilac too?” questioned a justified Lynn.

“I forgot to bring shampoo, so I’ve been borrowing yours,” admitted R.E.D., “Get the stuff Lynn uses, my hair has never been so soft and shiny.”

Lynn laughed out loud, “It’s for fur, I buy it bulk at the pet store.”

“That explains the super jumbo family-size container,” reasoned Rho.

“Says you, I’ve got four fur coats to wash - plus my hair,” detailed Lynn as to her bathing requirements.

“The girls at Dickinson are gonna complain about you hogging all the hot water.”

“They’ll complain more about a smelly cat in the cottage if I don’t wash up.”

“Don’t cats lick themselves clean?” taunted R.E.D.

“Oh, that’s so …” Lynn shuddered at the suggestion.

“Gross?” supplied Rho with a suppressed smirk.

“Unhygienic! How would you feel after licking yourself all over?”

“Like I’d need to take a shower,” admitted Rho, “and bleach my tongue.”

“Exactly!” confirmed Lynn

“I hate to interrupt you two,” inferred Cameron. “But would you know what type of soap Rachelle might like?”

“Strawberry,” said the two girls in unison.

“And Charlotte?” asked Cameron taking notes.

“Tutti Fruity,” claimed Rho.

“Bubble Gum,” corrected Lynn, tapping her nose.

“Right,” admitted Rho, “I might try that myself later. What about Tim?”

“He’s more, you’re run of the mill whatever’s on sale type.” decided Rho having given it some thought.

“True that, probably uses a shampoo and conditioner in one product,” mused Lynn. “He probably thinks the hair care products they give you in hotels is good stuff.”

“Guys have it so easy when it comes to hair care. Wash it, towel it dry, run a comb through it and it’s done,” added Rho fuelling the argument.

“That reminds me, I should get a haircut.” Cameron exclaimed, willing to bring the debate to an end before it got too drawn out, and make him commit to thoughts about his forced changes.

“I think I saw a barber shop in Dunwich,” contributed Flambé to be helpful.

Cameron let it slip without thinking: “I was told Melville has an in-house hairstylist, we’re to ask our concierge and she’ll arrange an appointment.”

“That is so unfair,” moaned Lynn. “No wonder Melvillian’s have a bad reputation.”

“Being here is not by choice,” defended Cameron. “I asked to be put in Hawthorne.”

“You’re right. It’s just the disparity between the privileged uber-rich and all of us low-born peasants is pretty extreme.”

“My parents struggled to make ends meet before …” paused Cameron, not ready to verbalize his feelings. “Money doesn’t mean much when all you want is family.”

“I - we are grateful for your generosity, honestly.” Rho said in a low tone. “My family was at wits end worrying about my manifesting, so coming to Whateley has been a godsend. I know I can never replace those you’ve lost, but you have a friend in me - no strings attached.”

“I appreciate that - appreciate you. I’m not looking to buy your friendship, I just want to help where I can,” admitted Cameron, earning him a hug from the warm hearted - and handed Energizer.

“I know, we know. Just so long as living with a bunch of spoiled rich kids doesn’t rub off, and you become one,” admonished Rho while in the embrace.

“Thanks, I won’t,” promised Cameron. “My parents raised me to value hard work.”

“Good,” added Lynn. “My Dad always says, ‘you need to work hard if you want to play hard.’ Now, be a good sport and open my housewarming gift.”

Lynn hovered nearby as Cameron slid off the ribbon and popped open the lid; inside was a pair of leather moccasins.

“Wow! These are amazing … and handmade,” exclaimed Cameron, clutching them tightly as he held them to his heart.

“Try them on,” beamed Lynn.

Slipping them onto his feet, Cameron gave out a contented sigh, “So comfortable. Thank you,” said Cameron as he wrapped Lynn into his arms so he could kiss her, tenderly pressing lips to hers with deep affection.

Rho let them enjoy the moment before saying, “Careful you two, people might suspect you like each other.”

That they both blushed was gratifying, but they lingered holding hands.

Rho handed Cameron an envelope, “I was asked to deliver this to you, Roche gave it to me.”

It was a communiqué from Ray, a simple note saying: ‘keep your head down, and trust no one.’ Also inside the envelope was a set of detailed drawings from Smith, her instructions called it a Scrambler. Anyone listening in would hear Elmer Fudd arguing with Porky Pig about the best recipe for lemon poppyseed pound cake. Cameron kinda wanted to hear that himself.

Rhododendron decided to try out the couch and sank into cushions as soft as clouds. As Cameron dug into the school supplies they’d picked up for him, he asked, “Hey Rho, what did you do for a summer job?”

“I worked at my uncle’s warehouse, loading and unloading railcars. Really hard physical labour lifting tires and boxes of car parts, a good workout for an Exemplar. What about you Lynn?”

“I helped Dad out at the farm and Mom around the house. It was conditional so they’d allow me to come to Whateley.”

“How about you Cameron, did the RCMP keep you busy?” sought Rho.

“I did some odd jobs with the RCMP, part-time stuff mostly whenever Ray needed a hand. I spent most of the summer working with Marcus’s friend Buck; he has a construction company. It started with us demolishing an old office building in downtown Vancouver. It was supposed to take three months but ended up only taking me a day and a half. After that Buck kept me busy with jobs all over BC; he made me his business partner after the first week.”

“Don’t forget the couple days you spent visiting us in Alberta, after your little run-in with the Calgary Police who tossed you into jail.”

“I think I heard about that on the news, was that around the time Alberta’s Premier announced enacting the Notwithstanding clause of Canada’s constitution, rejecting mutant rights and freedoms in that Province?”

“Yeah, I get to go to trial again come December. I’m hoping Whateley will allow me time away for that, maybe even give me credit in social studies for in-depth experience with societal inequities.”

“You seem to enjoy kicking up a stink, have you ever tried not being the center of attention?” humoured Rho.

“Where is the fun in that? Besides, there’s a lot of displaced mutants moving into Canada now; people’s attitudes need to change. I just happen to be the one to light the fire,” Cameron couldn’t feel regret over doing something he was sent to do in the first place. “Speaking of lighting a fire have either of you signed up for any courses yet?”

“Oh sure, my advisor helped me figure out a course schedule. He’s a nice guy, a psychiatrist: Dr. Bellows. He figures if I can control my emotions I’ll get a better handle on how hot my hands become.”

“I hope it helps,” Cameron had suspected as much from the get go. “How about you Lynn?”

“I’ve been assigned to work with a First Nations representative, an old time hero named Totem. I stopped by his office already, he wants me to call him Charlie, he’s okay. Although, they need to do some testing before placing me into courses, they don’t trust correspondence learning.”

“I guess I’m in the same boat,” mused Cameron, uncertain about the hold up regarding his curriculum. “Well, hopefully I get my class schedule sorted out soon.”

“Don’t you have a student advisor yet?”

“No. There seems to be some kind of hang up.”

Shuster Hall, Administration offices

Mrs. Shugendo was thankful for the chance to sit down, she’d been on her feet all day getting new and returning students sorted and demands upon her time never seemed to end at the start of a school year. She wasn’t the only one under the gun, all Whateley staff experienced the same tsunami of problems arising from students. However, when solutions weren’t forthcoming it fell upon her to sort out troubles.

Elizabeth Carson had asked for a briefing on some of the more pressing issues; situations that required her to step-in and correct. Invariably, each year, surprises arose that hadn’t been foreseen and accounted for: unsuitable room assignments, intolerable roommates, pretty standard stuff. It’s why Whateley Academy had cottage parents to smooth ruffled feathers, and had selected students as intermediaries to help keep the peace.

Most importantly, Whateley relied upon skilled staff to act as guidance counsellors, carefully chosen to be best suited to each individual student’s academic, and at times, psychological needs. Although Michiko had been stymied with figuring out who should handle her latest headache, Cameron Burke. Following the Board of Trustee’s direction that he receive the best treatment Whateley could offer was becoming burdensome. Her trying to accommodate his every need had backfired.

It had become a lesson in frustration for the Dean of Students. The boy had refused the nicest accommodations possible at the school, instead preferring a lesser dormitory assignment. At least he agreed to remain in Melville, but he made it seem like he was doing her a favour in that regard. Now she needed to pick the perfect advisor for the boy and was running out of options. The added pressure that he might just walk away if he became unhappy added to her worry; then she’d be blamed for failing the school.

Mrs. Carson was wrapping up her phone call from Security, some dunderhead kids started fighting the second they came onto campus and the hysterical girls in fits of rage had been admitted to Doyle to get injuries tended to. Michiko could see the stress building upon the headmistress. Classes hadn’t even begun and she was having to consider expelling students already.

Mrs. Shugendo didn’t want to burden Liz with anything more, but she had asked specifically about Outlook just before being interrupted. Michiko pondered the situation again. He’d been here, right under everyone’s noses, taking correspondence courses no less. It was an embarrassment of epic proportions and the legal wrangling had not been going in the school’s favour in reaching a settlement - as discussed at the last senior staff meeting.

Nobody had any certainty about Outlook’s scholastic aptitude. He would need to undergo testing to gauge his current standing before determining what Whateley could offer him.
Mrs. Shugendo wasn’t certain how to proceed. How would he react to being asked to write multiple exams before getting put into a single class? As it was, to be safe, she had reserved a seat in every single class until she knew what courses Cameron Burke wanted to take, the precautions Whateley was undertaking were unprecedented.

“I’ll interview each of them personally and keep you informed,” concluded Elizabeth, ending her call. “Now, where were we?”

“I was telling you about Outlook’s rooming assignment,” commenced Michiko.

“Oh, yes. Melville Cottage, how does he like it?” how could he not, surmised Mrs. Carson.

“I hope he’ll warm to it, he seemed disappointed to not be in Hawthorne with his friend.”

“I thought they were getting put into Dickinson? And the boy … Swift, he’s in Twain.”

“Yes, Outlook made a new friend, Geoff Merril, call’s himself Max. They arrived together.”

“Merril? Heather Merril’s son?” asked a surprised Mrs. Carson.

“You know her?” questioned an intrigued Michiko, the details she’d been provided were sketchy.

“Mysteria, a very powerful Mage,” reminisced Liz. “I helped put her behind bars. She’s serving a life sentence at Mount Prometheus penitentiary for killing Champion, twice.”

“I arranged for Doyle to conduct exams at Outlook’s recommendation. Max’s mutation has inflicted some unfortunate ailments. It would be best if we notified her, do you want me to make contact with her?”

“I’ll do it. She knows me, she may not like me, but she’ll understand that if news comes from me it’s important.”

“Thank you Liz. Also, I was hoping you might have some ideas on who we could assign to be Outlook’s Student Advisor.”

“Did you have someone in mind?”

“Louis Gentz had expressed an interest, but he has several first year Psychics he’ll be mentoring and he doubts he’ll have the time. I had thought Mrs. Henderson would be a good choice but she declined saying she prefers focusing on all the young minds attending Whateley.”

“Any others?”

“None that I feel have the boy’s best interests at heart,”

“Have you considered someone from the Psychiatric team? Outlook was under the care of a Psychiatrist before, I think having him assessed again would be beneficial for all parties in the long run.”

“I need to ask, is this in any way motivated by the court case he’s brought against the school?”

“It would be wise to have a trained mental health professional provide oversight. If Outlook is as delusional as I fear, then having someone trained to identify and support his needs is in everyone’s interests.”

“I’ll approach Dr. Bellows, see who he recommends.”

“Do we know what courses Outlook will be taking?”

“Nothing has been …“ the Dean was distracted and stopped speaking.

A commotion in the outer office not only interrupted their conversation, but loud voices and banging was heard before the Headmistress’s door was forcefully pushed open.

“You can’t go in there!” was called out by Mrs. Claire to the backside of the intruder.

“Elizabeth! What is the meaning of this!” barked Reverend Englund.

Mrs. Carson stood, in doing so she indicated to Michiko to stay quiet and let her handle this. To then address the angered man. “If you’d care to explain what’s got you so hot under the collar, I’d be glad to explain Reverend.”

“Don’t play games with me. I just spoke with Lodgeman, that … that child is coming back - the one who destroyed my church,” thundered the Reverend.

“Security’s investigation showed that Outlook was not responsible for the damages to Dillon Chapel. It was due to an untrained girl generating a portal she had no control over.”

“Pish-tosh, that boy was the ringleader,” dismissed the cleric. “He owes me a church!”

“The school’s insurance is looking into rebuilding Dillon Chapel. In the interim, we’ll be erecting a tent for you to hold services in.”

“A tent! You must think I’m some holy roller in a travelling roadshow. A tent,” he harrumphed in disgust at the mere suggestion of it.

“We could set aside one of the classrooms in Kane Hall for your use on Sundays, if you would prefer,” negotiated the Headmistress.

“I would prefer to have my church back,” challenged the enraged man.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid my hands are tied until insurance settles the claim,” explained Liz of the situation before her.

“A likely story. What’s taking so long?” complained the Reverend, not ready in the slightest to be appeased.

“Our Insurance policy carries a clause that doesn’t cover ‘Acts of God’. They’re looking to interview all those involved,” detailed Elizabeth, knowing he wouldn’t like her reply.

The furious man boggled at that revelation, “It was God’s house, they can’t possibly suggest that God destroyed it.”

“Now, with Outlook in attendance, they can collect his statement. That should expedite moving our claim forward.”

“I wouldn’t trust a word that menace says,” venomously spat the cleric. “Rumour has it that kid can repair anything. He should be the one to build me a church.”

“Whateley Academy cannot, and will not partake in having any student perform tricks like sideshow performers. Our whole purpose in being is to prevent that sort of abuse,” fumed the heroine.

“Pfft, put him on detention and make him do it. I don’t care what excuse you use,” dismissed the Reverend with a flick of his hand, as if what had been said meant nothing.

“No.”

“Then make me his Student Advisor, I’ll motivate him,” goaded the priest.

“No.”

“It only stands to reason, the boy’s made wild claims about been sent by God or some such nonsense. It should be a ‘Man of God’ who guides him and sets him straight,” pushed the man.

“No.”

“Elizabeth, our agreement has been that I’d advise all the God-fearing students who come here. Are you reneging on our agreement?” weaselled Englund.

“His application specifically indicated that he is non-denominational. Now, if he should choose to attend mass, of his own accord, that is his affair. Then you can preach whatever hellfire and brimstone sermon you wish,” forcefully countered Elizabeth. “But this office will not interfere in a student’s religious beliefs.”

“The Board of Trustees will hear about this,” retaliated the infuriated man, unaccustomed to not getting his way.

“I’m sure they will,” calmly mentioned Mrs. Carson to his retreating backside as he pushed past Mrs. Claire.

Crystal Hall

The cafeteria had become busier and busier with each passing day since Camron and Max had first arrived. Dinner had been more leisurely when fewer students had been clamouring for food, now that the ever-present social pecking order had clicked into full gear as egos and pride dictated over who sits where.

Cameron didn’t care where he sat, but had given consideration to Max’s needs when selecting a suitable table. The upper levels were out of the question for the very simple matter of logistics. Max and an escalator equaled disaster, same would go for an elevator, that much weight means something would break, and then nobody would be happy. Stairs could’ve been possible, but after Cameron checked the structural load-bearing capacity it wasn’t worth risking it. That left the main floor as the only viable option.

So, they needed a table that had a wide enough corridor that Max could navigate, not to mention a chair big enough to bear his considerable mass. Nobody took a table reserved for those confined to wheelchairs. It was an unforgivable faux pas to sit there, unless you joined somebody handicapped that is. Max was challenged but not handicapped.

The choices had narrowed down to just two possibilities. Cameron chose the table that also backed up against an outer wall so that it provided a feeling of seclusion for Max by not being the centre of attention. This particular table had seating for twelve, three on each side. Cameron took three seats and combined them into one single chair, adding more material to reinforce it. It took an Exemplar 3 just to move it, but it withstood Max’s weight.

Cameron didn’t recall who sat here last year. He’d worried they’d intruded upon someone else’s claim, but so far nobody had said anything to them. Besides, those who think highly of themselves enjoyed the tables that put them above everyone else, so being on the lower level with the peons shouldn’t ruffle too many feathers.

Outlook made sure to arrive early to Crystal Hall to ensure his newly arrived friends could find him. The main course tonight was roast beef with all the trimmings and it smelled fantastic. Cameron had seen the school’s kitchen, the endless bank of ovens and refrigerators, he’d helped Stan and Morrie make repairs in there last year. Now, he got to actually enjoy the delightful food - as a student, each forkful he ate here was especially flavourful being a satisfying victory.

Cameron held off getting dinner until his friends arrived to join him. Spotting Flambé was easy, she stood a head above most others, and her uncovered hair pulsed red. Her hair had rapid fluctuations indicating she was anxious, first day jitters undoubtedly. Cameron waved to get her attention, it resulted in letting the rest of the crew know where he was, they had come all together.

He gave Lynn a hug. Something he planned to do every day of his life from here on out - at every chance he could. Charlotte squee’d happily when they embraced, then with Rachelle she gently pressed her forehead against his as they hugged.

“I still can’t read you in the slightest,” jested the Psychic. “I should’ve never taught you how to block,” was also said.

Timothy held out his hand which Cameron took, took and pulled him in close for a hug too. He’d missed each of them - equally, except Lynn, she was special.

“I’m glad you got here early,” stated Cameron. “I need to explain about this table.”

All of them had eyed the heavy-duty chair, Charlotte even pulled it back, dragging it across the floor letting out a loud screech, which interrupted Cameron’s train of thought. She sat in it with a giggle.

“I better do something about that before the chair’s feet damage the floor,” said Outlook. “Now then, I wanted to let you know I made a new friend. He’s a super nice guy, a little shy …”

“He’s huge!” gasped Rachelle, watching a massive fellow enter Crystal Hall, his very presence causing a stir among his peers. As if orchestrated the cafeteria’s denizens turned in unison to see what the fuss was all about.

“That too,” continued a nonplused Cameron. “He’s a gentle soul, but hates people gawking at him.” He said that last part extra loud so those around could hear him. Most turned their focus back onto their food rather than be called out.

Max looked over and caught Cameron’s eye. Giving Cameron a head nod, he grabbed a tray for each hand before entering the food line.

Cameron regrouped before continuing, motioning for the others to sit with him as he spoke, “I spent the last two days with Max. He first got checked over at Doyle, then was getting tested in the Labs. He’s an Exemplar, with a bad case of GSD.”

“That’s why you didn’t met us when we arrived,” clued in Lynn.

“Yes. Sorry about that. Max needed some moral support, he can’t say much so he wanted company.”

“Do you trust him?” asked Charlotte, not just of Cameron - but including her other teammates.

“I do, I believe he’s a good egg,” confided Cameron, after giving the question consideration.

“That’s good enough for me. I mean, look at us. If a Psychic and a Precog don’t raise any concerns, what other proof do we need?” concluded Rhododendron. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

There was no further issue brought up by anyone over Max, just about the need for food.

Max was the first at the table, his two trays heaped high with piles of food. Cameron had left some oversized cutlery for him because a normal fork would have disappeared in his massive hands. Introductions were made around the table as each of them returned one at a time, Max paid rapt attention to anyone who spoke, but could do little to join the conversation going on at the table.

Charlotte sat at Max’s left. During the meal Max had his left hand resting on the table, Charlotte reached over and took hold of his hand, wrapping her fingers overtop his and giving a squeeze. Max froze, looking at the display of friendship - someone touching him. Tears formed in the big lug’s eyes. Charlotte gave him a timid smirk of a smile, but didn’t let go.

Lynn got up from the table leaving food on her plate, saying, “Be right back,” and headed off. There was no accounting for Lynn’s actions at times. To try and figure out the reason’s why she did what she did resulted in the same effect as ramming your head into a brick wall, leaving you senseless. Lynn returned with Deb in tow. The shy girl had already filled a plate and was looking for a place to sit when Lynn snagged her and dragged her along.

“Evening,” Deb said quietly, “I hate to intrude.”

“Intrude away,” stated R.E.D. motioning to the seat beside her. R.E.D. took upon herself the mantle of hostess and began making introductions for Deborah’s benefit.

Rho began, “You’ve met Lynn, she uses the name Aware, and she’s a … “

The Were shook her head. Too much explaining was required if giving too many details.

“A shapeshifter with Precognition,” Rho received a wink of approval for her discretion.

“Cats,” added Lynn, before Deb could ask the question on the tip of her tongue.

R.E.D. continued: “Cameron, you already know he’s your next-door neighbour. His codename is Outlook, he’s - different. He’s …”

Cameron spoke up, “gifted by God, I have enhanced vision and absorb energy which lets me alter matter.”

“Different is a little vague don’t you think,” admitted Deb. “Which God?”

“Are you familiar with the Bible?” sought Cameron.

“Somewhat.” She’d seen it of course, but never read it.

“That one,” revealed Cameron.

Deb sat quietly soaking that little tidbit in. Her family wasn’t religious by any means, they’d only ever gone to church a couple of times for weddings and funerals. By Deb’s calculations, the worst atrocities in history lay squarely at the feet of religion. Her guess as to who was the most dangerous person in the group had a new contender.

Cameron stepped in to help R.E.D. out since he knew the big guy best, having spent the last few days with him: “Max is an Exemplar, his testing didn’t go all that well - he crunched a treadmill to smithereens, then damaged the weight machine. They couldn’t say for certain what level he is.”

“The fancy one?” Boggled R.E.D. she’d used the same unit for her own testing not all that long ago. “That weight machine doesn’t have any moving parts, it just keeps increasing resistance until you can’t lift anymore.”

“Yeah, tore the mounting bolts right outta the floor. That got the white coats jumping,” humoured Cameron about the day’s events.

Max gave a brief, but loud “HA!” which drew attention from all around them, especially his table-mates, most of whom had never heard him say a word. He looked sheepish about his outburst, but all he received were smiles.

“So, is Max your name, or …?” asked Tim, addressing the big guy.

“Codename,” informed Perspicacious, not being rude - just taking the pressure off Max. “It’s an acronym, short for Master of Advanced Xenovaryology,” she added. “It’s a made-up word, cause he really wanted to use the name Max. His real name is Geoff, but never liked it since people never spelt it right. And you have to admit - Max suits him.”

Deb shyly waved at Max from across the table. Until now she’d avoided making eye contact and he waved back which made her smile. He wasn’t as scary as she’d imagined.

R.E.D. continued, “Next we have Charlotte, or Excelle. She’s the baby of the group …”

“Hey!”

“She’s the other two’s younger sister,” explained R.E.D, getting a tongue stuck out at her in retribution. “She’s an Exemplar Energizer mix,” whispering R.E.D. adding, “and our secret weapon - don’t ask, we’ll tell you later.”

R.E.D pressed on: “Rachelle, otherwise called Perspicacious. Heaven only knows why she chose it thou, no accounting for Psychics, always into mind games.” The table laughed at R.E.D.s joke, except for Rach - who gave an annoyed glare and held up a cautionary finger (no, not that one).

“And lastly we have Timothy, he decided upon the name Swift, but don’t play Scrabble with him, he can’t make words bigger than cat. He’s a Speedster. Oh! He and Rachelle are twins.” concluded R.E.D.

Deb nodded her head to acknowledge the greeting and the information given. “What about you R.E.D.?”

“I picked the name Flambé, because I’m an Energizer Exemplar mix, and I can burn almost anything with my hands.”

The puzzle pieces fit together nicely for Deb, aligning with her observations at Dunwich. But still, it left a lot of empty spaces before she’d complete the picture of who and what she’d gotten mixed up with. For the first time she felt like she belonged someplace, it was a good feeling.

“Tell us about yourself?” asked Swift, always a cringeworthy topic according to Deb.

“My name’s Deb, or Debbie, or Deborah, I’m okay with any of them. I’m a Gadgeteer, and thinking I’ll go with the codename Werx, which has grown on me, Thank you,” giving Aware a nod in appreciation.

“What’s the difference between a Gadgeteer and a Devisor?” asked Excelle of the oft-pondered distinction.

“A Devisor makes things that shouldn’t work - but do,” explained Debbie. “A Gadgeteer can make something out of nothing. Did you ever see the TV show MacGyver?” She got blank stares for her effort. “Anyway, I come up with all sorts of ideas for new doodads. I like making toys best, but I refuse to make weapons.”

“Toys? As in kids toys?” brightened Excelle at the admission.

“Yep.”

“How about electronics, or computer stuff?” put forward Tim.

“Yeah, I’m decent enough with that kind of thing.”

Cameron cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Can I get a show of hands for inclusion of Max and Werx as members of Northern Lites?”

All present gave assent.

~o~O~o~

The tunnels underneath Whateley Academy consisted of a confusing maze of twists and turns that lacked any sense or clear order. Who would build such a labyrinth was beyond comprehension, unless to purposely create confusion. She-Beast, the Melville fixer who Cameron had spoken to, provided Cameron with a map. The map wasn’t very accurate or detailed, but did provide them some direction at least, and allowed for finding the first spot marked on the map.

When describing his needs for a team headquarters, She-Beast immediately selected some of her lesser desirable locations for them to chose from - all at jacked-up rates. Business was a cutthroat affair wherein you had to create demand by making undesirable properties overpriced so that good locations seemed like a bargain at twice the price, it was all about knowing how to play a sucker.

Upon mentioning hide-out hunting to the team, several of his friends volunteered to join him, so his arriving with a whole contingent of tire-kickers was not entirely unexpected, they were a team after all. Max needed to get back to Hawthorne to write home, Tim was applying for a job to make deliveries, and Charlotte had made plans to watch a movie with some other young girls in Dickinson.

The door wasn’t much in the way of a barrier, still, they used the provided code to unlock the shoddy door. They stepped inside to find a dusty dark hole in the wall, not much bigger than Lynn and Rho’s dorm room. Werx immediately sighed at how unsuitable it was for her workshop, she had tagged along in hopes of finding a big enough space for all her tools, she gave out an ‘Eww’ in disgust.

The dank space had zero lighting or any power outlets, plus no fresh air flow, part of the reason it hadn’t been used in eons, so held little promise to prospective tenants. However, Cameron stood staring at one of the walls in deep contemplation for a long time. While the other walls were hewn from out of the solid rock, this wall was concrete and had a smooth finish. The room was hewn from solid work and shaped like a T, the upper portion was larger in diameter than the part branching off. Cameron circled the room on the map before they continued on to the next available room.

Cameron referenced the roughly drawn map occasionally as they walked along the tunnels, he appeared puzzled and would turn the page sideways and upside down attempting to figure the tunnel network out. It happened often that Cameron would stop and become distracted looking at conduits and fixtures and piping running every which way. He said little regarding what fascinated him so much about the tunnels’ construction, but he slowed everyone down to the degree they’d become frustrated.

As map keeper, Cameron had made so many notations on the map, it was getting impossible to tell heads from tails from all the markings. What was worse, he’d paid little attention to the rooms for rent that they’d come to inspect.

Lynn finally broached his lack of enthusiasm while inside the second to last room on the list, asking: “You bored or something?”

“No, no. Far from it,” voiced Cameron as he focused upon a small box mounted on the room’s wall.

“Then what is your problem?” required the annoyed Were. “You’re the one who brought us down here.”

“Sorry, yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten preoccupied,” admitted Cameron.

“What are you not saying?” inquired Lynn, be it Precognition or just knowing how Cameron was.

“The walls have ears, I’ll tell you later,” whispered Cameron, to then call over: “What do you think Deb? Will this one suffice?”

Werx was busy pacing out the room’s dimensions to get an estimation of the space available, and purposely stepping around the white chalk sigils written all over the floor - and in-between the dark red melted candle wax splotches.

“Who used this place, a hive of demon worshippers?” wondered a concerned Rho, not even wanting to enter the spooky place.

“Witchcraft,” clarified Outlook. “It’s safe, there’s no residual essence.”

“How can you tell?” asked Werx

“All mutations utilize energy in one form or another. Magic depends upon essence, they have an internal reservoir which mage’s draw upon. They cast spells to harness that energy and entices it to do what the mage wants.”

The way Outlook explained it took some of the mysticism out of magic, they all breathed easier hearing his take on it.

“What about Gadgeteers?” sought Debbie, curious if she had stored power someplace.

“Have you ever seen those pictures of when someone gets an idea and a lightbulb lights up over their head,” supplied Cameron.

“Sure,” conceded Debbie.

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” explained Cameron. “Energizers are the tricky ones, they come in different colours to signify intensities, kinda like a rainbow.”

“How do you mean?” questioned Rho, she’d never considered how Outlook might see her.

“You for instance, you're yellow,” Cameron said it like it was the most obvious detail about her.

“I am not yellow,” rebuffed Rho, how dare he suggest such a thing

“Actually you are, you have so much energy at the ready you glow yellow - almost like a little sun,” described Cameron, attempting to appease a slighted ego.

“But … my hair, and my hands?” defended Rho, her whole self-image was being challenged.

“Don’t forget her eyes, they go red when she gets really worked up,” inserted Lynn.

“Exactly!” claimed Rho.

“I’m just describing what I see, I didn’t mean to upset you,” soothed Cameron.

Rho turned away, sniffling: “You think I’m yellow.”

“No, far from it. I see you in the yellow spectrum, it means you’re very powerful and probably why you have trouble keeping your hands under control.” Cameron laid out his facts, he hated baring his perceptions, his view of the world was too dissimilar from everyone else’s.

“What colour would you see - if someone was more powerful than R.E.D.?” postulated Werx at new data set.

“White. White is the top of the power scale,” confided Outlook.

“So, what is gold?” asked a confused Werx, the information received wasn’t equaling out as she’d anticipated.

“A precious metal,” answered Cameron coyly.

“I know that,” retorted an annoyed Deb. “Your eyes shine gold, why?”

Cameron looked around the room, sparks fell from three locations. “I should have done that earlier,” he admitted. “My eyes shine gold, because gold was historically the exclusive property of kings.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not, I’m Cameron.”

“So, what? You’re some kind of king?”

“No, I’m just an average ordinary human, nothing more. The gold eyes signify that I’m in the service of the king of Kings,” It was an admission that Cameron had tried hard to avoid saying aloud. “I volunteered for this, cause I want to help people and don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“How’s that working out for you?” It was a hard pill for Werx to swallow, she doubted it was true.

“It’s the adventure of a lifetime, although I’ve died once so far, and came close twice more.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, it’s Cameron actually, we met earlier.”

“Debbie,” offered Deb as they shook hands. “I’m not sure if I shouldn’t be running away screaming my head off right now.”

“Please don’t, that kind of thing really hurts ones self-confidence,” assured Cameron. “Try to understand; I don’t judge people, I’m doing everything possible to give them opportunity to show redeeming qualities.”

“Because?” sought out Deb.

“Because somethings coming on the horizon that’s going to shake this world to its foundations.”

“Could you be a little more specific?” Deb looked to R.E.D. and Lynn for support, they nodded in agreement, they wanted to know too.

“Not my place, the task of giving a warning falls to others.”

“You can’t be serious,” blurted out Deb, the lunacy on display was more than she could fathom.

“We've already covered this; Cam-er-on, Cameron, it’s not that difficult. Outlook to those I don’t trust.”

“You trust me.” Deb didn’t know which news bite was harder to believe.

“You have an important role to play, that’s what Lynn tells me,” confided Cameron.

Lynn stepped in, speaking with complete conviction: “The future isn’t set in stone, but we’re at a confluence. We’ve all come together because Whateley is a provings ground, many lives depend upon what we accomplish here.”

“I … I don’t know what to say.”

“First off, say you’ll take this room for your lab. It’s not perfect, but when it comes to real estate it’s all about location,” enthused Cameron.

“Okay, I suppose it’ll work, after a lot of cleaning,” relented Werx. “What about you?”

“I’ll get the first room we looked at and use it as an office. We’ll be neighbours, just like in Melville.” informed Cameron, his plan was coming together.

“Whaddya mean, It’s better than three hundred feet away through solid rock.” sputtered Deb.

“I’m glad you think so.”

Kirby Hall

Cameron once again checked the note slip he’d received under his door last night, it told him he had an appointment to attend this morning. Checking the name one last time he entered the office area, showing the receptionist the note. He was directed to one of the doors and stepped into a consulting room.

“Hello Cameron, can I call you Cameron? Your file says your first name is Alex but you use your second name, and I find Codenames to be so impersonal.” said the man seated in a large leather chair, he rose to offer his hand in greeting.

“Sure, Cameron is fine. I’m getting called Serious a lot lately, so I’d like to nip that in the bud.”

“Serious? Your file says your codename is Outlook.”

“Yes, it is, Outlook that is.”

“I see … Okay, I don’t see, why Outlook?”

“It’s twofold, first I have enhanced vision, secondly I was cautioned to not let stuff affect my disposition.”

“So does being called Serious stem from taking ‘stuff’ too seriously?”

“Hmmm,” pondered Cameron. “No, I don’t think so, it’s more a matter that folks are in disbelief of what I tell them.”

“Well that’s a segue if I ever heard one. Why don’t you take a chair? I’m doctor Stein by the way.”

“The name on the door has the initials F. N. Your first name isn’t Frank by any chance?”

“Oh lord! Don’t get me started. My father has a twisted sense of humour, it’s why I use my middle name: Norbert.”

“What are you a doctor of Doctor Stein?”

“I’m a Behavioural Psychologist, I’ve been asked to take you on as a patient, and be your Student Advisor.”

“Am I wrong in guessing you’ve just set up shop at Whateley?”

“Yes as I matter of fact, my first day here. How did you know?”

“Your furniture is brand new and hasn’t been positioned properly yet to make best use of the space, and you appear nervous at the prospect of advising students.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Elevated heart rate and tense muscles,” confided Cameron tapping his visor. “So, I’m that much of a hot potato that they decided to throw the new guy into the lion’s den?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“True, but it's what you're thinking.”

“Are you Psychic too?”

“No doctor, but I can do the math. Let me assure you at the outset, I’m not here to create trouble for you …”

“But?”

“Trouble has a way of finding me.”

“Troubled is my specialty.”

“Then let’s get this party started. I looked at the list of elective courses available, and there's subjects I’m interested in taking, but I don’t know if the courses taught here go into the details I was hoping to learn.”

“I’m not sure I understand, please explain.”

“Chemistry should be straightforward enough. I had hoped to take a course dealing with Metallurgy, but only saw it mentioned under Fabrication.”

“If that doesn’t work out, perhaps we could re-arrange your schedule later.”

“All right. Another interest was Engineering.”

“As a field of study; Engineering is broken into many topics, such as Structural, Mechanical, and Civil. Which had you wanted to pursue?”

“All of them.”

“Allow me to speak with the Applied Technologies faculty first, I'll see what might be suitable. Anything else?”

“I would like to learn more about applied mechanics.”

“I take it that Automotive Mechanics isn’t up your alley.”

“No, I’m looking for something that deals with converting energy into physical force.”

“That sounds like Power Mechanics, I’m not sure if that’s on the list.”

“Could you check and see?”

“I can do that. Any more?”

“I understand First Aid is offered under Survival, I would like that please. Oh, and Art.”

“All right. Now, had you wanted to take any of the Religious Studies courses offered?”

“No Doc Stein, I avoid all connection to religion.”

“I don’t understand, Your file says you’re Empowered by God, that usually implies a deity.”

“Yes Doctor, and because of that I don’t claim adherence to any religion, it would open Pandora’s proverbial box if I did, then I’d have to follow them all. So I don’t go to church, or celebrate any holy days, I’d never get anything done otherwise.”

“I hadn’t anticipated that. Very well, you’ll need to write placement exams so Whateley knows what courses you need to take for basic curriculum studies.”

“I expected as much, where do I begin?”

Kane Hall

Cameron approached the building, not entering through Security was a new experience for him. It wasn’t that he was late, well maybe by a couple of minutes, it had taken longer than anticipated to get his class schedule sorted out, he didn’t need many curriculum courses since he’d finished most standard classes over correspondence. The delay came from writing exam after exam and then trying to get into those advanced and specialty elective classes.

He was glad to be done with the paperwork, Doctor Stein managed to place him into nearly all the classes he sought, once the doctor figured out whom to talk to and how to use the school’s database. The subjects Cameron had chosen must have been on the obscure side since all the classes had openings, or not many students had enrolled for them.

At dinner last night Debbie had mentioned she needed to take a firearms safety class, the whole team concurred with the idea and they’d all signed up. Cameron spotted his teammates huddled in a group as they waited outside the classroom, Lynn gave him a knowing smirk as she looked at him, it wasn’t his idea to learn how to shoot a gun, but as a team it made sense - for protection.

“I told you he’d be on time,” said Lynn to the others.

“Sure, sure. But we were supposed to break into pairs ahead of time, that’s why we planned to arrive ten minutes before class,” stated Rachelle in annoyance.

“It’s obvious that Lynn and Cameron are a couple, so the only question is who the rest of us pair with?” detailed Rhododendron, as she looked between the three siblings as to who would be the least grief.

Deb stood beside Max and waved indicating that the two of them would be good together, Max nodded agreeably.

Rachelle looked at her twin brother, trying to decide which of them was best suited to look after their little sister. Using a firearm was dangerous business, did she trust Tim enough to be attentive with Charlotte handling a gun?

“My father taught me to shoot and took me hunting a couple times,” explained Rho, that she was responding to Rho was a sign that the high-level Energizer was beginning to accept her friends using the more familiar monicker - instead of R.E.D. “Perhaps Charlotte would be my partner in training?”

“I’d like that,” exclaimed the junior member of Northern Lites, “I wanna learn to fire a bazooka.” She announced, resulting in her older sister dropping her head and shaking it at her younger sister’s antics.

“I believe this is only small arms training,” corrected Lynn. “Maybe another course, after you pass this one, lets you handle bigger guns.”

“Why a bazooka?” asked Cameron, confounded by her enthusiasm.

“I like the sound of the name: BaZOOka! It’s cool!” explained Charlotte.

“And it makes a big hole,” added Tim, only too familiar with his little sister’s penchant for excess.

“Exactly!” enthused Charlotte. “Right up my alley. I want people to know I pack a punch. Can’t you just see me packing a couple big Bazooka’s!”

“Uh-mmm, I believe there’s innuendo attached to that, it’s what some refer to as the size of girls’ breasts,” noted Rho.

“Really?” asked Charlotte glancing quickly down at her still-developing chest. “How do mine rate?”

The question made most present look away, her older sister’s hand covered her face to suppress bewilderment, as red faces abounded, even Max had the courtesy to look down and toe the ground with his foot to avoid making eye contact.

“It’s better if we don’t get into a discussion of who’s bigger - in that department,” advised Rachelle.

“Why?” sought the younger girl, who’s manifesting BIT made her more shapely than her older sister.

“Polite company doesn’t discuss such things,” chided Rachelle.

“Yeah, like we’ve ever been accused of being polite, or even good company,” scoffed Char.

As if on cue, the classroom’s door opened. Caitlin Bardue invited everyone inside, it wasn’t a friendly invite, more like an Orderly reluctantly bringing the lunatics into the asylum.

“I bet nobody says anything to her about packing bazookas,” secreted Char to Rho.

“I prefer RPGs” said Caitlin overhearing the comment.

“Really Precise Guns?” questioned Char at what the acronym stood told for.

“Those, and Rocket Propelled Grenades,” informed Caitlin.

“Do we get to learn to shoot bazookas?” delighted Charlotte at the possibility.

“No, and you probably never will. Unless you take the military route,” instructed Eldritch, relieved that the rules saved her from so many headaches.

Char considered that piece of information, screwing up her face as she worked through the implications. With a downcast expression she looked at both her brother and sister, the negative head-shakes from each of them were disappointing, until she asked: “What’s the biggest gun we get to shoot?”

“Anyone ever tell you, you have a one-track mind kid.”

Everyone was directed to grab a seat, the small meeting space wasn’t full to capacity. Caitlin outright stared at Cameron as he walked past her and found a spot to sit amidst his friends.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Eldritch, stepping close by.

“Learning firearms safety. Like a responsible person is supposed to do?” replied Outlook. “We did sign up for the right course, didn’t we?”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re a pacifist. Why are you bothering with this?” wondered Caitlin, she had him pegged as a raging peacenik.

“I won’t take sides in conflicts, that doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself when the need arises.”

“You’re a poor excuse for a pacifist then.”

“I’ve never claimed to be one, everyone just assumes, and you know what they say about assuming …”

“It makes an ass out of you and me,” piped in Charlotte without hesitation.

“You both need new material, there’s a book of knock-knock jokes in the library you should check out,” snarked Caitlin.

“Really?” questioned the wide-eyed girl, taken with the idea.

“If there is I’m gonna burn it,” nonchalantly stated Eldritch.

“Listen up you maniacs,” commenced Sergeant Major Burlington-Smythe, after writing his name on the chalkboard. “My job is to teach you how not to kill yourselves. Ms. Bardue looks after this school’s gun range. If any of you already have firearms, we'll need you to hand them over to her for safekeeping. It is illegal to possess a gun until you’ve completed this course and have a license to carry.”

Deb lifted her oversized bag up onto her lap, removing the revolver from inside. She held it like it was diseased, pinched between two fingers, to then hold it up and away from her body for Caitlin to take it.

“A 38 special, how’d you get this?” asked Caitlin, the girl was obviously too gun-shy to own such a weapon.

“My dad gave it to me,” admitted Deb.

“You can get it back over at the practice range, after you’ve passed,” informed Caitlin. “I suggest you take some time and learn how to fire it.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

The course instructor began the lesson. Caitlin finished collecting the guns, only four all told, she tagged them and brought them to put into the range’s secure lock-up.

Something bothered her about the 38 special, a common enough piece, often used by police forces around the country, but something felt off about it, it’s weight and balance wasn’t right.

Caitlin gave the confiscated gun a cursory inspection, it looked okay, but for some reason it nagged at her. A 38 wasn’t a gun she herself used much, didn’t have the stopping power she’d come to favour. Instead of putting it into the cage for safekeeping, she grabbed a couple of the shells the girl had relinquished and took the gun out onto the firing range.

She loaded a single round into the chamber and donned a set of earmuffs and safety glasses. Assuming the correct stance for a handgun’s recoil she aimed at a target midway down the range. Depressing the trigger released the hammer striking the bullet.

The gun exploded, sending shards of shrapnel out encapsulating her hands and blew back at her face in a cloud of devastation.

End Part 4

Part 5 coming soon

Dear Mom

I regret how long it’s taken me to write, you may have noticed how dreadful my penmanship was in my last letter, blame it on my manifestation. You had tried to prepare me from a young age for becoming a mutant, and as you had anticipated, I manifested - in a big way.

At first, I had a hunger that couldn’t be satiated, the mother superior at the State-sponsored orphanage refused to feed me enough. I went into shock and was admitted to the hospital, they at least fed me, which allowed my body to grow. I tested as an Exemplar, but I’ve kept changing. I had hoped to be a Mage like you, but no such luck.

You had told me that if I ever manifested to get myself to Whateley Academy. You must have sensed it coming because they had an application waiting for me when I arrived. Thank you! The State was planning on sending me to a work camp to help pay for all the food I need to eat, the car they used had an unfortunate breakdown so I was able to give them the slip.

I have to tell you about my trip to get here. I was making good progress, but came across some difficulties, I got hit by a car and that upset my plans. I wasn’t hurt, but it happened because I was starving and wasn’t focused. I can’t explain it, but just after the accident, a guy showed up, he gave me food and joined me walking to Whateley. You never expressed a belief in God, but I tell you, he’s like a guardian angel.

You often spoke about your time at Whateley as being some of the best days of your life, and I’m beginning to see the appeal. I have already made some friends that don’t judge me and they don’t even care who my mom is.

In fact, it’s because of two of them that I’m able to write this letter. Werx is a Gadgeteer, she came up with an idea to make a computer keyboard big enough and robust enough for me to use. Outlook, he’s the guy I arrived with, he made it off her drawing - just like that, no fuss or muss, one minute it just ‘poof’ showed up. Don’t ask me how he does it, all he said was he alters molecules.

I’m in Hawthorne Cottage, you never mentioned it, so it might be an addition since you were here. It houses students who have medical conditions and appearance issues like GSD, I’m afraid that describes me pretty well. I’ll see about sending you a picture. I’ve changed - a lot - not for the better, but please don’t worry, I’m okay.

So just like you had advised me to do, I’m part of a team. There’s Outlook, and Werx, an Energizer girl named Flambé who’s got super hot hands, a Speedster named Swift, a Psychic girl called Perspicacious (hope I spelt that right), an Exemplar girl who goes by Excelle (those last three are related), and finally a Precog named Aware.

I was worried that between a Psychic and a Precog that they would hate me, but I’ve been welcomed with open arms. Oh, our team’s name is Northern Lites by the way, they’re a bunch of Canadians, except for Werx. They all have an off-beat sense of humor but I like them. Outlook is going to find us a team headquarters, or fort, or whatever on campus. I’ll keep you posted.

I suspect you already have Whateley’s address, but I’ll include it for you. I hope the prison guards let you read my letter to see the wet blotches which are from my tears. Let me know if you ever get out of solitary, I would like to visit you.

Your loving son, Geoff (I go by Max now).

The Ranges

“You’re certain you’re not hurt?” asked Chief Delarose for the third time in as many minutes.

“Just my pride,” admitted Eldritch.

“This has nothing to do with the work you do here at the Ranges. The safety record with you running the show has been exemplary. But, every serious incident must be investigated.”

“I understand the process, I just don’t like why.”

“It could have been much worse. That’s why we need to know what happened.”

“Of course, it could have been worse.”

“That’s some tough hide you’ve got … I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

“Don’t pussyfoot around me Frank, I’d prefer your honesty.”

“So be it. If your skin wasn’t nigh-on indestructible what sort of injuries would we be looking at?”

“The gun exploded in my hands, once the bullet lodged in the barrel, it sent the blast backward and out. It acted just like an exploding grenade. My hands would have been pulverized up to the elbows, chunks of metal would have torn my face off with some of it embedding into my chest. The injuries would have been life-threatening at best, death would have been the most likely outcome.”

“Nasty bit of work that. So, in your assessment?”

“I believe it to have been an attempted homicide.”

“But, you sustained no injuries?”

“I was thrown against a wall by the blast, that’s all.”

“Do you know why the gun exploded?”

“From the pieces found, I discovered the barrel had been narrowed ever so slightly, just enough so a bullet would get stuck and create blowback. It was professionally done, everything looked fine when I checked it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I bagged what I could. Everheart took it into evidence.”

“Have you ever heard of something like this before?”


“No, but I checked into it online. There’s a dark website that specializes in modified guns, from what is described it matches what happened. It would be wise to check for micro-fractures, the way it turned into shrapnel would indicate further tampering.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Murder Incorporated.”

“Ouch, Nasty business that.”

“I wrote down the gun’s serial number, it’s on the tag that Everheart took.”

“I’ll begin tracking its history. Anything else?”

“It belonged to a Gadgeteer, Werx is taking firearms safety. I’d like to know how a fourteen-year-old girl from Rhode Island got her hands on that gun.”

“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question.”

“If rejiggered guns like that one are getting into people’s hands, the price is gonna be a lot higher than that.”

The Tunnels

Claustrophobia wasn’t something Cameron had to worry about. It’s not that he liked confined spaces, the opposite was true, he loved the feel of being out in the wide open, he could see forever. But with his sight, being able to see through solid objects like rock for a distance anyway, plus the ability to dissipate matter, he was never really confined.

He’d managed to lease the small room that he and his friends had scouted out, he’d gotten it at a rock bottom rate, after complaining it didn’t have lights, power, or ventilation. Those finer details contributed to the lower price. Cameron had just finished helping Werx clean up her new lab space and no evidence of the former occupants’ activities remained.

The whole team chipped in to help bring Debbie’s countless boxes down and set up her workshop. That girl couldn’t walk past a tool she didn’t fall in love with. It could be worse - shoes have that effect too. Deb was eager to get started making impenetrable security for herself and volunteered to make something for Cameron’s office as well.

There was disappointment from the team that a suitable room wasn’t found for the group, but Cameron had requested that they be patient, he had a plan. Which was what brought him to be standing in front of the smooth concrete wall in his newly acquired office. There was a reason it had garnered his attention at first sight. It was a seal, hastily made to block off what lay beyond.

Outlook had scanned the place time and again, layering his sight in an attempt to create a picture of what was being hidden behind the concrete which was just over three feet thick. Waiting for the right time to crack it open had been torturous, like asking a kid to wait to open a wrapped present. A good mystery always spelt adventure to him.

As an interim measure, Cameron fashioned a metal door and hung it overtop the concrete, leaving a little room between the two surfaces. If what he felt was true, then it would be a worthwhile protection. Cameron easily spotted all the Geiger Counters placed along the tunnels for monitoring radiation, they heightened his suspicions.

Making a small opening in the concrete only big enough for him to squeeze through, and ensuring his metal door was closed behind him, Cameron entered the unknown. His eyes casted an eerie glow upon the untouched surfaces which were remarkably free of dust. Only a minor layer of fine particles covered the floor, undisturbed for many a year.

Layering his sight it told an interesting story of nuclear radiation all right, just as he’d surmised. The further down the abandoned tunnel he looked, the higher the radiation levels became. Whateley certainly had its fair share of secrets and he’d stumbled upon a doozy.

Collecting the residual energy radiation was comprised of wasn’t entirely new to Cameron, the scale of what he’d discovered was going to be the challenge. Checking his battery, it was at a respectable sixty-four percent, he’d been busy of late so his charge was down slightly. He began allowing the abundant energy around him to flow in as he moved forward slowly, letting the radiation level drop around him as he decontaminated all the surfaces.

Checking for telltale indicators for when this had happened, a poster on a bulletin board announced a fundraising bake sale which provided an approximate date: Saturday, February 9, 1974. It happened over thirty years ago! This place was still hot with radiation, it could take centuries for it to cool down. No wonder they sealed it up tight.

Cameron had passed by several rooms branching off from the main tunnel already, his curiosity was dying to explore further, but his battery had climbed up into the mid-ninety percent range already. He’d need to come back another day to finish exploring.

Returning the way he’d come, he restored the concrete wall and removed the metal door he’d used. He was radiation free since he’d converted it all to usable energy. At issue now was that he needed an outlet to reduce his surplus energy so as not to overload himself. Without a better option at the moment, he decided to appoint his newly acquired office into a pleasant environment.

He’d been thrown into too many dungeons to feel comfortable leaving it as bare rock, so he constructed square walls to hide the rock, then applied bright cheery colours to make it feel less dismal. A drop ceiling was next to cover over the rough rock above, then nice hardwood flooring was used to even out the surface below.

He managed to divide the area into two rooms, an obvious choice given the T shape of the place. The first room, the upper portion of the T, became a nice inviting reception area sporting comfortable seats and attractive pictures which helped make it a relaxing place. The second room had a sturdy leather reclining chair in the middle, the chair could fold down into a level surface when needed. This room also included a desk that was set against one wall.

Prominently upon an end wall he hung a large framed picture, it was a landscape of the Rocky Mountains. It portrayed a scene with a lake and forest in the foreground and mountain ranges in the back. He’d placed the picture so as to cover over a square metal plate that had a dial and handle attached to the face. Sure it looked like a safe, but in actuality it was only a thick chunk of metal embedded into the rock face - a decoy in case anyone ever wanted to try and rob him.

~o~O~o~

Lynn and Rho walked along the path that led them to Whateley’s lake. Its area had been maintained as a natural setting, someplace the students could go to unwind a little and let off some steam. Lynn was in need of a nature break, feeling cooped up in an artificial manmade world. It was refreshing that the school had been constructed leaving so much room around it, but still, the Were girl could feel the walls closing in at times, her heightened senses getting overloaded by so many people and distractions.

With each step Lynn could feel the tension slip away, she needed this. Rho was happy to join her. Too much study and no ‘me' time made her antsy, not what the doctor ordered to control her ‘hot’ hands, so taking a break was some quality time for her too. The tall energizer practised her breathing exercises and flexed her fingers to relieve the stress as they walked together.

Ever attentive, Lynn heard rustling in the trees, her catlike reflexes had her zone in on the disturbance. From behind a branch full of leaves emerged a tiny pixie. Rho was so enthralled at the revelation that she bit her knuckle so as not to make a sound and scare it away. She nearly vibrated in excitement since she was a Disney princess at heart.

Lynn made the customary greeting, a clenched fist held against the chest. The pixie darted up in front of Lynn in a blur, her little wings beating so fast they disappeared much like a hummingbird’s. The diminutive girl made a bow then returned the greeting. Rho couldn’t contain herself any longer and a high-pitched “Eeep” escaped.

The little flying girl eyed the tall redhead, you could follow her eyes as they started looking down at Rho’s feet then traveled all the way up to her rapidly pulsating hair, the two shared a moment of mutual amazement.

The pixie had a short bob-style haircut, but it was midnight black in colour, blue eyes like the sky at midday. Her clothes looked like leaves sewn together - but it was actually cloth made to look like foliage. She had a satchel slung over her shoulder, and from it, she produced a roll extending it out for Lynn to take. Lynn cupped her hand holding it up near the Pixie who dropped the roll into it.

The Pixie took off in a flash for the cover of the trees, but before disappearing into the leafy expanse, she stopped, turned, and gave them a hearty wave. Both the roommates waved in response and broke into huge smiles doing so.

Lynn yelped in surprise, dropping the tiny roll, “What did you do that for?” she accused her companion while rubbing the welt forming on her arm.

“I wasn’t going to pinch myself if it was your dream,” claimed Rho.

“That was no dream, it was real,” stated Lynn as she dropped to her knees and began searching through the tall grass.

“How can you be sure?”

“Cause that’s not the sort of stuff I dream about. Now help me find that missive you made me drop,” to then mutter: “I can’t believe you pinched me.”

“I can’t believe a Pixie just blew in like a summer breeze. Tell me that’s not a common occurrence for you?”

“No, honestly, that’s never happened before.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“The sum total of what I don’t tell you could fill a library, and trust me - it’s for your own good. But, I came across Pixies before in the woods here at Whateley.”


“Why are you just telling me this now?”

“Because you would have signed me up for a long-term visit with a head-shrink.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t do that now?”

“Because you saw the same thing I did, I have the welt to prove it,” deduced Lynn, “Where is it?”

“How do you know it’s a message?”

“She’s a courier, like a postal carrier for the mythical folk.”

“Yeah, about that, are all Pixies so …”

“Small?”

“I was gonna say stacked. Her proportions were unreal. I mean Tinkerbell was cute and all, but sheesh!”

“I never thought about it before, although I didn’t actually see many of them. They were all female now that you mention it though.”

“So, you figure guy Pixies would all be butch?”

“How would I know? That was only the second time I’ve ever seen a Pixie, and what? That makes me an expert?”

“I was just asking.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” apologized a stressed Lynn. “I hope I haven’t lost it.”

“Uhmm?”

“The missive, not my mind.”

“What’s the difference between a missive and a message?”

“A missive is an official message,” explained Lynn. She stopped in her tracks and looked at her friend. “Why are you noticing other girls’ appearances? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, it’s nothing really.”

“Out with it, you can tell me anything.”

“Deb is becoming a bit of an influence, she’s always judging people by their looks.”

“I’m aware.”

“That you are. But it’s gotten me thinking.”

“Go on.”

“I wouldn’t mind finding a boyfriend. But … well, with so many beautiful girls around this school, guys don’t even know I exist.”

“That isn’t true, you're as pretty as anyone else around here.”

“Maybe. It’s just that … I was thinking, it would be nice if a guy was taller than me.”

“Now, that is a problem.”

“And, because I get so hot, I can’t let anybody get close, I’d burn them. There’s only Cameron, and maybe Bricks.”

“Are you saying you like Cameron?”

“Not that way, he’s a great guy and all and you’re lucky to have him. He’s a friend - that’s all. I was just saying he’s one of the only people I can touch without hurting them.”

“Is there a Brick who’s caught your eye?”

“No, oh God no. They’re a bunch of brutish oxymorons as far as I can tell.”

“You said brutish, right? Not British?”

“I’m French, I didn’t know there was a difference. And in case you missed it, I meant oxie in the form of possessing the traits of an ox. Morons should be self-explanatory.”

“That much I understood.”

“You promised to tell Tim when the right girl came along. I was wondering …”

“Tim’s a special case, he was moping about for weeks making everyone miserable. Rachelle pleaded with me to help him,” confided Lynn. “If you really want me to, I can tell you who, how, where and when, but I’d rather not. It’s better to let people’s lives happen, so please accept that you’re going to be happy. You’ll find the perfect guy for you - and you’ll be the perfect girl for him.”

“I believe you, but why don’t you want to tell people their future? Look how it worked out for you and Cameron.”

“That could have gone bad in so many ways,” confessed Lynn. “The future isn’t set in stone, it’s fluid. By revealing the future to someone - just a little hint of interference, changes the future and it can go off in thousands of unintentional directions. I shouldn’t have done anything with Cameron, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Why not?”

“Because I needed to nudge Cameron down a specific path, one where he helped the Were.”

“At what cost? I mean, has it ruined the future, your future?”

“It altered a potential future, but it seems to be the best possible outcome so far for all concerned. It’s why I took the risk, the rest was dumb luck.”

“I don’t think Cameron believes in luck, he feels everything takes place according to plan.”

“I admire that about him, unshakable determination,” confided the Precog girl. “That’s it, I give up. I’m going to go find Cameron and see if he can locate that silly scroll.”

“Is this it? It looks like a stick.”

“You found it, thank goodness.”

“Read it. I don’t want to have grass stains on my knees for no reason.”

“I’m asked to attend an important meeting Friday afternoon in the Grove, it says tea will be served and they request I come alone.”

“What’s the Grove? Maybe you didn’t read it right, it could be The Groove - you know … some fancy dance club where you can show off your moves.”

“I’ll let them know you think that. But, no. The Grove is a secret place hidden in the trees. No matter how hard you try to find it - you can’t, unless they want you to come.”

“Looks like it’ll be a busy weekend, aren’t you and Cameron going to that reclusive Were village Saturday? You’re becoming everyone’s favourite party girl.”

“It’s not going to be much of a party, not with all the elders wanting a piece of us.”

“So why go?”

“I have to, I’ve seen it happen and can’t avoid it. At least Ella and my brother will be there.”

Melville Cottage

Cameron had decided to take a break, he’d finished prepping his office and then cleared more of the radiation contamination so his battery was full again. He’d come up with an idea to dump excess energy so wanted some privacy if he was to attempt matter compression. Stopping by Melville’s coffee bar, the barista convinced him to try an Orange Whip. He’d never heard of such a thing before, but his first taste held promise.

Checking the time, Cameron sat on a couch and placed a call to his lawyer: Emit Paulson. Mr. Paulson had given him a private phone number to use on special occasions. So far Cameron had to admit Melville Cottage had a couple of things going for it, his own washroom was foremost on that list. Next was each dorm room having a telephone, and third - had to be this Orange Whip, it tasted like an Orange Creamsicle in a glass, only better.

Cameron had no way of knowing if his frequent contacts would be wiretapped, or to what extent the army would go in hunting him. His choice to call Mr. Paulson was due to having been provided a secure phone number. The man had proven to be discrete in the past.

The only way to find out for sure was to reach out and see what happened, besides, he’d built one of Smith’s scramblers, so it was time to give it a test. Dialling the number Cameron placed the scrambler next to the phone and infused some power into it, he heard some clicks and buzzing at first, then the phone rang.

“Paulson.”

“Hello Mr. Paulson.”

“One moment please,” the phone went silent for a second. “Cameron, so glad you called. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Is it safe to talk?”

“I’m on a secure line, how’s your end?”

“I’m using a device that interferes with anyone listening, can you hear me alright?”

“Yes, no problem here, but I best be brief. You’ll be interested to hear that your case against Whateley is progressing, however, I’ll need a record of your earnings to begin hammering out the costs of services rendered.”

“You have Albert Miller’s contact info, he’s my accountant. My boss over the summer was Buck Lund, he can tell you how much I was paid, it depended upon the type of job, but averaged around fifty an hour.”

“Fifty dollars?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“I thought my rates were steep.”

“Construction pays well, or it can. For instance, each mile of highway typically costs a million to build, we’d do anywhere from ten to fifteen miles a day.”

“So you made?”

“Heaps. Buck has the numbers.”

“Very good, I have his contact info already. Next up, You might have heard that the Province of Alberta has used a constitutional clause called the Notwithstanding Act to deny mutants human rights. Alberta has sought to dismiss your court case as meritless. I managed to prove to them that you are not a mutant, so that court appearance is still on the books for December.”

“I was hoping there might be some news about the army.”

“I was getting to that. They have been a rather testy bunch to deal with, even threatening to throw me into jail unless I tell them where you are. Fortunately, lawyer/client privilege protects me from such actions. They however let slip that they have frozen your bank accounts, so don’t use any credit or debit cards. Do you have enough cash on hand to get by?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll take extra steps to stay off peoples’ radars now.”

“Good, good. You’ve put them in a pickle my boy, they wish to annul some of the conditions you’d added onto your recruitment, and re-institute the ones that had been stricken. But since the document is non-severable it would mean the entire agreement is voided. They really seem intent on getting their hooks into you. They keep trying to get themselves out of the hole they’re in.”

“Well, that’s good I suppose. Did they happen to say what they want of me?”

“They’re tight-lipped on that front, I’ll keep asking.”

“Thank you. Will this be the best way to stay in touch?”

“For the time being. However, I may need to send you papers to sign, do you have a secure address I can mail to?”

“Send it to Deborah Hastings in Melville Cottage, care of Whateley Academy. She can act as an intermediary and forward mail to me.”

Shuster Hall

Cameron felt sorry for the people in the school’s office, it looked to be a mad rush to keep the place running. The flurry of phone calls demanding attention, besides the lineup of students waiting to be served was incessant. Cameron was fifth in line, he hadn’t wanted to unload his problem onto these folks, but his conversation with Mr. Paulson had prompted the need.

Upon his turn, the lady behind the counter looked frazzled; Mrs. Claire, if his memory held.
She took a look at him and blanched.

“Mr. Burke, I owe you an apology. If I hadn’t mistaken you for someone else, last year wouldn’t have turned out so badly for you.” She truly looked sorrowful and her voice wavered as she spoke.

“No hard feelings, yours was the first of many mistakes that day. I’m moving forward, I hope you can as well,” offered Cameron.

“Yes, well … thank you. What can I do for you today?”

“I was informed my credit card has been frozen. I didn’t want Whateley to be denied any monies owed, so I’d like to see about making alternate payment arrangements.”

“Let me check your account,” asked Mrs. Claire as she referenced a computer. “It says a cashier’s cheque was received and all tuition is paid in full. But if you’d like to alter your on-campus finances I can help you with that.”

“Thank you, that would be much appreciated.”

“What currency would you like to make payments with?”

“Do you by any chance accept gold?”

“We do. We’ve had a number of students use gold and other precious metals in the past.”

“How about diamonds?”

“Yes, it requires us to use a diamond broker to grade and then sell them, but it can be arranged.”

“That’s good to hear. I have some diamonds that I’d like to see about selling then please.”

“May I see them?”

“Certainly,” agreed Cameron. He withdrew a velvet pouch from his pocket and set it onto the counter. Mrs. Claire spilled a few out onto the counter and gasped.

“Is something wrong?” worried Cameron.

“These are amazing.”

“You think so?”

“I’m no gemologist, but these are extremely nice. I didn’t know diamonds came in so many colours. Where did you get them?”

“Can you keep a secret?” whispered Cameron conspiratorially.

“I’m a professional secret keeper, I won’t tell a soul.”

“I make them.”

“No! How?”

“Did you ever see the Superman movie where he pressed a chunk of coal and made a diamond?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Well, I alter matter, so I tried compressing some coal until it became so dense it made a diamond. I also tried adding some other elements to impart colour, and voila.”

“But these are all cut.”

“They weren’t very pretty raw, so I polished them up.”

“Okay, I just needed to know that they weren’t stolen,” assured Mrs. Claire. “Ms. Hartford is leaving for New York tomorrow, she’s already going to visit the diamond exchange so I’ll have her take your diamonds and get them appraised. Now, Whateley retains a ten percent fee, do you agree to the terms?”

“Yes. I understand and wish to proceed.”

“Good. How much money had you wished to keep on hand with Whateley?”

“Will a hundred and fifty thousand be enough to last for a couple months?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay, let’s start with that then.”

~o~O~o~

Cameron had been hoping to find a suitable space for the entire training team. He’d cleared out the radiation from a couple of abandoned classrooms already, those held merit as a team room but didn’t offer any pizzazz. He was looking for something with a little zing.

He was baffled by the sign in the hallway at first, it read in big block letters: HYPERBOLE, but the last E was crossed out with a red line, then a W had been scrawled in underneath with an arrow pointing up between the O and L. Entering through the double doors he began to eradicate the radiation that had flooded this section of Whateley thirty-odd years ago. He’d been keeping his sight focused upon dealing with that problem to pay much attention to anything else.

He finally clued in, it was a bowling alley: Hyperbowl. Some English teacher must have come up with the name no doubt. The area it encompassed was huge, replete with four bowling lanes, a snack bar, an arcade and an eating area. It looked like a 3D picture frozen in time.

Jackpot!

He wandered around removing all the contaminating radiation, and cleaning off all the surfaces from the fine layer of dust that had settled, plus the stink which hung heavy in the stale air. The snack bar had a small kitchen which was surprisingly clean. Still, he needed to dispose of the long-since expired and rotten food in the cupboards and inside the vending machines … even if the Cheese Puffs and Twinkies still looked edible.

Along one wall of the arcade stood seven old-time pinball machines, which back in 1974 must have been the going concern. Beside those was another upright box called Pong, it was the only computerized game present, probably the only video game at the time.

In the middle of the arcade was a full-sized pool table, off to the side of that was a foosball table, and folded up in the corner was a ping-pong table. This must have been Whateley’s main recreation centre back then … How did the school keep a disaster like this under wraps?

The eating area could sit upwards of twenty people, it had a retro look like a fifty’s diner. It boasted solid Crome chairs with red cushions, the red fabric had sparkles in it - which must have been a thing in the day; either the fifties or seventies Cameron didn’t know. Much to Cameron’s delight, sitting in a corner sat a big ol' Wurlitzer Juke Box.

He’d have to come back and do a final sweep to ensure all the radiation was gone, but he was going to have a hard time not blurting out what he’d found to the gang. His battery was at eighty percent, he could continue for a time yet.

Back out in the tunnel and down the hall a short way he came upon another classroom and reality came crashing in. The door read: Nuclear Sciences, and it was by far the hottest radiation he’d encountered so far, he’d stumbled upon ground zero.

Kane Hall

Debbie was beside herself, when the two Security guards had collected her from her room at Melville and escorted her to Security’s headquarters, she hadn’t a clue what she’d done wrong.

All she’d been told was that she needed to come with them. Talk about giving somebody a panic attack! And these two guards had been tight lipped the whole way, all their body language said was: ‘don’t mess with me,’ so she didn’t.

Deb was shown directly into a conference room, at least that’s what the sign on the door called it, it looked and felt like an interrogation room to her. Being called into the headmaster’s office at her last school and getting reamed out for mutating was too fresh a memory. She was preparing herself for the worst, what else could she do?

She was left alone inside the room, the reflective glass window was undoubtedly a one-way mirror. The table was bolted to the floor and the chairs were cheap plastic like you’d find on patios, they wouldn’t do much damage if tossed. Deb felt entirely alone and defenceless but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

Deb sat primly in the chair facing the mirrored window, ensuring her clothes looked proper, and adjusted her hairband in the reflection, then waited quietly.

A large man entered, he brought with him a can of diet cola and offered it to her. Deb hated diet pop, it never tasted right compared to the real stuff. But she took it and said, “Thanks.”

“Thank you for coming. I’m Franklin Delarose, Chief of Whateley Security,” at that he showed her his ID, and sure enough he was whom he said.

Deb rifled through her little clutch bag and dug out her student ID card, holding it out to the man: “Deborah Hastings. But I suppose you knew that already.”

“I did. Miss Hastings, I need to ask you about your gun.”

“My gun? Did somebody steal it? I turned it over to the lady when I signed up for Firearms Safety.”

“I’d like to know how it came into your possession?”

“The gun? My dad gave it to me. Just before I left home he slipped it into my purse and told me to be careful.”

“Does your father keep guns at home?”

“Not that I ever saw. That was the first time I’d ever seen a gun in real life. It freaked me out.”

“So your father wouldn’t be in the habit of carrying a firearm on his person?”

“My Dad? He’s a banker, I don’t think he’d ever held a gun before either.”

“What bank does he work for?”

“The Financial Investment Fund International, or FIFI, which is also my Mom’s dog’s name.”

“Had you ever visited your dad’s office?”

“No. He likes to keep us distant from his work, and you wouldn’t exactly call us a close family.”

“Have you fired your gun at any time?”

“Heavens no, I didn’t know the first thing about it. It’s why I’m taking Firearms Safety,” confessed Deb. Her admission brought her concern to the fore. “Be honest with me, is it so dangerous here that I need to carry a gun?”

“It shouldn’t be necessary, but I won’t lie to you, Whateley houses some individuals that keep me armed at all times. But that’s why my Security team is here, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“Would my father know that? I’m not sure why my dad gave me a gun, it was so unlike him.”

~o~O~o~

The trifecta of trouble rode the elevator down to the powers testing area located under Whateley Academy. It was only Charlotte who had received the notice that she was to undergo testing, but Rachelle smelled a rat. The testing performed by the MCO back home in BC had been thorough, they’d all been issued MIDs. Maybe it was nothing, perhaps they only wanted to see if Charlotte had changed as her manifestation continued.

Perspicacious had counselled her little sister to downplay her abilities. If people knew that she could boost other mutants and heighten their powers rating, it could spell trouble of the worst kind. No, there had to be a lid put on this, and nailed down. So, they all agreed upon a story that had Excelle only able to mildly increase abilities - limited to her brother and sister. That’s why all three of them had come together.

Tim was happy, he’d gotten the job, and his first day was Friday night. There was a little restaurant in Whateley’s housing Village called the Blue Moose, they wanted to expand business so were starting pizza delivery and other take-out food. The idea of having a Speedster get deliveries out to customers within minutes was too tempting a service for the restaurant’s purveyors; a couple of Canadian goofball brothers, to pass up.

The elevator door opened up to bring them into a sterile environment, it looked like a hospital with people milling about in white coats carrying clipboards or electronic pads. There were two white coats: a man and a woman, waiting near the elevator and hastened to greet the day’s guinea pig.

“Miss Excelle?” asked the woman.

“That’s me,” said Charlotte stepping forward after looking at her siblings for confirmation.

“Super,” confirmed the lady. “We’ll take good care of you. Your friends can leave.”

“This is my sister Perspicacious, and my brother Swift. I need them to be able to show you what I can do.”

“No need, we’ve already arranged some volunteers as test subjects. If you’ll come this way.”

“No. You don’t understand. I need them.”

“Explain!” demanded the man in too abrupt a manner. Charlotte shrinking away from him, it fell upon Rachelle to intercede.

“My sister is trying to tell you, that her abilities are linked to me and our brother. Beyond her physical - Exemplar abilities, she can increase our - that is my Psychic ability and my brother’s super speed for short periods. It only works on us you see.”

“Interesting. We’ll need to run tests to verify that,” stated the man. That he doubted their claim was apparent, Rachelle could sense that outright - but his desire to disprove their ruse was worrisome. He had ulterior motives.

“It looks like we’ll need to establish baseline power sets for each of you first, then we can proceed with enhanced testing. If you’ll follow me,” informed the lady. “My name is Rose, Tammy Rose. Everyone just calls me Rose.”

“Are you a doctor Rose?” asked Timothy.

“An intern, this is part of my practicum before I can become a full-fledged doctor.”

“What sort of testing is going to be conducted?” sought Rachelle.

“Oh, the usual stuff,” assured Rose. “A Physical examination, we’ll take some blood samples and do x-rays. Then you’ll get put through some standardized exercises to determine your physical limits, we’ll need those to check against any potential increases.”

“How long will it take?” required Rachelle.

“With three of you, likely all day. Had you any plans?”

“We’re to meet up for dinner with friends,” supplied Charlotte, hoping it set a time limit upon the torture session.

“That may not be possible, it’ll depend on how testing goes. I can try and get a message out if it looks like we’re getting into a time crunch.” Rose’s comment was sincere, she at least wasn’t trying to pull a fast one.

“Thank you,” said Rachelle, for the kindness and honesty offered.

“You’ll definitely be here over lunch. I’ll see about arranging for some nice high-calorie food to be brought in. Any allergies I should be aware of?”

“Spam, sauerkraut, and anchovies,” informed Rachelle, receiving assent from her sibs.

“Now there’s a recipe I’d hate to meet in a dark alley,” admitted Rose, earning her a laugh from the three, as she directed them into change rooms.

The suits provided had sensors positioned at all key areas of the body, held fast by the suit’s stretchy material. Wires ran every which way gathering together into plug-in harness ports, range of movement wasn’t hindered, but at the cost of looking like a poorly realized Halloween costume - like Frankenstein met the Mummy.

Charlotte looked at her sister and couldn’t hold back a laugh until Rachelle pointed at a mirror so she could see herself. They both had to laugh to dispel nerves.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Charlotte.

“It has to be,” said Rachelle, to then add mentally ‘They're up to something. Don’t let your guard down, and play the game.’

Charlotte nodded in understanding.

Rose showed them to a medical clinic where they got weighed, measured, and each given exams for vision and hearing. Blood was withdrawn and urine samples collected, that should have happened before being told to wear the tight fitting sensor suits, an afterthought Rose noted on a clipboard.

There were technicians who set the equipment up for them, and other interns who ensured the tests ran smoothly, and of course, Rose who interacted directly with the three. But the doctors, or scientists - the minds running the show, they always remained behind the scenes, always just out of Rachelle’s range of telepathy. That made Perspicacious more on edge.

Timothy enjoyed a chance to run, to cut loose for a change. As a level three Speedster he could sustain fifty miles per hour, the treadmill he was on had been built for just that purpose. Swift had to live life in slow motion, he had to think about every step he took and take it at a snail’s pace. It only felt natural when unrestrained and he loved it.

Swift drew special attention during his acuity testing, he was put in front of a computer keyboard and told to type as fast as he could. This was where most speedsters’ inability to process information at super speed began to falter. They might be able to type incredible word-per-minute counts, but the errors got worse the faster they went. Timothy didn’t, his improved.

Another speed test was to assemble a jigsaw puzzle, a spacial relations exam as Rose explained it. How fast he could put a 1000-piece puzzle together was timed, Tim was to hit a start and stop clock, something you might see for speed chess.

Rachelle got to play the ‘what’s the next card game’ staring at a computer. She couldn’t read computers, only the computer operator. Then she had to pick from a lineup who had the red apple, each of the five volunteers had apples but only one had a red apple. Then she was to discern what her test subject had eaten for breakfast as he was busy reading a book, she had to look underneath his mental focus.

It was a completely new experience for Rachelle to be put into a driving simulator. She was told to scan the volunteers who walked past the booth she was in, while driving, determine all those who had pets, and if they were either a cat or a dog. The Psychic had beads of sweat after the test finished, she was spent and needed to sit down to recoup.

Charlotte had been given the full gambit of physical tests: strength, speed, and endurance, she’d had to lift dumbbells since the weight machine was still busted. Then it was on to flight testing: how high, how fast, how much could she lift while in the air.

It was lunchtime before they’d gotten to testing any boosting. Rose had to scatter the disappointed white coats before they devoured the plate of sandwiches she’d managed to secure for her patients. The vultures circled looking for leftovers while the trifecta ate. None of the ones in charge approached with answers for Rachelle to pick their brains.

Rose sat down with them, and partook of a sandwich with them, it was cucumber with cream cheese which wasn’t half bad. Rose had a look of concern as she asked: “Perspicacious, do you have a driver’s licence?”

“No, I’m not old enough yet.”

“Good. While you were driving you went through three red lights and sideswiped two cars.”

“Oh, no! Was anybody hurt?”

“It was a simulation, nobody got hurt. But it shows that you can become very distracted while using your Psychic abilities, something to be aware of in the future,” counselled Rose.

“I’ll have to remember that,” determined Rachelle. “How did I do - Psychic wise?”

“You’re rated as a third-level Psychic, no difference from your original results.”

“How can you rate someone?” wondered Charlotte.

“That’s a bit tricky to explain. A point scale is used, so the higher the number of points you’re assigned, the higher the rating.”

“I don’t understand, do you mean like one to ten, how do you tell the difference between someone who’s a three for four?”

“Okay, so, the scale is from zero to seven. But between each number there are decimal places. Think of it this way, if you could lift a hundred pounds that would give you a score of one, making you a level one Exemplar, but let’s say you only lifted ninety-five pounds, that would only give you a point nine-five score, so not quite a level one or we might call that a low-level Exemplar one.”

“I lifted over a thousand pounds today, does that make me a ten?” assumed Charlotte, tickled by the idea of calling herself a ten.

“No. You see, to be classed as an Exemplar you need to exceed what an average baseline person can do. That number is hard to establish because you have people who train constantly like olympic athletes, against those who are sedentary, we look for someplace in the middle and that changes often.”

“Okay, so …” puzzled Char.

“As a number, I’ll throw out there two hundred and fifty pounds as being the maximum weight a baseline human can lift. You lift more than that you’re a level-one exemplar. Rachelle, for example, lifted three hundred and twenty pounds, placing her in the lower reaches of a level one Exemplar, let’s say a 1.3.”

“She can do better,” assured Charlotte.

“That’s what we’re here to find out.”

“What then sets the bar to become a level two?”

“In the lower ratings, like a level two’s - it would be twice the baseline score. So lifting five hundred pounds.”

“And above level two?”

“Then math gets involved, a level three wouldn’t simply be three times a baseline’s scoring, it’s closer to doubling a level two.”

Charlotte was curious, “So what am I?”

“You scored as a 3.7, which I should add is 0.2 higher than what you scored with the MCO.”

“Do ratings change?” asked Swift, a worthwhile question from Rose’s head nod.

“Just like with an athlete, training and exercise can account for some increase, but there’s limits on what a body can achieve. That’s why it’s exciting to see what effect boosting has. There’s quite a bit of buzz around here today with everyone wanting to watch, but you didn’t hear that from me,” conspired Rose.

“What’s next?” asked Rachelle as she stood to wipe crumbs off the sensor suit, turning around to scan the room in the process.

“How do you boost?” wondered Rose.

“I touch them. Exposed skin works best, but doesn’t have to be,” explained Excelle.

“Let’s head back to the weight room to get started,” advised Rose.

As they walked, Rachelle whispered to her sister “Boost me all the way.”

In reply Charlotte was confused: “But …?”

“Trust me, I’ll fake it. I need to know what they’re after,” advised Rachelle, she received a head nod, albeit uncertain about the newly formulated plan.

Timothy went first, Charlotte played up the boosting, making a show of how it took minutes rather than just a second to impart, and that it was a strain to do. In reality, she just gave him a little bit.

Swift stepped onto the treadmill and began to run, and run, and run some more.

Meanwhile, Rachel got boosted, full-on, as requested. She was set up lifting weights, it was Rachelle’s turn to make a performance. She was started out at where she had maxed out before. In a way, she wanted to know just what she was capable of now, but that would ruin the whole plan to protect her sister, her family.

So while she could have lifted more, much more, she held back. Rachelle read the minds of those monitoring her, giving them just enough improvement to say boosting had an impact, but no more than that. The collected minds said Timothy had increased by a factor of 1.1, she kept herself to 0.9 gauging from the results she could glean from those watching.

As for those watching, she delved into their minds. They had hopes that Charlotte would break open the doors to unlimited feats of power, that mutation was the key to making supermen, one and all. For some it was purely the science involved, to others, it was all about building the perfect soldier, weapons of war.

Rachelle could understand the scientific curiosity, however, world conquest was her greatest fear, and why Charlotte had to be kept from their clutches, they were doing the right thing. She grunted to say she had lifted all she could, shaking her arms as if buckling under the strain.

The Psychic testing went much the same, she allowed them to see a minor improvement, she even purposely hit a couple of cars in the driver test. It was when they sat her in an interview room, a departure from previous testing, that Rachelle wondered if her bluff was being called.

The manifestation of Louis Gentz was brought in, she smiled at him, he was her student advisor and a teacher. They engaged in a conversation, two actually, one spoken aloud for the benefit of those listening in and a complete fabrication of pleasantries and inane questions, the other conversation was purely a mental exchange.

‘Rachelle, you’re holding back. Why?’

‘I found out what they plan to do to my sister if they discover what she’s capable of.’

Louis read what she’d dug up, he also checked the minds of those holding sinister intent. He pondered her dilemma, and mulled the consequences of the situation.

‘What’s your plan?’ he finally asked.

‘We want them to believe that only my brother and I can be boosted, because we’re family. And just to a limited degree.’

‘My dear, I’d say you’re a level six right now. Do you really want to walk around with that much untrained power?’

‘No. I had hoped you might teach me how to control this. It’s just …’

‘You would sacrifice yourself to protect your sister.’

‘I would, I will.’

‘I’ve made many mistakes in my life, I’ve had too many try and push me into doing unforgivable things, make me into a weapon. I won’t condemn your sister to that life. What do you need me to do?’

‘Tell them I’m only a level four Psychic, a boost of one level’

‘Done,’ mentally agreed Mr. Gentz. To then speak: “We’re going to have some interesting lessons, you and I.”

“I hope so,” concurred Rachelle.

“You wouldn’t play chess by any chance?”

“I can learn,” volunteered Rachelle, receiving an agreeable head nod in return.

Louis’ manifestation de-rezzed, leaving Rachelle alone in the room, to then get collected by Rose and brought back to join her family. Tim was still being tested for acuity and accuracy at speed, he hadn’t needed to hold back, only getting a partial boost.

Charlotte was being peppered with questions - badgered about why she couldn’t boost anyone other than her brother and sister. She was a master at making the face of disdain which says either: ‘you must be joking?’ Or ‘are you brain dead?’ It’s all in the eye roll.

Earlier, Charlotte had been directed to boost some volunteers; an assortment of Bricks, Exemplars, Energizers, all fairly low-level mutants, they all wanted more - much more. After supposedly boosting, the test subjects underwent rigorous testing, they all showed no change. Disappointment was in the air, as were angry words.

Disgruntled scientists checked and re-checked the findings, they’d expected results - different results to the ones received, ones in keeping with their designs. Charlotte however, apologized for the wasted effort, showing contriteness for failing to meet expectations.

Rose provided a tally once the testing results had been analyzed and dissected. Timothy gained a solid 1.1 rating from boosting, making him a Speedster 4.1. Rachelle increased to a Psychic 4.4 and Exemplar 2.3. They both had new MID’s issued to reflect the dual ratings of boosted and not, and Charlotte’s MID was updated as well.

A follow-up examination was scheduled in three months, since Charlotte continued to manifest it was likely her Exemplar rating could climb over time. Rose escorted them back to the changing rooms, then waited to take them back above ground. The gracious intern shook each of the siblings’ hands, but slipped a small piece of paper to Rachelle in a sleight-of-hand trick. When well out of sight Rachelle opened it, it read: Good deke, I won’t tell.

Kane Hall

Cameron was asked to wait in the interview room he’d occupied many times before, instead of being roughly escorted, this time he’d received a note in the cottage’s post box. He’d showed up as requested, still sipping on the Orange Whip he’d acquired at Melville Cottage’s coffee bar, he was developing a habit.

He was sucking up the dregs from the bottom of the cup - good to the last drop. The door opened and Admiral Everheart ushered a suited man in, he claimed a chair as did the Admiral acting as Whateley’s representative.

This could go so many ways thought Cameron, too many people after him. It wasn’t until Outlook looked into the man’s wallet and spied his credentials: an insurance investigator. He breathed easier, but it didn’t end his curiosity.

It was Everheart who broke the ice: “Outlook, this is Mr. Stewart with the company Great American Insurance. He’s investigating what happened to Dillon Chapel.”

“I appreciate your showing me the site Ms. Everheart. You don’t need to stay.”

“I do actually, it is Whateley’s policy to have someone present during any outside questioning of students. It’s a matter of security for the youths entrusted to us.”

“The questions I need to ask could be construed as personal in nature. As long as your presence doesn’t deter imparting sensitive information. I don’t object.”

“Outlook?” sought Everheart if he would comply.

“Am I under obligation to answer all questions asked?” requested Cameron.

“No, you can of course decline to answer,” assured Mr. Stewart. “But we had hoped to obtain as accurate an account as possible. I have already spoken with Constable Kenneth Tallman who provided some very interesting details which you can hopefully corroborate.”

“Will Great American be releasing a full statement for Whateley’s records?” asked Cameron, his question surprised the Admiral, even though she was wondering the same thing.

“We shall provide a complete report of our findings,” promised Mr. Stewart.

Cameron gave the situation consideration, mulling over the best course of action to take. His delay was interpreted as stalling.

“Outlook?” was asked again by Everheart to nudge him along.

“All right, ask your questions,” acquiesced Cameron.

“Do you wish the record to show your name as Outlook, or can I use your given name?”

“Whateley requires our student’s identities to remain secret.”

“Very well, I respect the need for privacy. Constable Tallman referred to you on occasion as Sergeant. Is that a correct designation?”

“At the time, I was a Staff Sergeant with the RCMP, so yes, Sergeant is suitable.”

“And now?”

“I was promoted to Inspector,” revealed Cameron.

“I didn’t know Inspector was a rank used by the Canadian police?” piped in Admiral Everheart.

“Typically not. I was granted an exception, due to my not undertaking regular policing duties, and started working on a part-time basis.”

“Would regular policing duties have included the questioning of MCO agents?” asked Mr. Stewart.

The tack this interview was taking added twists Hive took a keen intense interest in.

“A sting operation was staged after a court case found the MCO had overstepped their mandate. In part, it required Constable Tallman and myself to conduct interviews to ascertain who within the MCO was guilty of misconduct. It was coordinated to occur in one fell swoop across Canada.”

“This is why the use of Teleporters was required?”

“Yes, the distance we needed to cover, in so short a time could only be accomplished by the support provided by Teleporters.”

“I see. So, it was during one such teleportation, that you and Constable Tallman were deposited into an, how was it described: an inter-dimensional void?”

“Deposited?”

“Have you a better description of events?”

“If you call being forcefully yanked out while in transit, to then become the low man in a dogpile, then sure, deposited works.”

“I’ll be certain to make note of that. Describe this void?”

“I can’t.”

“You wish to withhold information?”

“I was blind and unable to see, I don’t know what the void looked like.”

“Are you not considered blind now?”

“Yes. Although, my sight is not considered a sense as medically defined.”

“What prevented you from seeing?”

“The void is a pocket dimension where those in opposition to God have been ‘deposited’ to await judgement.”

“The wraiths, I believe you called them.”

“Yes, they rebelled against God and had to be removed. They’ve been placed into a holding cell - that would be a good description of the void. The void is completely isolated from God, so my sight ended while in that environment.”

“I don’t understand. How did a Teleporting accident deposit you in this void?”

“A good question. My hypothesis is that Teleporters, or some of them anyway, step out of our dimension into another one in order to cross the distances they travel. That’s just my thoughts on the matter, there may be better explanations out there.”

“You and the others, were repeatedly attacked by these wraiths? Correct?”

“They afforded us little time to do anything besides defend ourselves.”

“What had they hoped to gain by attacking you?”

“We were nourishment to them.”

“Explain that … please.”

“God is the source of life, being cut off from him, the wraiths seek other forms of energy to sustain themselves.”

“They eat people?”

“Not quite, they suck the life force out of a person. That, or they suck upon these teats that are scattered around the place. I would say those are their main source of food.”

“That aligns with what I’ve already been told. How many of these teats were struck while fighting off the wraiths?”

“Hmmm. Four, maybe five.”

“How long a time frame would the attack in which striking these teats have taken?”

“Less than an hour. Why?”

Digging into his briefcase, Mr. Stewart placed a series of photographs on the table. Cameron had noticed them earlier when he’d scanned the briefcase’s contents, you can’t be too careful.

“These are pictures of destroyed buildings. One in Scotland, another in Latvia, and Portugal. Great American has been in consultation with insurance companies involved overseas," he provided while pointing out each of the scenes of devastation. “Now this is a church in Lafayette Louisiana I am also investigating. The thing that they all have in common, is that they were all destroyed within an hour of each other, exploding without any discernible source of ignition. We are trying to determine the cause.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Some injuries, no fatalities - fortunately. You can see why insurance companies are curious about circumstances surrounding buildings blowing up, for no apparent reason. Which brings me to Whateley Academy, to have twelve people exit from another destroyed building, is beyond coincidental.”

“I’m beginning to understand your interest.”

“Now, I have sworn statements saying you had nothing to do with creating the portal used to expedite your escape from the void. Constable Tallman emphasized that he had to forcibly drag you through the portal. Is this accurate?”

“I felt the risk of us entering an unsecured portal was too dangerous. We had no way of knowing where it would discharge us.”

“Had you any insight into where … ‘nourishment’ was coming from?”

“After we arrived at Whateley, I deduced that Patricia had managed to open a portal following a conduit, that sustaining energy was originating from Whateley’s Chapel was a surprise. I had no prior indication that this was happening. Nor had I known that the other teats were linked to locations in our realm.”

“Interesting, I believe I have what I need. Thank you for your willingness to speak with me.”

“Will Great American Insurance be settling our claim now?” asked Samantha Everheart, it’s what she’d need to provide to administration, to answer the burning question about Dillon Chapel.

“Ms. Everheart; I don’t know. I have a humdinger of a report to write, one that quite frankly is going to call into question my mental stability. Your guess is as good as mine.”

The Tunnels

Cameron slumped to the floor exhausted. Matter manipulation took a toll, it depleted his battery and left his body ragged, he needed to rest, and taking a break was overdue. The Nuclear Sciences classroom had required some thinking outside the box … by making a box inside a box, well a sphere if you feel the need to get picky. He’d encapsulated the experiment gone awry, the plutonium which had been excited to critical mass was now fully contained within an all encompassing energy-absorbing ball.

The raw energy being released by the atomic reaction was getting siphoned through collectors into a massive bank of batteries. Some of that energy became electricity which powered the underground area Cameron had reclaimed, the rest was held in reserve until Cameron wished to fill up his own personal battery when needed.

As an extra precaution, Cameron had surrounded the entire classroom by six feet of solid rock, made super dense so nobody would accidentally expose it - themselves. He drank an energy drink - one of those electrolyte replacing sport drinks, and chewed upon a chocolate-covered granola bar. His battery might be full but his body was depleted.

He picked himself up and made another sweep of the tunnels to remove any lingering radiation. He’d decided that the three classrooms he’d found could be used as exercise rooms, one of which he set aside for weight training with exercise equipment like treadmills and stationary bicycles.

In another classroom, he chose to make a pool, which simulated a river so you could swim against a current instead of doing laps. He missed the benefits of time spent in water to strengthen his muscles, and hoped he wasn’t being selfish in making a pool. To alleviate his concern he made a sauna and hot pools for soaking in, space enough for everyone to relax in.

He left through the entrance in Deb’s workshop, she had been hard at work making a secure way to keep her stuff safe. It meant she needed to trust her teammates, to give them access into her private domain, but she had willingly agreed.

Cameron closed up the secret passage built into one of Debbie’s tool storage units, locking it up tight. He also checked that her workshop door was secured before leaving, ensuring the scanner Deb had constructed was working, it detected and disabled bugs. Those pesky eavesdropping devices had a way of showing up too frequently, it seemed being a nosy Parker was a favourite pastime at Whateley.

It was late Friday afternoon, Lynn had said she had some personal business to attend to - and hadn’t said any more about it. Tim was at work delivering pizza. Max was at a social mixer in Hawthorne. The girls were watching a chick flick in the private theatre Deb had reserved in Melville. It meant Cameron had the evening to himself - alone at last.

He’d checked out a book from the Library, one Mrs. Henderson recommended highly: Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne. He wanted to savour a good book, read it slowly, and get captured up in the telling. Downtime might sound dull and boring, but it was all he wanted, some peace and quiet.

Tomorrow he and Lynn would be visiting the Medawihla, so being rested to face people clamouring for a piece of you … it can wait, tomorrow’s worries are tomorrow’s problem.

Medawihla Village

Ella and Allan arrived at Whateley early to pick up Lynn and Cameron. Fortunately, Cameron had some breakfast sandwiches held in Storage so they didn’t need to go hungry. Ella drove her Jeep without the fabric top covering, the sun was up and it was a lovely bright morning, but the wind had Lynn and Cameron huddle together in the back seat. Whether that was from coincidence or by plan, either way, time to just enjoy each other’s company was appreciated.

The wind whipped Lynn’s hair about her face, she’d taken great care to make herself as presentable as possible, but had to give up trying to control hair that went wherever the air currents took it. Cameron stared at her in awe, wild-haired and laughing unfettered at the simple delight of being taken for a ride with the top down.

Lynn looked at him, she pulled some strands of hair away from her face to lean close to his ear, and ask: “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

“You just haven’t been paying attention.”

“No, really. I’m serious.”

“No you’re not, you're Cameron,” teased Lynn with a giggle and held him a little tighter. “Do you ever get to cut loose? Just enjoy a sunny day?” She asked, her intense green eyes boring a hole into his psyche.

Cameron reached up to tenderly kissed her forehead, he then pressed his head against hers. His uncovered golden-hewed eyes looking directly into her emerald green iris’. “You are my sunshine.”

There was a sharp intake of air, Lynn was taken aback at his admission, “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” smiled Cameron, with a smile that encompassed his entire face. Compared to Lynn’s wild abandon it might not show, but he too was happier than he’d been in a long - long time. “I’ve been scared about letting you in, when my family died I didn’t think I could love … should love anyone ever again. It was pointed out to me that life without love isn’t much of a life at all.”

Lynn was dumbfounded at the admission, the pieces fit, although she needed to ask: “So, before, when you said you needed time, was that why?”

“In part. I didn’t know if I was allowed.”

“What do you mean, allowed?”

“To be happy. I’m fully dedicated to doing God’s will, I didn’t know if that allowed for me to pursue my own interests, like getting married. I was worried I couldn’t have a life beyond being God’s agent. Even then, I didn’t think anyone would want to share a life less ordinary.”

“Ordinary equals boring and not my style. I should tell you, your mentor paid me a visit while you were gone.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“That you were in danger.”

“Why would he do that? You’re a Precog, you’d have already known.”

“That’s just it, I didn’t know. You had vanished, I'd lost touch with you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Did his visit help?”

“It gave me hope. You should know: you anchor me, you give something solid to hang onto, so I don’t get lost in the abyss of dismal possibilities that could easily overwhelm me.”

“Basically, we support each other, lift each other up,” deduced Cameron. “I think that’s what a relationship is supposed to do. I wouldn’t exactly say we’re a match made in heaven, but pretty close.”

Lynn paused at that thought, she had always figured she directed her own path: “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Had you never considered that Precognition followed a set course?” quizzed Cameron, certain that she had puzzled over it. “Your Mom described being a Precog like driving down a highway and steering around all the obstacles encountered, isn’t it reasonable that somebody would have built the road?”

“I admit your explanation is plausible. All I know is, I’m not carrying the weight of the world when I’m with you,” claimed Lynn. “What do you suggest we do?”

“We should definitely spend more time together,” suggested Cameron.

“I’m not the one who’s always going off to God knows where,” accused Lynn in a light-hearted jest.

“Funny choice of words. Accurate, but funny,” admitted Cameron, he went where he was sent, it meant people’s lives. Cameron hoped his timid smile eased Lynn’s worry.

Lynn bit her lip, concerned she might have said the wrong thing. Rhododendron had commented that Lynn was a bit of a control freak, it had hit a cord with the Precog. Precognition lent itself to always have her one step ahead, it eliminated surprises, so in that sense, sure, she enjoyed the control it gave. But it came at a price, like enjoying the moment - as it happened, she was enjoying the moment with Cameron, why had she poked the bear.

Lynn looked sheepishly at Cameron, to see if he was upset. Rather, he snuggled in closer and put his arm around her shoulder since she was shivering. Lynn would have shifted into a cat, her fur would keep her warmer. But being held was nicer.

Cameron found it hard to converse with Ella and Allan in the open-air Jeep, it required yelling at them up in the front seats. So deep topics needed to wait until they arrived at the Village, that isn’t to say Lynn didn’t give her brother an occasional lite punch in the arm - to say she was glad to see him. It was traditional between them.

The Medawihla had company, vehicles were parked everywhere leaving little room for Ella to get through. Eloise Donner stood on her front porch and waved in greeting, Ben at her side. The guests of honour were ushered to the meeting hall where breakfast was waiting. Lynn could always find room for food and Cameron would never say no to hospitality.

After eating Lynn was whisked away to participate in a high-level meeting, it was a gathering of Were chieftains. Cameron wasn’t invited, neither was Ella or Allan, but Ella’s dad: Ulrich Oberon was asked to attend. Left alone to amuse themselves in the meeting hall, Ella and Allan asked how Whateley was going. Cameron explained that, so far, his classes had been - well, educational.

A group began entertaining themselves at the meeting hall’s dart board. For more privacy, the three moved away to a far corner.

“What have you two been up to?” Cameron asked of his two friends and potential future in-laws.

“Dad located another outpost of corrupted Were, we managed to surprise them and set another twenty Were free,” detailed Ella, she and Allan sat side-by-side, in an obvious show of affection. Cameron had earlier been asked to deplete boxes of filled energy balls, so he knew they’d been busy.

Cameron noticed the necklace Ella wore, it had round white stones, square black stones, and golden rings in a repeating pattern. It was something different on her so Cameron asked: “Nice necklace, does it have meaning?”

Allan answered: “I gave it to her, it’s my pattern. It indicates that she’s …”

“Married?” questioned Cameron.

“Spoken for,” inserted Ella. Receiving a huge smile from Allan.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. How does it work?” blurted out Cameron, who had to backtrack when he received blank faces as a reply. “Sorry. What I meant was, how do you shift from animal and have clothes on?”

Ella had the grace to laugh at Cameron’s clumsy question, “You would prefer we be naked?”

“No, of course not. I have no issue with you being clothed. I just don’t understand what happens when you become your animal, your clothes don’t turn into fur do they?”

Ella and Allan looked at each other in puzzlement, but Allan responded with his own question: “How is it you miraculously bring objects out of nowhere?”

“I have them stored in another dimension.”

“Then maybe you have answered your own question. It just is, it is what Were have always done. It’s like asking why we breath,” detailed Allan.

“Do Were have any problem wearing metal?” was Cameron’s follow-up question.

“A Were may wear what they choose, if wearing a suit of armour is to their liking, so be it. Although it does chaff badly,” enlightened Ella. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve wanted to give Lynn a gift, but I didn’t know if it would … get lost,” reasoned Cameron.

“She would treasure it, no need to fear her misplacing it,” advised Allan as his eyes zeroed in on a distraction across the hall. “This can’t be good.” He murmured, standing in response to a party coming their way.

“So this is the upstart who claims to be the Golden-Eyed saviour,” accused the interloper, trailing an entourage of hangers-on.

“I’m Cameron, who might you be?” said Cameron as he raised up and turned to face the confrontation, offering his hand in greeting.

“I am the real Golden-Eyed man!” boasted the man, slapping Cameron’s hand away, his arrogance purposely meant to intimidate. ”I was approved by the Oberon, and anointed by the Counsel of Elders. What gives you the right to claim my place?”

“Where have you been?” asked Cameron.


The man was startled at the question, he hadn’t anticipated such a sarcastic response. “That is none of your concern.”

“I just find it odd, seeing how that the Golden-Eyed man - was nowhere to be seen during the Were's fight against the Bastard’s forces.”

“I was rallying support, building up my army to wage war.”

“Well, at least you’ve finally arrived: a day late and a penny short I might add. Oh! In case you hadn’t heard: the Were won.”

“A single battle doesn’t win the war,” he sneered in contempt.

”I’m curious, what strategy had you planned to employ to defeat an army of the corrupted, without succumbing to the Bastard’s machinations?”

“The Were would fight to our last breath, as the Were have always done.”

“Good thing it didn’t come to that, otherwise nobody would be left standing here.” Cameron said that so all around could hear, the growing audience coalesced around them and murmured assent to his statement.

“None of your trickery human,” he mocked, attempting to sway the crowd by dividing loyalties. “Only a pureblood Were is fit to lead the people. I challenge you to combat. To prove once and for all who the real prophesied Golden-Eyed man is. Then I’m going to claim the Pantheress as my bride,” he leered when saying the last. “I’ve waited a long time for her to present herself to me.”

“You’ll be waiting a lot longer buddy,” declared Cameron becoming annoyed, and dismayed at his affront to Lynn. “Tell me, what does a challenge involve?”

“You see! This pathetic human quakes in his boots crying for his momma like a frightened weanling. Is this your saviour? Is this your path to greatness? Then you lack vision and honour just like this whelp!”

It had devolved into a spectacle, a performer stepping onto a stage into the spotlight to win the favour of his audience. Cameron knew he was being set up, it was obvious, win or lose this buffoon only wanted to disgrace Cameron. It stung having the memory of his mother sullied, but to threaten Lynn - that he couldn’t let slide.

“I have plenty of honour, and these good people have already proved their worth. All you’ve ever done is spout off without considering which way the wind is blowing. Teresa left you hanging, I can promise you her daughter will do the same,” cautioned Cameron. “But if you’re itching for a fight, I’m willing to oblige. It’s just that I’ve never been challenged before, I don’t know if I’m supposed to kill now, right where you stand, or humiliate you first and then kill you.”

“Big words for such a small man, or should I say boy.” He stood pressing against Cameron, looking down his nose at him, his smile held no humour only animosity and hate.

Ella intervened, providing the insight needed: “A challenge is a test of worth, it is a duel of wits, skill, strength, or speed. Not usually to the death - that depends upon the contest and what weapons are chosen.”

“Who chooses?” sought Cameron, not letting the man’s presence intimidate him.

“If accepted, the one challenged picks the contest,” supplied Ella.

“And if the challenge is not accepted?”

“It is taken that the challenger was in the right, his claim was just and true.”

“I see, it’s a case of fight for your rights then. Very well, I accept the challenge.”

“How do you wish to meet your demise?” insinuated the challenger.

“I choose a game of Darts,” informed Cameron.

“You jest! You mock our traditions, you worthless - human,” derided the haughty man.

“Not at all. What I propose is we throw darts, a simple contest to pit our skills at marksmanship. The winner gets named the sole Golden-Eyed man,” Cameron needed to ensure all understood his motivation. “But let me be clear, the Pantheress decides her own future, nobody forces her against her will. Do you agree?”

“What are the rules of this game?”

“The game is called ‘around the world’, or a variation of it at least. We take turns throwing darts at a rotating dart board. The game requires we throw three darts into each of the twenty numbered wedges, a dart needs to land in the single point area of a wedge, plus one dart must land in the outer ring, one dart in the triple-inner ring. The game requires a player to finish placing darts in each wedge, going all around the board, before hitting the bullseye's ring and button, the first one to do that wins the game.”

“Agreed. You’ve already lost, I’m my tribe’s most accomplished hunter.”

A line was drawn across the floor that the contestants had to stand behind. Cameron fashioned a stand with a motor to turn the dart board which rotated on its axis 360 degrees, the board’s face was only seen momentarily by the contestants as it turned completely around. The speed was timed to ten rotations a minute and controlled by the scorekeeper with a switch.

After selecting three darts each from the hall’s collection, they each threw practice darts at the stationary board to get a feel for them. Then the contest started after a coin toss to see who went first, Cameron would throw second.

The board turned while the obnoxious man rocked back and forth trying to time his throw with the board’s movement. His first toss hit the board’s outer rim and bounced off the metal cladding, his second throw connected and stuck, as did his third - although in the back of the dartboard.

Cameron took the mark and stood fast, he watched the board for a moment, then in quick succession made his throws.

The scorekeeper stopped the dartboard to count the points. Cameron had put his three darts into the 20 wedge, hitting the triple, double, and single point marks. His opponent placed a single 18, his only scoring dart.

Cameron asked: “Have you a name, or do I call you Mud?”

“Quellen, a name you won’t soon forget.”

“You’re up Quellen, try a little harder won’t you, it could become embarrassing otherwise.”

Quellen managed to make all his darts stay, as did Cameron. The tally for Quellen was a single 14, a single 12, and a dud that had stuck into the board’s outer edge. Cameron threw all his into the 19 wedge, clearing it off his score.

On the third throw Quellen hit a bullseye, along with a double 12, and a single 19. Cameron continued to pick off the 18 wedge.

The scorekeeper had to wipe off the bullseye from the board since it didn’t count until the game’s final toss. Quellen’s supporters hissed in displeasure.

Cameron kept throwing at the board hitting the numbers sequentially in decreasing succession, he was into the single digits now. Quellen was falling far behind, only hitting wedges completely at random without rhyme or reason, rarely did he find the double or triple spaces.

The combatants were well into the game when Lynn and the Elders entered the hall. Cameron could tell that Lynn was angry, furious even. She glared at the Elders who wisely kept a safe distance from her. Lynn sat beside Allan and he brought her up to speed on the situation speaking in hushed tones.

The match was proving to be no match at all, Cameron commented: “Perhaps you should eat a sandwich.”

“Why?” sneered Quellen.

“If you’re the best hunter in your tribe, you must be starving,” illuminated Cameron.

Quellen huffed in displeasure, not deigning to answer the insult.

Cameron had methodically filled in his trip around the world, his score on the whiteboard stating he’d filled all the wedges. He only had the bullseye left to finish the game on his next turn.

Quellen stepped up to the line for his turn to throw, he was in a foul mood since his score lagged so far behind, his tally had gapping holes considering his lack lustre performance. As he readied his dart, he failed to begin his customary sway linking his timing to the board’s rotation. Quellen quickly spun and chucked the dart in hand as hard as he could, aiming at Cameron’s head. He clutched the two other darts into his fists to use as daggers when he jumped at Cameron, he began jabbing them at Cameron’s back.

Ella had spotted Quellen’s lack of normal behaviour, plus how Quellen’s companions had dispersed throughout the hall - his fan club had been rooting loudly for him, but had become silent when his score had fallen far behind. Ella alerted Allan, so he and a few trusted Were circled to track down troublemakers in the crowd, the hall was full of spectators who’d gathered to watch the event. Ella had caught Cameron’s attention, wordlessly indicating with her eyes of a potential escalation. Cameron acknowledged her concern.

The flung dart sailed at Cameron’s head, to be held suspended in mid-flight, inches from embedding into Cameron’s left eye, the projectile’s forward thrust was stolen much to Quellen’s shock, and the audience’s surprise. Quellen recouped quickly, his attack pushed Cameron down onto his knees, exposing his back, which Quellen repeatedly stabbed with his impromptu spears. However, Quellen’s blows had no impact since they didn’t connect, Cameron had raised his energy-absorbing field which stopped the dart strikes cold before inflicting injury.

A long sharp knife was withdrawn from Quellen’s boot, he wielded it in favour rather than the ineffective little darts. The golden eagle shifter took on a berserker’s demeanour; all or nothing, he was beyond reason, his vision clouded by images of his own greatness being in danger. He drove his knife at Cameron’s neck, his strike was thwarted when his knife was cleaved clear in two, the blade sliced off mere millimetres above the handle.

Quellen gasped in astonishment as Cameron’s blazing gold sword was sunk deep into his chest. The blade was immaterial at the moment, but could become solid and cut the man in half if so desired.

“Not only are you a sore loser, but you’re also a backstabbing coward,” pronounced Cameron, his voice bold and commanding as it echoed off the hall’s walls. “You’ve lost in every sense of the word,” claimed Cameron. “What’s more, you have threatened the girl I love. Sullied my dead mother’s name. You only get one chance: Run away, or fly off, just get out of my sight.” Cameron withdrew his blade to then place the tip under Quellen’s chin, tipping his face to look at Cameron: “Know this: If I ever see you again, I’ll pluck you like the chicken you are.”

Cameron pointed his blazing gold sword at the door, an indicator that Quellen should leave. Quellen scrambled on all fours to make a hasty escape, once he had his feet underneath him, Quellen shifted into his golden eagle form, taking that shape a few feet shy of the hall’s exit door. Quellen hopped the last distance to get outside, he then spread his wings and departed in as quick a retreat as he could muster.

Half of Quellen’s groupies also fled, to join their disgraced leader. A few remained behind, dropping to their knees in disgrace, seeking forgiveness from their fellow Were.

Cameron disappeared his sword, it could have gone much worse, bloodshed had been avoided. Stepping to the dart line, the scorekeeper took his cue and turned on the board’s rotation once more, Cameron threw his last three darts, one sticking into the bullseye’s outer ring, the last two placed dead center into the bullseye’s red button.

“And that, as they say, is all folks,” stated Cameron.

Lynn had stayed impartial during the match, too many eyes watching her every move. This whole contest, this whole day had been contrived by those who wanted to get rid of Cameron, and get her to submit under the Council’s control. It was all about ensuring their place - so that their future went unchallenged. Cameron shattered all anticipated outcomes and spoiled those plans.

Victory meant that Cameron could not be denied his role at her side, now it wasn’t just Lynn, the Council had to bend to their will. Now the Council not only had to contend with an unaffiliated outcast, but a wildcard human as well.

Wrapping Cameron in a hug, and kissing him in public, Lynn’s display had the staunch pureblood Were cringing. It closed the door on any jockeying to prevent the Golden-Eyed man and the Pantheress from assuming leadership among the Were.

Ella and Allan joined Lynn in congratulating Cameron, although they only shook his hand and gave him congratulatory pats on the back.

“When did you become so good at hitting targets?” sought Ella.

“I took a firearms course. Turns out I have very good hand-eye coordination.”

~o~O~o~

Cameron had been coerced into leaving the rotating dart board as is, everyone wanted to try it out and it had become a huge attraction among the Were. He’d have to check with Debbie to see if it could be patented. The atmosphere among the Were had become frosty, Cameron was welcomed amidst the Medawihla but some of the visiting guests had attitude problems.

Lynn was constantly being assailed by some group or another, and often sharp words would be spoken. The animosity on display was upsetting, so it wasn’t all that surprising when Lynn asked if Cameron was ready to leave - code for ‘get me outta here.’

A suitable excuse was made, one that allowed Cameron and Lynn to cut short their weekend plan.

Ella and Allan sat up front in the Jeep on the drive home, with the top secured overhead it held at bay the cool night air. Lynn slumped against Cameron, exhaustion oozed from her. She’d tired from dealing with contentious people who wouldn’t relent from applying pressure.
Lynn’s presence threatened their relevance and hold on power, she wanted no part in their schemes, there was no future down that path.

Cameron held Lynn tight, letting her rest her head on his shoulder, she revelled in the peace it afforded her.

“Thank you for today,” confessed Lynn. “Winning that challenge halted a power grab, and silenced a coming storm. I wasn’t sure you’d accept, then I’d be in even worse straits.” She didn’t look up at Cameron while explaining her reasons, ashamed she might have damaged their relationship, lost his trust. “I need you by my side, always.”

Cameron quietly shushed her, encouraging her to stay leaning against him. “I understand, it was a rough day for both of us,” he comforted her. “I learned something though. I hadn’t known that Were retain their belongings when shifting.”

Cameron retrieved something from out of his dimensional holdings, it was wrapped in a delicate green pastel colour scented paper tied with a dark green ribbon and bow. “I’ve wanted to give you something for a while, I hope you like it.”

Lynn took the gift and savaged the wrappings to get inside. In her hand was a pendant, the lustrous green stones shaped into a cats paw print, the setting was surrounded by thick gold. The gold’s deep yellow created a beautiful backdrop to highlight the deep green gems’ dazzling glimmer. Attached to the pendant was a woven gold chain that was supple yet strong.

“Are you proposing to me?” asked Lynn, such a gift among Were had significant meaning.

“A promise,” corrected Cameron, knowing that the right time wasn’t now. “I promise that nothing will stop me from loving you. I fought for you today, I will fight for you every day hereafter.”

“Are you sure?”

“As certain as I can be of anything,” confirmed Cameron as he tenderly kissed Lynn’s cheek, she flushed from the display, slipping the necklace around her neck and closed the clasp.

“Deal,” she replied and kissed Cameron on the lips.

The moment was spoiled by a harmonized “Awww,” coming from the front seats occupants. Chaperoning has its rewards, like ruining tender expressions of affection by making them uncomfortable. Isn’t that what having family is all about? Especially big brothers.

Cameron and Lynn rode in silence, Lynn slipped into sleep still holding Cameron’s hand and leaning heavily upon him.

The gates to Whateley Academy stood closed, the guard opening them for the stopped vehicle. The uniformed man approached the Jeep, asking: “Are any of you Outlook?”

Cameron identified himself, being told:

“You’re wanted at Doyle. Your friend was attacked.”

End Part 5

Stay tuned for Part 6

Whateley Academy

“Your friend’s been attacked.”

The words sent a shockwave through the boy, and the others inside the vehicle. But it was Cameron who moaned audibly, his vocalized “nooo!” indicative of how deeply upsetting the news was. Cameron’s insides wrenched, while the Jeep lurched forward.

Cameron had feared the worst, that having his associates come to Whateley, how they too could be targeted, because of who he was - what his assignment was. Events proved that his concerns hadn’t been misguided. As sayings go, as they often do, and proved true: “The friend of my enemy is my enemy.”

Ella drove her Jeep hard down the gravel road, coming to a screeching halt with rocks flying in the parking lot closest to Doyle. Cameron was beckoned to rush into Doyle Medical Centre. Lynn called after him, saying: “I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” as she with her brother and Ella … sister-in-law she supposed would be the best moniker to describe the Oberon warrior now, walked over with more decorum.

“We’ll stick around,” offered a visibly concerned Allan Franklin, in a show of compassionate support to his sister.

Lynn smiled at her brother, his concern was endearing, he was going to make a good mate for Ella. Ella for her part, was ready to protect and defend her friends - family. You could see it in how Ella was clenching her fists and was instinctively analyzing their surroundings for threats.

“You should come in and say hi; the gang is gonna love seeing you again,” recommended Lynn. Sometimes a distraction when distressed lightens the moment, knowing that others share your pain. Lynn was certain any friendly face would be welcome.

Stepping into Doyle’s admitting area, they found the members of Northern Lites: R.E.D., Werx, and Max. Cameron had already been taken into Intensive Care, with little more than a wave of greeting to his teammates in the waiting room.

Rho gave Ella a warm hug, while Lynn made introductions for the newcomers: Debbie and Max.

“What happened?” sought Lynn, a question her friends hadn’t expected to come from the Precog.

“Don’t you know?” wondered Deb, it didn’t make sense that she wouldn’t.

“Sorry, no clue,” admitted Lynn, it then struck her that she truly had no inkling whatsoever as to what had transpired, it was like a black hole had swallowed up an entire block of events.

“Tim was found outside Emerson, he’d been hurt - bad,” supplied Rho, hating to be the one to say it out loud, like as though it wasn’t real until someone admitted it.

Lynn hung her head, had she seen this - she would have done something to prevent it. That fact sat heavy on her heart. Allan reached out placing his hand on her shoulder, a gesture saying it wasn’t her fault.

“Is the perpetrator in custody?” questioned Ella, ever the practical one.

“We haven’t been told. Rachelle and Charlotte are in with their brother, it was Rachelle who alerted Whateley that Tim needed help. We don’t know what Security has done about it so far,” detailed Rho.

“Then perhaps Allan and I will go sniff out the scene. No point in us all waiting, I’d rather be doing something useful,” informed Ella. She received nods of acceptance from all present, they too felt similar but didn’t want to drift off and not be there for the team.

“You’re not students, Security won’t like having you wandering around campus,” interjected Deb.

“I have no intention of letting Security see us,” assured Ella over her shoulder as she and Allan walked away.

~o~O~o~

A red fox and a black-as-night panther stole into the shadows, silently and stealthily, traits of predators on the hunt.

Allan was unfamiliar with Whateley Academy’s grounds, so he followed Ella as she deftly wove her way through the trees and shrub beds that adorned the school, the natural camouflage providing adequate concealment for a nocturnal adventure. Emerson cottage only had one side that faced the trees, it cut down the potential areas for an attack to have taken place.

Both Allan and Ella were proven hunters, with enhanced senses sharp as one might expect of apex predators. With Ella being a fox, a member of the canine family, her sense of smell was unrivalled. Both of them scouted out the site where Tim had been accosted. They sifted through the evidence left behind, scents from three Security / Medics, Rachelle and Charlotte.

But underneath all that, were the unmistakable traces of two others, they came from, and returned to Emerson Cottage, which narrowed down the field considerably. One of them had a fondness for spearmint chewing gum, to mask his bad breath, and used a medicated skin cream that left a pungent smell. The second person excessively used scented hair care products and deodorants, and liked ketchup which left a lingering trace.

Ella might not know what they looked like, but she could easily find them just from their smells. A quick look at Allan, and he too had the trail. Ella paused, something on the wind caught her attention, Allan picked it up too.

A look and a bob of her muzzle told Allan what Ella planned. Allan glided silently through the shadows to the left, Ella darted through the undergrowth to the right. Ella broke through the trees to watch a rabbit move under the cover of an overhanging branch, it sat on its haunches, wide-eyed and attentive to every sound.

Ella moved out into the open, the rabbit’s attention was transfixed on her and it lowered itself down to avoid being seen. Ella ignored the rabbit, choosing instead to stealthily creep across the grassed area nearing Emerson’s front door, illuminated only by a single light posted on the walkway. The fox checked that her targets had entered the Cottage in question.

Allan used a burst of speed plus the cover of darkness to snatch up the rabbit in his jaws, he didn’t use his teeth - only pressed down with his mouth. The rabbit had such a fright that its heart nearly stopped, but it didn’t struggle to escape. Ella joined Allan as he moved further into the dense copse of trees, away from prying eyes.

Allan gently deposited the rabbit on the ground and backed away to give it room. Both Ella and Allan shifted back to human form, as did the rabbit.

“My apologies for the less than courteous introduction,” offered Allan. “We hope you might be able to help us, a friend of ours was attacked recently near here.”

“Swift, yes, we had been told to keep an eye on him,” informed the Were rabbit, he was a few years older than Allan.

“We?” puzzled Ella.

“We; I am one of the Watchers assigned to observe the goings on here at Whateley. Too many times have these humans endangered our home, then attempted to hide their misdeeds from us, flaunting Were rules. The Medawihla have posted Watchers as observers ever since the events of last year.”

“Did you observe the attack upon Swift?” questioned Ella.

“Yes, I reported it back to the tribe already. Is that why you're here?”

“We had been with the Pantheress and the Golden-Eyed man.”

“Aware and Outlook, are they well?”

“They are attending to Swift. What can you tell us of the attack?”

“Swift arrived with two pizzas, both heavily ladened with meat: pepperoni, and salami have got unmistakable aromas. He was only inside for a couple minutes, but he was forcibly dragged outside by two youths, bigger than Swift but they both displayed unnatural strength for their size.”

“Exemplars or Bricks,” deduced Ella.

“Bricks,” added the Were rabbit. “Swift attempted to fight back but his blows fell short. The boy was taken into the trees and beaten viciously. His assailants laughed as they struck him, they enjoyed inflicting pain.”

“You didn’t intercede?”

“Watchers watch, we don’t meddle in the affairs of men unless it impacts the Were.”

“Can you identify who did it?”

“I don’t know them, they’re new students housed in Emerson. One called the other Diesel.”

~o~O~o~

Lynn sank into one of the chairs, holding her clenched hand against her forehead in an obvious show of dismay.

Rho sat beside her, pressing her shoulder against her friends. At such a moment she hated not being able to touch, to provide simple consolation. But her emotions were in such turmoil her hands nearly glowed crimson.

Lynn sputtered, “I should have known. Why didn’t I know? Of all that Precognition provides, why not this? Of all things - why not be able to protect my friends?”

“It’s not your fault,” expressed Rho. She could never know just how much her roommate saw of the future, but she didn’t blame Lynn for what happened.

“Where’s Cameron?” requested Lynn of her team.

“A nurse took him back, the second he stepped through the doors,” informed Deb. “They’ve only let Rachelle and Charlotte see Tim so far,” detailed Deb of the situation. “Why did they let Cameron in?”

That Deb didn’t know the extent to which Cameron could alter matter wasn’t a surprise, she was new, she hadn’t had a chance to see what all Cameron could do. But Doyle and Cameron had a history, so it wasn’t a shock that they wanted him inside.

“He healed me when I was shot by the MCO,” explained Rhododendron. “I’m sure he’ll be able to help Tim.”

~o~O~o~

Cameron had been escorted into Trauma Room 1, not his first time in this room, or second, or third for that matter. Standing off to one side were Rachelle and Charlotte, they had both been crying, and Charlotte still had the look of distress that said she might start again any moment. Rachelle bore a more stern look, she’d moved past the initial shock and had entered into an anger fuelled mental zone. The sisters held hands, a sharing of emotion and support between the two.

Speaking to the sisters was Franklin Delarose, ascertaining how Rachelle knew that Tim was in trouble, their whereabouts at the time, the pertinent details to eliminate them as suspects. It was a classic assumption that whoever reported a crime was guilty of it.

Cameron gave a cursory gaze at Timothy lying on the examination table, blitzed on sedatives, and stripped of clothes with only a sterile sheet covering his midsection. Displays monitored his vitals and an IV drip administered a steady dose of morphine. His quick assessment resulted in Cameron emitting an audible “Oye!” at the extent of damage his friend had taken.

“What happened?” asked Cameron.

Delarose created a wall between him and the girls, preventing any interaction between them until his questions got answered.

“Where were you?” the Security Chief demanded, again working under the assumption that everyone was guilty until proven innocent.

“I’ve been off-campus visiting the Medawihla, both Lynn and I. We were informed at the front gate that I was needed at Doyle. I just walked in the door now.”

“When did you leave Whateley?”

“Early this morning, before breakfast. How long ago was Tim hurt?”

“I’m asking the questions.”

“The longer we wait, the worse off Tim’s gonna be. He’s only getting ten percent of the blood he needs to keep his left leg. It could fall off before you finish, so please, tell me when and how this happened.”

“He’s right Chief, we’ve got to act quickly if we have any hope of saving the boy’s legs. You’ll have to wait to conduct an investigation. Please!” requested the doctor, a man Cameron didn’t know.

“Fine, it can wait,” relented the big man. “I’ll expect a full accounting tomorrow,” his condition for stepping aside. Before leaving Franklin turned, saying: “I hope he recovers.”

His comment burst the dam and Charlotte broke into tears.

Cameron moved to the bedside and began his scan, while Rachelle provided the details she had pieced together: “Tim was delivering pizza, he was leaving Emerson Cottage when he was assaulted and dragged into the bushes. He’s been beaten up - badly. I notified Security when I sensed something was wrong with my brother.”

Rachelle sobbed, it took her a few moments to recoup her emotions. Charlotte hugged her sister which had the effect of Rachelle almost collapsing, if not for Charlotte holding her up. Charlotte took up the narrative: “Tim was wheeled into Intensive Care right away. It’s been maybe a half hour since Rachelle first freaked out, I called for medics to meet us at Emerson,” Charlotte shuddered before stating: “They want to cut off his legs … Tim couldn’t live with that … where have you been?”

Cameron cried, tears welled up and forced him to blink repeatedly, water rolled down his cheeks. Cameron wiped his tears away to then hug Rachelle, which Charlotte joined. He didn’t offer an explanation, he’d let his friends down, it was inexcusable.

“Can you help him?” begged Charlotte, that hope is what they’d held onto - how they’d coped so far.

“I’ll do everything I can,” assured Cameron. “I’m going to need quiet to focus. It would be best if you two went back to your room and tried to get some rest. Ask Max to take you, I’ll stay with Tim.”

“We both know Max wouldn’t hurt a flea,” admonished Rachelle.

“That makes him the perfect person to guard you. Besides, nobody in their right mind would dare try anything with Max around,” assured Cameron.

Tim’s sisters wanted to object, they wanted to stay close, they were family, all the family they had left. The bond they shared was tight and had only grown stronger since their father had cast them out. Rachelle stepped bedside and laid her hands on Tim's forehead, the psychic link she formed calmed Tim’s thoughts as she imbedded the knowledge that he was loved.

Rachelle addressed the doctor: “I eased his pain, and tried to calm him down.” Her look to Cameron was filled with desperation and hope. The conflicting emotions bespoke of the faith she placed upon Cameron, a reliance that put added weight onto the boys shoulders.

Stepping into the waiting room, Rachelle and Charlotte were overwhelmed by the outpouring of concern from their teammates. The commotion made was such a disturbance that the nurse on duty asked them to leave.

The whole team walked Rachelle and Charlotte the distance over to Dickinson Cottage. Lynn made a point of walking beside Rachelle, her head hung low.

“I’m sorry,” confessed Lynn, unable to look her friend in the eyes.

Rachelle considered what Lynn had said, replying: “You didn’t hurt Tim.”

“No, but if I’d seen what was going to happen, we could have … I could have prevented this,” confessed Lynn.

Rachelle stopped walking to confront Lynn face to face. “Did you know?” Her tone spoke of confusion laced with accusation.

“No, I didn’t,” admitted an ashamed Lynn. “But that’s just it, I don’t understand why. It’s the sort of thing I should have seen coming.”

“I didn’t know Tim was in danger either, until after it happened. There’s enough blame to go around, but it mostly falls on those who hurt my brother. I just hope Cameron can help him, Tim’s only happy when he’s running, if he can’t even walk - it will break him.”

The two girls hugged, the night was cool but their hearts burned. Grief, frustration, and worry, it was a recipe for anger, someone hurt one of their own. Lynn knew the scales of justice had been skewed, she’d speak with Cameron about what would right the wrong.

Resuming their way on the path to Dickinson, they met up with Ella and Allan, in human form. The whole group walked to Dickinson Cottage together, bidding goodnight on the doorstep. From there Max and Debbie departed, Max walked Deb to Melville to then join up with a Security patrol who escorted him all the way home to Hawthorne, no point taking chances.

It had been decided amongst Northern Lites members, that none of them should be caught alone, at least until the reason for the attack upon Swift was determined. The Weres decided to return to Doyle, Lynn wanted to be with Cameron, someone needed to watch his back while he deep dove into Timothy’s anatomy.

Lynn asked her brother: “What did you find?”

“Two Bricks attacked Swift. They grabbed him inside Emerson Cottage and forcibly dragged him outside. It smells of a set up. We should find out who ordered the pizzas, that might tell us who orchestrated this.”

“I can take it from here, you two shouldn’t stay at Whateley, it’ll get Security’s hackles up.” advised Lynn.

“About that. I was wondering, would Whateley allow you to receive combat training, as a Were? From a Were?” Asked Ella, raising a growing concern she had as an Oberon, ever since the battle with the Bastard, Lynn needed to know how to handle herself better in a fight.

“Interesting. I already signed up for some basic martial arts, but it only covers human fighting techniques. My reflexes are more cat-like, what I’ve learned so far seems ineffectual, for what I’m capable of.”

“I will speak with Eloise Donner to see about making arrangements,” concurred Ella.

“Alright, ask if Allan could act as Medawihla’s liaison between Whateley Security and the Were’s Watchers.”

Ella and Allan stopped dead in their tracks, it was Allan who broached the subject: “You know about them?”

“Don’t forget I’m a Were too. I spotted them my first day here,” scoffed Lynn, to then add: “I think it’s a great idea, but they don’t need to try and hide from me.”

“Okay then,” acquiesced Allan.

“I need to ask a favour,” segued Lynn.

“Such as?” sought Ella.

“I was approached by the Grove. A World Tree seed was planted, it’s taken root. The forces that keep the Grove alive are getting diverted to feed the seedling, the Grove is dying. I was asked to help find a new home for all those who shelter within the Grove. Will you help?”

Doyle Medical Centre

Doctor Philip Tenant provided Cameron what facts he had ascertained so far. Firstly, he explained that he was Ophelia’s husband, and she’d encouraged him to accept Cameron’s assistance, with any case under his care. All indicators painted an ugly picture about Timothy’s injuries, Swift’s kneecaps had been shattered beyond repair by repeated blunt-force trauma.

It had taken calculated strikes using immense force to inflict so much damage, the damage done included surrounding bones, both above and below the knee joints. It was the doctor’s medical opinion that his knees were unsalvageable, amputation was recommended.

Cameron looked at his friend’s knees, and saw the mess Swift had been left in. Had it just been the kneecaps themselves, surgery to install titanium knee replacements could be considered, but as it stood, without any solid bone to start with, no wonder the doctor believed the only viable option was amputation. Maybe prosthetic legs could be fitted later on, but it meant Swift would never run again.

Tim had other injuries, none as bad as his legs, but still, his beating had been without mercy. Tracing the veins and arteries, Cameron noticed the impeded blood flow, the internal bleeding creating grossly distended swollen, and blackened legs. It was a good thing that Rachelle had suppressed Tim’s nervous system, Cameron would have terminated all nerve clusters below the waist otherwise.

In a quick review, Tim had two black eyes, a broken nose, three cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, as well as internal injuries. Serious, but not critical, so placed as secondary concerns. Cameron had his work cut out for him, he took consolation from having rebuilt a hand for Ahmed, after that, Cameron didn’t feel out of his league helping Tim.

Cameron was aghast, having empathy for Tim’s agony. However, his demeanour was lightened when Lynn discreetly snuck into the room in cat form, hiding under a monitor’s cart, it was a moral boost he needed right now. Cameron dreaded to consider that Tim was hurt because of him, but that needed to be put out of his thoughts right now, first came Tim’s immediate health.

Doctor Tenant anxiously stood bedside, perhaps expecting Cameron to miraculously heal Swift by chanting and frantically waving his hands to and fro. Maybe that’s how magic healing worked, but Cameron didn’t use magic. It took a brief explanation about how Cameron needed to focus his sight on the injury down to the molecular level, to then knit bones back together. He’d need time - not a lot all told, but still, it would take time and much effort in consideration of the extent of damage wrought.

Cameron checked his battery: 83 percent, good, he wasn’t going to run out. But Cameron had also learned he needed to pace how much he did, so as to not overwhelm an injured body. Slow and easy since a body needed to acclimate - recuperate, on its own. Not to mention that too much rapid sensory input could inflict damage upon the mind, sending it into shock, just as bad as when getting injured - even if it’s undergoing healing.

Cameron commenced starting on Tim’s left leg, the bones at the knee had been pulverized, beyond recognition, not much remained but a calcium mush. After a while Cameron would sit in a chair to close his eyes to recoup his vigour, it also allowed Timothy a period to rest. Lynn would join Cameron in the chair and purred as he petted her fur. Cameron didn’t resume until Timothy had stabilized his breathing and circulation resumed. Even sedated, Swift’s body reacted to what Cameron did, it was better to let the swelling go down on its own, allow the body’s natural healing ability to do its job. It was a hard-learned lesson after repeatedly healing himself.

It was well past midnight before Cameron needed to stop, there was more to be done, but it could wait. Doctor Tenant had finished his shift and hesitated before going home, another doctor took his place: Doctor Cho, he stopped in to check up on what progress had been made. Cameron assured him that Timothy was stable. Upon that assessment and the improved vital signs being monitored, Timothy was removed from the Intensive Care ward and placed into a recovery room.

Once settled, with Tim still in a sedated slumber, Cameron slumped into the bedside chair and slept. Lynn found a blanket to cover him, then resumed her kitten form and curled up on him, keeping watch so no one disturbed them.

Dickinson Cottage

Rachelle and Charlotte donned their pyjamas in a wordless haze, just following the nightly routine rather than focusing upon the action. Rachelle was being brave for her little sister’s sake, but she too was upset and only keeping it together by a thread.

Rho was ready to cry as well if either of the sisters shed a tear. When Rachelle asked if Rho would stay with them tonight, she readily accepted. Charlotte and Rachelle huddled together on Charlotte’s bed, letting Rho have Rachelle’s. Sleep didn’t come, sniffles and choked breaths bespoke of worry.

Rachelle waited until Rhododendron fell asleep, she helped slide the Energizer girl into a deep dream-filled sleep. Once certain that the coast was clear, she rousted Charlotte, Charlotte had fallen sound asleep but didn’t complain about being disturbed. The two quietly changed into dark-coloured clothes, to then slip out of their second-story window, with Charlotte carrying her sister in flight away from Dickinson.

Staying away from the illuminated pathways, and using the trees as buffers, they arrived at Emerson cottage. Perspicacious reached out to touch the minds inside, looking for two in particular. At Doyle, Rachelle had helped her brother by dulling his terror at getting beaten, she mentally eased his fear and soothed the pain he was in. Of course, his mind had a clear picture of who attacked him, so now Rachelle did as well.

Perspicacious had also read the minds of Ella and Allan, learned what they knew, that had provided a name: Diesel. It took a couple flybys before narrowing it down, but Rachelle found the perpetrators. A couple of freshman Bricks, sharing a dorm room.

They even made it easy by leaving their window open for fresh air. Charlotte had only needed to disable one security camera during the search, she smacked it with a tree branch that had grown close to the cottage’s wall, a simple decoy to divert suspicion.

Climbing into the room the two Bricks remained asleep, Rachelle ensured they wouldn’t wake up during the intrusion. The Brick on the left was Diesel, the guy on the right called himself Foremost. Perspicacious dipped into Diesel’s mind, he was dreaming lewd thoughts about a girl he’d met. Beneath that, his mind was thrilled with the prospect of being welcomed with open arms into a group called ‘the Brickyard’, a collection of Bricks attending Whateley - he considered it a fraternity. That was also the belief held by Foremost.

It turned out that they had nothing against Timothy personally, they had been put up to beating him to prove themselves worthy of becoming members of ‘the Brickyard’, a hazing, a right of passage. Like guns, they had been pointed and sent off to wreak havoc. These two didn’t know who gave the order, only that it was relayed by Rho’s old foe: Unstoppable. These imbeciles had even gone back to Unstoppable’s room afterward to enjoy pizza.

It left no doubt, these were definitely the ones who’d done it. Undoubtedly lackeys, just the same: that they lacked good sense and a moral compass was no excuse. They were guilty as sin.

Rachelle was livid, how dare they! They had considered it sport, a good time, only a fore-gleam of things to come after manifesting as indestructible Bricks. They enjoyed hurting her brother.

It had been in the dead of night that she, Tim, and Char had had to runaway from home. Ever since then, the three of them had become entirely dependant upon each other, they looked out for each other, always. Rachelle protected her family with the passion a cornered animal would display fighting off any predator who threatened her family.

These two had earned her ire. As a Psychic, boosted by Charlotte, Rachelle let them have it, both barrels.

Having seen Timothy’s pain, his agony, and terror, Perspicacious implanted Tim’s hurt into his attacker’s minds. She wove the conflicting memories into a single perspective, each strike, each injustice, felt like it happened to them. In their minds, they had been attacked by each other, and suffered each blow like it had been afflicted upon their own body. That memory overlapping their attack upon Tim.

Leaving the room as they found it, Rachelle and Charlotte returned to Dickinson. Once back they returned to bed, after adjusting the time on the alarm clock. After a couple minutes Rachelle woke Rho, telling her that Charlotte needed to use the washroom, Rho volunteered to take her, they all went together - safety in numbers.

Only later did the clock get returned to the correct time, once Rho was asleep again.

Doyle Medical Centre

Cameron stirred, sleeping in a chair was never a good rest, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made. Lynn was curled up in a ball on his chest, she’d taken her kitten form and was contentedly snoring away, it was too cute, Cameron didn’t want to disturb her. Remaining still, Cameron checked on Timothy, he was doing well, he had bruises and was swollen, but he was improving.

Cameron steadied his breathing and layered his sight to look at more of Tim’s injuries, ruptured blood vessels in his kidneys and misalignments in his spine took Cameron’s attention away. Cameron was shaken rather violently, he was forced to leave unfinished what he’d been focused upon.

In the hospital room was a member of Whateley Security, the man was apologetic about waking Cameron, not realizing Cameron had been focusing upon healing Tim. Lynn was nowhere to be seen. The Security man asked if Cameron had been here all night, aside from a visit to the washroom two doors down, Cameron hadn’t left Tim’s side.

Lynn entered the room with two cups of hot chocolate in hand. She was also asked of her whereabouts, she confirmed she had been present with Cameron all night, watching over Tim. He could ask the night shift nurse about Cameron and a cat being here. Yes, she was the cat, she needed to confirm that tidbit of information.

The Security man strictly told them to stay put, Doyle had an emergency, and needed everyone to keep out of the way. Tim’s recovery room door was closed and the man stayed posted outside.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Lynn asked.

“Don’t you?” was Cameron’s reply.

“I didn’t see Tim’s attack coming, I … I, I don’t understand - what’s wrong with me?”

“I think I might know,” confided Cameron, reaching out for the cup of hot chocolate, while offering the only chair present to Lynn. “You see, there are events that must happen. It’s the reason I’m an observer. There’s stuff that can’t be avoided or re-directed, it has to be faced head on. I suspect, in this instance, your Precognition couldn’t interfere with what had to happen.”

“Why?” begged a perturbed Lynn.

“People’s motives need to be drawn out into the open,” enlightened Cameron, hoping it satisfied Lynn’s curiosity.

“I’m being tested?” balked Lynn.

“No, not you, I’m pretty sure anyways, but you couldn’t interfere. Preventing something that needed to transpire.” Cameron’s attempt at consoling his stressed girlfriend backfired.

Lynn asked: “Is Tim in trouble?”

“No, I don’t think so. Otherwise, why let me heal him? No, my guess is, something needed to happen to kick open a door. I’m sorry for how terrible it sounds, but what’s happened to Swift may just be the latest salvo in a greater conflict.”

“You better explain yourself,” huffed Lynn, Cameron’s words only raised her ire.

“Students coming to Whateley get checked over upon arrival, in case they’ve been planted by God,” explained Cameron. “Last year I was killed within minutes of arriving here. Ever since then I’ve had to hide who I am.”

“Is that why you keep your eyes covered? Why you have a mental block so Psychics can’t read you? Why you don’t shout to the world that you’ve come in God’s name?” demanded an exasperated Lynn.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, to all the above. People can’t know that God sent me, so I can get close enough to see what’s really going on. Recently, I had to wear a disguise to uncover what the Brotherhood of the Shard was up to. I need to stay below everyone’s radar here at Whateley for the same reason.”

“The Brotherhood of the Shard?” bemused a mystified Lynn.

“A group of fanatics who had designs on conquering the world. Along the same lines as the Bastard.”

“You stopped them?”

“Not me, no. God stepped in before it got out of hand,” illuminated Cameron.

“I’m confused,” confided Lynn: “If God stopped this Brotherhood, why hasn’t he done something about the Bastard?” stated Lynn at the discrepancy.

“Hasn’t he?” retorted Cameron.

Lynn froze, the thought had never occurred to her before, a proverbial lightbulb lit over her head. “All this time, it’s why you’ve been helping the Were. Even though you weren’t sent to do that.”

“You thought you had to trick me into being the Golden-Eyed Man,” revealed Cameron.

“You knew?”

“Not at first, but you were so committed, you willingly gave up everything to help your people. That kind of conviction deserves some assistance, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“It does, you do,” assured Cameron, placing an arm over her shoulder. “You are a rarity, a gem on a rocky shore. God has been willing to bend a little, just like he did when he saved the Were at the Cleansing.”

“You mean the Sundering?”

“It depends on your perspective, but yes.”

“That’s … Wow!”

“The Cleansing removed a corrupt and defunct government which had set its sights on complete world domination, in outright rebellion against God’s will. That old system went on for so long - only because its objective was hidden from sight. Once revealed - it was wiped out - Cleansed. The Brotherhood was a direct copy of Atlantis’s ideals, employing hatred and violence to enforce mastery over man. So it also warranted immediate destruction, just like what happened to Atlantis.”

“How does the Bastard differ?” deduced Lynn, unsure as to the reasonings at play.

“As a cat, have you ever toyed with your prey? Kept it alive to watch it squirm?” postulated Cameron.

“Well, yeah, sorta. But in my defence I did it to hone my tracking skills,” confided Lynn.

“The Bastard’s being used, he may not realize it, but he’s forcing people to show their true colours. It isn’t just a question of black and white, right and wrong, the game isn’t that simple. A person needs to display the qualities that separates them above the base emotions of hatred and violence.”

“But the Were are warriors, doesn’t that make them … us - bad?”

“They also value truth, honour, and dignity. Those are redeeming qualities, and why they’ve been given a nudge on occasion.”

Lynn sat in quiet repose, for all she thought she understood, much was unfounded. It takes time to shift gears mentally and get up to speed.

After mere seconds she smiled, asking: “Do you know why Whateley needs us locked up?”

“Nope. Does it matter why?” jested Cameron. “I’ve learned that sometimes you have to let matters unfold in their own way. There’s a plan, just enjoy the ride.”

“You got anything to eat?” said the hungry Werecat, one must set priorities.

Mount Prometheus Penitentiary

Lady Astarte walked into the waiting area, the high-security facility was renowned for containing dangerous individuals, empowered mutants who’d run afoul of the law. Just how they managed to keep some of the most feared criminals on earth behind bars, that was as big a secret as Mount Prometheus’s location.

To get here Elizabeth Carson had relied upon her heroine persona to even get in the doors. Starting from Arkham, she was then teleported to three places in rapid succession, each time getting screened and scanned. Lastly, she arrived at Mount Prometheus. There were no windows in sight, all light came from overhead illumination and the walls looked to be solid rock. A very imposing place.

The visitation room was small and under constant surveillance from the guards, consisting of just a table and two chairs facing each other was all the room offered by way of comfort. Elizabeth supposed it was a little more personal - to be able to speak in person, rather than conversing between a barrier like in some institutions. In consideration that it was impossible to make a phone call to Prometheus, there was no outside communications - period. No internet, no telephones, rumour had it they didn’t even get cable TV. Outside influence and interference was kept to a minimum.

Heather Merrill was brought into the visitor room, her prison clothes consisted of a baggy yellow jumpsuit. Over the heart were three concentric rings, again larger ones were on her back, they looked like targets - likely were targets, a terrible reminder that you were no longer a free person.

Liz remembered the lovely young lady who had attended her English class, smart, insightful, she had a fondness for poetry that Liz had nurtured and watched blossom. Back then Mysteria had all the earmarks of becoming a heroine, like herself. On instances, they’d even worked together to corral some heinous crooks who used magic to further their activities. That promising life had come crashing down like a house of cards when Liz was called upon to help capture Heather.

Mysteria sat in the chair opposite, her dark brown eyes lacked any of the lustre Elizabeth Carson remembered. The suppression collar around her neck blinked a red light on occasion, it might have been the disconnect to magic that dulled the Mage’s eyes, or the results of her life course.

“Elizabeth Carson, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or do I call you Lady Astarte? How about Miss Champion?”

“Elizabeth will do nicely”

“Yes, a nice cordial visit is in everyone’s best interest isn’t it? Have you come to discuss a poem’s merits like we did in the old days?”

“As enjoyable as that might be, I’m here to talk about your son: Geoff.”

“You’ve met him?”

“Briefly.”

“What’s he like?”

“A bright young man, he could even become an English major like his mother if encouraged to open up some more. When was the last time you saw him?”

“The morning of the day you beat me to a pulp and handed me over to this place.”

“That’s it?” Elizabeth was shocked at the revelation; that had been five … no, six years ago.

“Oh no, we’re pen pals. Just yesterday I received his letter. Single page, nothing scandalous is allowed, no talk about mutants or mutations, otherwise it gets redacted.”

“You’re aware that he’s manifested as a mutant?”

“I guessed as much, judging from how much of his letter was blacked out. Also, he missed a couple of letters, then his latest one was typed - not handwritten, like before. How is he?”

“He has GSD.”

A tear rolled down Heather’s cheek as she closed her eyes to hold them back.

“How bad?”

“It’s one of the more severe cases I’m afraid,” Elizabeth had to force her mouth to say the words, as a mother herself it was devastating news to impart.

“Tell me,” was said in a hushed tone, almost a plead for mercy.

“He has an overactive pituitary gland, it’s something you’d see in someone with gigantism, he measured in last at seven foot seven inches. He’s covered with malignant growths that have distorted his features. Coupled with his body becoming extremely dense, an effect of being a high-level Exemplar, he weighs in at two thousand three hundred and sixty pounds, and still growing.”

“He never said, if he did - this place never let me know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Will he stop growing? Is he …?”

“The people who examined him, they don’t believe his growth will stop. The prognosis isn’t favourable, it’s his heart.”

“Oh dear,” she openly wept. “My sweet little boy. I didn’t know what to think when his letters stopped coming.”

“For him to use a normal pen would be like writing with a toothpick. He’s been provided a keyboard to use, one that can withstand his strength.”

“He’s strong?”

“Off the charts. There’s more I need to tell you: I had a paternity test done.

“I told you who his father is: I was raped by Champion.”

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before.”

“I came to you, you'd worked with him for years, then parted on unfriendly terms. I thought if anyone would believe me it was you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The police were beyond useless, they needed their ‘champion’ to come to the rescue, so did nothing - nothing!”

“Do you remember Scott Morrison?”

“What? Why?”

“You would have been at Whateley around the same time.”

“Boyscout? He used the name Boyscout. He was anything but a boy scout. Every girl I knew had a horror story about him, as I recall I even slapped him for some obscene comment he made.”

“Scott Morrison was the first Champion you killed, he is Geoff’s father.”

Heather Merrill went into a deep introspective trance, there was a war being waged mentally and emotionally. When she raised up her dead eyes she asked the only question that mattered: “How?”

“There have been many Champions down through the years, there’s always a replacement waiting in the wings to take over.”

“But … I figured I botched my first attempt. After he came back when I thought I’d killed him - the first time, I figured I hadn’t finished the job. When he returned a couple of months later, I needed to … then he … Oh God!”

“That was another Champion, it wasn’t Scott.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why tell me?”

“You deserve to know. Meeting Geoff made me realize I haven’t owned my mistakes.”

“If you’re looking for forgiveness, you’ve come to the wrong place. I killed an innocent man, I deserve to be punished.”

“You came asking me for help, at the time I was convinced in the rightness of what we were doing, I pushed you away. All I could see was being a hero. I was blind to the fact that good people can do bad things.”

“What changed your mind?”

“In part its Geoff, why should he have to pay the price for somebody else’s errors? Plus, he had help getting to Whateley, a young man took care of him and has befriended him. The same young man I mistakenly abused and mistreated, and for which I could go to jail.”

“On the brighter side, the cell beside me is vacant, we could critique poetry together.”

They shared a bitter smile.

Doyle Medical Centre

The lockdown ended after a tense hour. Cameron had resumed healing Timothy’s ails, with Lynn providing the presence to allow Cameron to safely continue. Tim was improving nicely, the swelling was reducing and although he had severe bruises, his body was reacting to Cameron’s repairs as hoped.

Cameron had sat to rest when Rachelle and Charlotte entered Tim’s room. At Cameron’s smile, it broke the worry the two sisters had born since yesterday. Cries of joy escaped as hugs of thanks ensued.

Cameron had provided the doctor on duty a breakdown of Tim’s condition. X-rays and a visit to the MRI were slated to ensure Tim was okay. Now, Cameron needed to get some sleep, in a bed, and he wouldn’t mind a good meal too. But before he could leave, Rachelle asked if she could speak with him - privately.

Lynn agreed to stay with Tim, Charlotte asked if she could remain with Rachelle.

Doyle had a small vacant lounge in which they could talk, Rachelle wrung her hands, a cue that something was bothering her.

“How did you feel when you found out your family had been killed?” asked the Psychic.

Cameron had never really talked about his parents’ deaths, coming out of a coma almost eight years afterward hadn’t lessened the blow in the slightest. The issue hadn’t been brought up during training with her mentor, so hearing how they’d died was a wound that had torn her up inside. Now Rachelle and Charlotte had to contend with something similar, Cameron had to steady his emotions to address what was asked of him.

“I wanted to die too. Life meant little without my family,” admitted Cameron.

“But, you’re still here. So …?” dug Rachelle.

“Somehow I found the courage to go on,” it pained Cameron to say that. To confirm that ever since that dreadful day he carried a huge hole in his heart, that a big part of himself had died. But he hadn’t given up, he had a job to do, that thread of conviction had been the impetus to move him forward, to face the challenges and changes.

Until today that is, Cameron could share the hurt and tears seen in Rachelle and Charlotte’s eyes.

“Did you ever find who killed them?” Rachelle’s question brought the situation into focus.

“The agents responsible died at the accident's scene,” confided Cameron. “But I took the MCO to court, they’d orchestrated the whole mess.”

“Did it make you feel better? Winning against the MCO? Putting all of them into jail?” the sincerity of Rachelle’s questions demanded a reply.

“Getting rid of those hate mongers eased my worry that they would keep hurting others. It didn’t solve anything, the underlying problem of discrimination and violence remains,” Cameron tried to look his friend in the eye when saying that, but his head dropped when he saw the agony his words conveyed. “I don’t know that I will ever feel truly satisfied that justice is done. But I have to keep trying and believe God will set matters straight.”

“I found the guys that hurt Tim,” Rachelle’s admission shocked Cameron.

“What did you do?” softly requested Cameron.

“I … we,” Rachelle reservedly motioned to her sister in order to include Charlotte in the telling. “We paid them a visit last night. And …”

“Don’t stop now,” begged Cameron.

“It was two Bricks, Freshmen named Diesel and Foremost. Charlotte wanted to break them in half, I told her no, but …”

“I’m not here to judge you,” assured Cameron.

“At first, I was fully prepared to kill them for what they did,” admitted Rachelle, Charlotte agreed with that assessment by nodding her head. “But, I couldn’t do that, take a life that is, no matter how bad they hurt my brother … it didn’t seem fair.”

“I really wanted to bust them up, like they did to Tim,” inserted Charlotte. “But Rachelle wouldn’t go for that.”

“So …?” sought Cameron.

“I overlaid Tim’s memories onto their minds, they now feel Tim’s pain. Suffer just like he has.”

Cameron gave a heavy sigh, it pained him that his friends had been placed into such a position. He wondered how much of this rested upon his shoulders. “How does that make you feel?”

“It bothered me, I laid awake thinking about what I’d done, wondering if it was - right,” revealed Rachelle, locking her fingers together and squeezing until they turned white, a manifestation of a wounded conscious.

“How about you Charlotte?” questioned Cameron.

“I don’t know, I mean, at first it didn’t seem fair. What with Tim in hospital and all, and these guys sleeping in their own beds without a care in the world. But now, now that they’re getting a taste of their own medicine, not getting off scot-free, that makes it better.”

“You’re putting me in a tough spot,” assessed Cameron. “But I think it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“I … we, didn’t want you to think badly of us,” admitted Rachelle, with Charlotte again nodding her head in agreement.

“As a Policeman; I need to act on what you’ve told me. But it isn’t my place to judge you,” assured Cameron. “Nor am I a priest taking confessions.”

“Yeah, but, you’ve got an in with God. Does he hate us for what we’ve done?” blurted out Charlotte. In saying it, what she meant was, would this distance Cameron from them?

Cameron sat quietly thinking about the situation, to then say: “No, I don’t think God hates you. I’m reminded of the expression: ‘Eye for an eye, Tooth for a tooth.’”

“I don’t get it,” puzzled Charlotte.

“That’s God’s view of justice, there needs to be an equalizing of accounts to obtain balance. It’s why scales are often used to depict justice.”

“But we took the law into our own hands, doesn’t that make us vigilantes now?” stressed Rachelle.

“In the strictest sense, the closest blood relative has the right - no that’s not quite right, the obligation to take vengeance to correct a wrong,” informed Cameron.

“Wait, are you sure? What about the whole: ‘turn the other cheek’ stuff?”

“It’s true, we shouldn’t be the ones to instigate conflict. Perhaps another doctrine to consider is: ‘Treat others as you want to be treated.’ By assaulting Tim, his attackers deserve the same treatment they doled out, that would be what’s fair,” explained Cameron. “That you took a different route, rather than physically return punishment, you mentally repaid them in kind. As long as you are satisfied, then I would say justice has been served.”

“You aren’t mad at us?” exclaimed a surprised Rachelle.

“Far from it. I think you used your talents in an ingenious manner, very creative. I wish I had thought of it,” confided Cameron.

“Will Whateley be mad at us?” was the next obvious question that Rachelle needed to ask.

“Most likely,” admitted Cameron. “They tend to get their knickers in a twist over most everything.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” requested Rachelle.

“How they’ll react is anyone’s guess, after last year’s debacle I can’t even fathom how they’ll react,” deduced Cameron. “However, Whateley now has two more injured students to take care of, no doubt that’s gonna be top priority. Whichever way this plays out, it’s going to be interesting.”

“You’re not going to arrest us?” claimed a shocked Charlotte.

“Whateley doesn’t want me acting as a policeman on campus, so no. I’ll let you decide when you want to speak with Security,” affirmed Cameron.

The Tunnels

Sunday lunch at Crystal Hall had been a quiet affair, the members of Northern Lites ate together - minus Tim, they talked, about nothing really, just went through the motions of ingesting food. That Tim was improving had been encouraging news and allowed his sisters to leave his bedside.

A few well wishers stopped by, most of the Kimbas: Jade, Billie, Toni, Nikki, and Ayla. All the Outcasts, and a few other of Tim’s cottage mates. Poor Charlotte was weary from riding an emotional rollercoaster, it was a toss up if she would laugh or cry every time someone mentioned her brother.

Cameron knew his teammates needed a distraction, something to cheer them up. He had wanted to have everybody present for his big reveal, perhaps the time for showing off was now. Debbie’s space in the tunnels was closest to access from Schuster Hall, so everyone agreed to meet there after lunch.

They all gathered outside Werx’s workshop as she entered each of their biometrics and passcodes into her door’s security system. Although her workshop was large, with everyone standing around there was little extra room inside, not with storage units for tools and materials lining the walls, and a huge workbench taking up an entire end.

Opposite to her workbench was a double-doored storage cabinet, it too, just like the entrance door, had a touchpad. Deb placed her hand on the touchpad and an oddly familiar voice asked: “What, is your name?”

Deb’s face lit up in a huge smile when Charlotte had to ask who that was? “Tim the Enchanter, from Monty Python’s The Holy Grail,” a collective groan came from the group.

Deb gave her codename: “Werx.”

“What, is your favourite colour?”

Deb said her colour, the colour of the trim she’d selected for her uniform: “magenta,” to then inform that each of them had to provide their team colour when asked.

“What, is the airspeed velocity of an unladen sparrow?”

“I don’t know,” provided Deb as she entered her passcode on the touchpad.

“Right. Off you go.” The storage unit’s double doors swung inwards to reveal a passageway hidden behind. It was slightly cramped for Max, who needed to shuffle through sideways, but he managed the ten feet of constricted space Cameron had eked out of the rock.

The passageway emptied into a wide open and well-lit corridor, the team now stood a few feet behind a large concrete block that abruptly ended the corridor. It matched the placement of the sharp corner in the tunnel outside Deb’s workshop. Cameron had them huddle to commence his explanation.

Pointing to the concrete block behind them Cameron said: “This tunnel used to be the main arterial corridor for Whateley’s underground. They sealed it off after an accident forced them to abandon it, then dug other tunnels to go around this section.”

“What kind of accident?” sought Deb.

“Nuclear,” provided Cameron.

“Ahhh, they might call mutants ‘children of the atom’, but I don’t think that makes us radiation proof,” stated Rhododendron, a little pensive about her location.

“That is true. And yes, there was a lot of radiation down here. It’s taken me quite some time to get rid of it, that’s why I didn’t show any of this to you before,” supplied Cameron to allay the collective fears.

“Wait, you are immune to radiation?” puzzled Werx.

“No, not as such. I absorb energy, all kinds of it, including nuclear radiation,” backtracked Cameron, Deb didn’t know Cameron’s history.

“Seriously?” scoffed a dubious Werx.

“Not that again. Yes, seriously. It makes for a nice snack between meals, okay? Can I move on?”

“By all means,” relented Debbie, shaking her head in disbelief.

“So, nobody’s been in here for thirty-plus years. I don’t think anybody even knows it’s here. I checked the school’s records in Beck Library going back into the seventies, and there’s no mention of it, not the accident, nothing. The only thing I could find was in the rose garden: ten people died at Whateley that year, what was the cause - it doesn’t say.”

“So that concrete wall in your room, that’s the other end of this tunnel?” deduced Werx, the pieces falling into place.

“Exactly,” claimed Cameron. “Everything between here and there now belongs to us,” motioned Cameron as he pointed towards the two ends of the long corridor. “Welcome to our new clubhouse.”

There was trepidation amidst the group, news of a nuclear accident and radiation tends to bring that out in a person. Cameron had expected as much, so he handed out radiation monitoring strips, it’s surprising just what you can find in Whateley Academy’s little store.

Cameron showed them the converted classrooms, now exercise rooms and a spa - the sauna and hot pools garnered ooohs and ahhs. He held off showing them what he felt was the ‘piece de resistance’; Hyperbowl.

Opening the door, he let them enter at their leisure, the slack jaws and huge eyes said everything that could possibly be asked.

Charlotte twirled, giggling. She rushed over and grabbed Cameron’s arm, asking: “This is ours?”

“As long as we keep it a secret, I’d say so,” confirmed Cameron.

They wandered around huddled together, checking out the bowling lanes, the arcade, and the eating area that Cameron had re-arranged into a meeting space by forming a single large table in the middle.

Rho stepped up to the Juke Box and cued up Hawaii Five-O by The Ventures.

The song blasted out, as Charlotte started a game of pinball. The place came alive for the first time in ages.

Werx saddled up beside Cameron to say: “We may need to update the Juke Box’s playlist.”

“If you wouldn’t mind taking that job on?” concurred Cameron. “I have some songs I’d like to add, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Challenge accepted,” agreed Werx.

Lynn had gotten a couple of drinks from the vending machine for herself and Max, they sat at the table which everyone slowly gravitated towards. Charlotte was the last to sit down, she was a bundle of joy, this was exactly what she, Rachelle, and the others needed.

Cameron began: “I would like to call the first official meeting of Northern Lites to order. As the first bit of business, I find I need to express that I don’t feel I’m suitable to be our team’s captain.”

Cameron’s announcement was met with noises of dissent. So he continued: “Every team should have a leader, someone who can give direction, make commendation and correction. I can see - like forever, but I can’t carry the lion’s share. I’m distracted, or I should say I get distracted, to use my sight I become dissociated with what’s happening around me. That’s why I think we need to vote on our leadership.”

“I think I speak for everyone when I say we just assumed you would be our captain,” added Lynn. “Is there another reason why you don’t think you’d be suitable?”

“All right. My first priority is to observe the actions and attitudes of those attending Whateley, that is my mission, why I’ve been sent here. At times, that may align with what everyone wishes to do. But I could get assigned something that you can’t be part of. I don’t want to drag you into something that could endanger you - more than I already have.”

“I don’t understand,” added a baffled Rho.

“I suspect Tim’s attack is on my head. On my first day at Whateley last year, I was killed. It wasn’t an altogether unexpected welcome, because God’s enemies anticipated an agent to show up eventually, although they didn’t expect me to return. But, ever since, they’ve been on alert for another to come.”

“You think Tim was targeted?” supposed Lynn based upon Cameron’s admission.

“They’re very good at hiding their true intentions,” enlightened Cameron. “They don’t want to be exposed.”

“The two who attacked Tim believed they would be given admittance into a group called the Brickyard,” informed Rachelle, all eyes turned to her in curiosity.

“Do we know anything about this Brickyard?” questioned Lynn, while Rho had a fit of giggles at the mention of the word brickyard.

“Not yet. Not beyond that it’s a bunch of Bricks, the same ones who made noises about Flambé burning one of them last year,” said Rachelle. “I need to read a few more minds to figure out who’s in charge.”

“And this is why having a Psychic in the group is so useful,” confided Cameron. “It’s also why it would be good if we all learned how to block mind probing.”

“Is that necessary?” contested Rho, she wasn’t sure about someone messing around with her head, but had made progress with Dr. Hewlett already, so … maybe.

“It worries me that Tim’s attack was because something tipped them off. That you’ll all be in danger because of me,” cautioned Cameron.

“Do we even know who this they are?” Debbie’s question came with a hint of sarcasm, but she saw the fear born on the other’s faces.

“That is the question, isn’t it? I highly doubt that a group of Bricks are capable of being in charge, it’s not in keeping with the ‘strong back - weak mind’ stereotype,” commented Cameron. “I’d say we need to let Rachelle explore options.”

Rachelle spoke up: “I’ll focus on Dump Truck and Unstoppable, see what they know - I don’t have high hopes of finding much, for obvious reasons. Calling themselves the Brickyard, it’s kinda dumb.”

Rho burst out laughing at the comment.

“What’s your problem?” insisted Lynn.

In between chortles, Rho got out: “At my uncle’s warehouse, we put all the damaged items into a heap outside we called the ‘brickyard’, to get hauled away as garbage.”

“Okay,” admitted Lynn. “That’s worth laughing over. But doesn’t get us closer to the issue at hand.”

Cameron didn’t want to add speculation, he preferred dealing with facts, but: “I was questioned about the destruction of that church on campus. The insurance investigator had a schedule of who’d used the church before it was destroyed. A group calling itself the Atlantean League held regular meetings.”

“That doesn’t sound so nefarious,” chipped in Charlotte, receiving agreeing head nods from Max and Werx.

“Atlantis is the name used by those destroyed in the Cleansing,” detailed Cameron.

“You might have heard it called the Sundering,” corrected Lynn.

“It depends upon your perspective. It was a corrupt and decrepit system that had to be removed, it deserved to be destroyed because it was in direct opposition to God’s will. Recently, a group called the Brotherhood of the Shard was following in Atlantis’s footsteps, revelling in hatred and violence, they got - cleansed too. I estimate that the Atlantean League is another front to that same ideology, intent upon pushing mutants into war.” Cameron’s explanation took his friends a moment to digest, they shared glances as a means to confirm that they had heard it right.

Rachelle broke the stymie that had formed, “Do we know who’s in this Atlantean League?”

“I don’t know, I believe that’s what I’m to find out,” supplied Cameron, confirming he didn’t have all the answers.

“How are we going to do that?” asked Lynn, speaking for the team.

“Stay alert. If anyone asks you to join a club, it could be a recruitment to the Atlantean League,” instructed Cameron.

“What about you?” asked Rho.

Cameron detailed his role: “I need to keep watch, have people expose their true selves, seeing their reactions and motivations.”

Werx was mystified, this was too new to grasp, she had to ask: “How do you know you can trust any of us?”

“Because God provides me insight. I receive direction in the form of dreams, I dreamed about each of you. That you needed help - divine intervention if you like, it lead us to meet, and become friends.”

Charlotte summed it up by saying: “Wow!”

“In light of all that, having you as team captain only makes sense,” said Rhododendron, who stood: “I hereby nominate Outlook as captain of Northern Lites, all in favour say: ‘Aye!’”

No one objected, however Cameron withheld voting.

“So be it. As my first official act as captain, I appoint Flambé as my assistant.”

Doyle Medical Centre

Doctor Philip Tenant had been dubious about letting Outlook attend to his patient, it wasn’t how a doctor treated those placed into their care, granting an untrained and uncertified person to perform healing. Had the boy been a specialist, perhaps even a mage, he’d have had fewer doubts. But the x-rays he was looking at sealed up his concerns and locked them away.

Ophelia had been right, Outlook not only helped, but had effectively healed the boy’s injuries. The pictures on display all showed Swift’s bones to look solid and healthy. Philip’s latest examination already resulted in decreasing the pain medication the boy was being provided, now Doctor Tenant was certain Swift could be placed into recuperative care, and begin physiotherapy to regain strength in his renewed limbs.

Philip wanted to speak with Outlook, see about bringing him in to aid at Doyle, it would be a boon. But Ophelia had cautioned him that Outlook wasn’t interested in becoming a doctor. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, not after what he’d witnessed.


 “How’s the patient?” Dr. Cho’s question shook Philip from his thoughts.

“Take a look at these x-rays,” offered Dr. Tenant, stepping aside to give Cho room. “This knee joint was beyond salvaging, a total amputation was the only option, before …” The difference between the before and after pictures being illuminated on the board told the story.

“It alters one’s perception of practicing medicine, doesn’t it?” confided Dr. Cho.

“I watched as the boy did it, I still can’t believe it’s possible,” added Philip as he put his nose up against the x-ray to better see the detail captured. “Not even a hairline fracture left. Think of the good that boy could do.”

“It makes you wonder what tomorrow will bring, between mages and now this kid. It makes me feel like a … a witch doctor,” pondered Cho.

“I was worried he would be uttering prayers and performing rituals, like sacrificing some poor little creature to appease the gods. All he did was become very quiet and stared. I did notice a slight blue haze form, but otherwise, there were no indicators.” Philip Tenant spoke from a place of awe.

“Don’t mages need to channel magic with a spell?” asked Dr. Cho.

“What I saw wasn’t magic, he can control the elements,” affirmed Phillip.

“We’ll be out of a job if he becomes a doctor.”

“You think so?”

~o~O~o~

Timothy sat up in bed, sipping on a glass of orange juice. He was slow in his movements, as he always did to pace himself to live in a world that existed at a snail’s speed. But now, he was being super cautious, his injuries still hurt, not as bad, nowhere near as bad, he was still sore.

The first visitor into the hospital room was his twin sister Rachelle, she eyed him up, gave a head nod, and said: “Right.” It seemed to be an agreed-upon cue for his younger sister to also join them.

“Tim’s still addled by sedatives, don’t expect too engaging a conversation,” Rachelle warned. “Not too different from usual.”

“Oh, hardy, har, har. Make fun of the guy laid up in hospital why don’t cha,” retorted Tim.

Into the room also came Cameron and Lynn. Lynn carried a small potted plant with a bow tied on it, she set the plant on the little bedside table before asking: “How do you feel?”

“Groggy, and … slow,” Tim admitted, his sister was right, the drugs he’d been administered made him a touch loopy.

“Anything in particular bothering you?” sought Cameron, oddly his eyes were uncovered, not the first time Tim had seen him without his visor on. The golden glow made him look so very different, you wouldn’t even notice anything else about him other than his shining eyes. Cameron held out a tub of food: “Butterscotch pudding,” explained Cameron. “They said you shouldn’t eat anything solid for a while.”

Charlotte made a noise that sounded like: “Yum,” and made moves to intercept it.

Cameron held up a hand to halt her, then reached behind his back to procure another bowl full of pudding for her. Then offered her a spoon, which she also grabbed before digging in.

“My side hurts,” mentioned Tim, in answer to Cameron’s question.

Cameron spied Tim’s side, looking for anomalies, he had a large bruise, a remnant from internal bleeding. Cameron cleared up the spot, easing Tim’s discomfort. Cameron began a sweep of Tim to spot any other lingering effects from his beating, mostly he had sore and tender spots to contend with, a huge improvement.

There was only a single chair provided in the room so having his entire team present crowded the room. Expressions of goodwill were offered before most of his teammates vacated, leaving Rachelle and Charlotte to comfort their brother.

Heading towards Doyle’s exit, Cameron was confronted by Ophelia Tenant, asking if Cameron would help her diagnose two patients who had been admitted earlier with curious ailments.

Lynn stayed close to act as Cameron’s protector, a role she welcomed since it let her remain at Cameron’s side. They held hands as Cameron focused on Ophelia’s patients, the shared physical contact with Lynn was reassuring.

The two Bricks had been placed into a single recovery room, the curtain was drawn between them for privacy, as much privacy as a thin piece of hanging fabric affords that is. Cameron looked intently at the first Brick in bed, his chart named him as Diesel. Then the second Brick; Foremost. After looking at them Cameron made an expression akin to an amused smile but it was only on one side of his face.

Stepping into the corridor so as to not upset her patients, Dr. Ophelia asked: “What did you find?”

“Nothing,” admitted Cameron. “There isn’t anything physically wrong with them, aside from high cholesterol which could be attributable to a poor diet.”

“That is so strange, they’re complaining about extreme pain in their legs and other places, but we can’t determine why,” confided Ophelia. “At first, we thought they suffered a similar attack as your friend.”

“I’m sorry Doctor, I can’t fix what’s not broken,” supplied Cameron, accompanied with a shrug of his shoulders to convey he couldn’t help her.

“Thanks for trying,” conceded Ophelia. “A Psychic is coming to check them for psychosomatic injuries,” She re-entered the recovery room leaving Cameron and Lynn alone.

“What’s going on?” sought Lynn. The encounter was a little too manipulated to be coincidental.

“I need to speak with Rachelle, let’s go back to Tim’s room,” advised Cameron.

A new guest had arrived to visit Swift, Admiral Everhart was interviewing Timothy to get his statement about being attacked. Rachelle sat in the chair while Charlotte leaned against a wall holding her empty pudding bowl.

Cameron and Lynn were allowed to enter and observe, as long as they didn’t interfere. Everhart didn’t need a notepad or recorder, Hive was directly linked to Whateley’s mainframe so everything said could be saved and analyzed later.

Tim told the story of delivering pizza to Unstoppable’s room at Emerson Cottage, as he was leaving he was accosted in a staircase by two assailants: Bricks, after cornering him they carried him outside. He was taken into a cluster of trees and beaten mercilessly.

Tim didn’t know either of his attacker’s names, he’d never seen them before, and didn’t know them from Adam. But provided the best description he could. With tears running down his cheeks, Tim asked why they would do such a thing?

Admiral Everhart didn’t provide an answer, if she didn’t know, or didn’t care, either way, her silence felt cold and impersonal. It did nothing to help Tim deal with the emotionally distressing effects of his experience, it only added to the mental impact and misery his assault caused.

Whateley Security, as standard practice, required a few additional questions to be answered, like the estimated time of the attack, and if anyone was witness to it. It was very much like being victimized again, in effect saying that Tim deserved what he got for not defending himself.

Cameron understood that Police in general have to remain detached, to not let emotions cloud their judgement, but there was something very off about the non-biologic officer, a human touch was lacking. The Admiral left without even saying: ‘thanks’ or offering a gesture of goodwill like ‘get better’.

Cameron asked to speak with Rachelle privately, when she stood to leave, Charlotte jumped at the chance to sit in the chair, doing so by flying overtop the chair back and dropping down into it. Tim laughed, but groaned holding his side, and coughed, which elicited another groan.

In the hallway, Cameron quietly said; “I was asked to inspect two Bricks, I recommend speaking with Whateley sooner than later, tell them what we know, get ahead of their investigation.”

Lynn surprised everyone by asking that they wait until she returned, she needed to collect something from her room.

Cameron approached Doctor Tenant, asking if he could arrange a conference with Doyle, Security, and Admin. Shortly thereafter Cameron was informed that a meeting was to be held over at Schuster Hall in a boardroom in a half hour.

Rho volunteered to stay and keep Tim company, she’d brought a deck of cards and a can of maple flavoured peanut brittle her family had sent. Rachelle, Charlotte, Cameron, and Lynn walked together the short distance over to Schuster Hall.

En route, Cameron provided Rachelle with some advise: “Answer all their questions, tell them the truth, don’t hide anything from them. Remember, you guys are the victims, don’t allow them to make you feel like you did something wrong. Most of all, treat them with respect.”

“Will you stay with me?” quizzed Rachelle, safety in numbers and all that.

“All the way, but if I can’t, don’t overplay Charlotte’s role, try and keep her out of it, as much as possible,” added Cameron.

“Hey,” complained Charlotte. “I helped.”

“It’s okay Sis, I know you did your part,” soothed Rachelle. “But it’s on me, it has to be on me alone, in case this goes South.”

“Maybe it would be best if Charlotte wasn’t there. Lynn, can you take her back to Doyle?” sought Cameron. Lynn nodded in acceptance.

“But …” Charlotte wanted to object, not willing to leave her sister’s side.

Lynn handed Rachelle a couple of pages of paper.

“What’s this?” asked Rach.

“A witness statement from someone who saw everything,” confirmed Lynn.

Rachelle’s mouth dropped open; “How? Who?”

“I’ll tell you later, it’s best if you don’t know,” responded Lynn, as she gave Rachelle a light push toward the door. “Go, you’ll be fine,” assured Lynn. If that was Precognition or a friend speaking was not conveyed in her comment. “Come on Char. If we hurry, there might still be some peanut brittle left,” tempted Lynn.

It took a second for Charlotte to relent, begrudgingly. But she and Lynn turned around and headed off back to Doyle.

“Good,” announced Cameron, to then continue prepping Rachelle: “Don’t get nervous, you’re just making a statement, not a confession.”

The two walked towards the Admin’s reception area, stepping up to the desk, Mrs Claire directed them to the meeting room that had been reserved for them. In attendance were Chief Delarose and Admiral Everhart from Security, Doctors Tenant from Doyle, Mrs. Shugendo and Ms. Hartford representing Admin.

Barely inside the door, Cameron could sense the tension in the room, a quick look at Rachelle bespoke how she too felt waves of impatience from those in attendance, although much more so than Cameron with her being a Psychic. The door had barely closed behind them, having all eyes trained upon the two youths, Cameron addressed the room: “We have information regarding the attack upon Swift. Officer Everhart just conducted an interview with Tim, and we would like to impart further details to aid her investigation, and for Whateley’s benefit.”

“Why didn’t you speak up before?” sought Samantha Everhart in an annoyed tone.

“Tim doesn’t need to know what we have to say, he’s dealing with enough already,” illuminated Rachelle. The attendees couldn’t dispute her logic.

Before parting, Charlotte had given her sister a boost, so Rachelle was as high a level Psychic now as ever before, and she read the room. Perspicacious knew who was for and against them - her.

It was the Dean of Students who invited Rachelle and Cameron to sit, no one else had seen the need to offer them a place at the table.

“Proceed!” was the directive given by Hive, not wanting to waste any more of her time.

“We know who attacked Tim. Residents of Emerson Cottage, two Bricks named Diesel and Foremost,” provided Rachelle, completely calm and unruffled at the scrutiny.

“How did you come by this information?” requested Security Chief Delarose, it was more than his team knew at this point.

Rachelle handed the eyewitness statement Lynn provided over to the Chief, he read it quickly then gave it to Everhart to scan. That the statement was written on Medawihla Tribal Council’s letterhead was irksome to the pair from Security, judging from Franklin Delarose’s derisive snort, and Rachelle’s grasp of the situation.

“You’ve already approached the Medawihla?” accused Delarose, frustrated at being played.

“Not at all,” inserted Cameron. “But it does appear they wish to be included in your investigation, if their handing over that document is an indicator.”

“Peachy,” mumbled the Security Chief, more hurdles to hinder his work.

“How did you determine that Foremost was an accomplice? He isn’t mentioned in that statement,” asserted Everhart, ever keen on details.

“I read his mind,” revealed Perspicacious, the room was startled at her frank admission.

“I see,” acknowledged Ophelia Tenant. “Did you know that both Diesel and Foremost are currently in Doyle, exhibiting symptoms identical to those of your brother?”

“Yes,” agreed Rachelle. “Outlook informed me he had been asked about their injuries.”

“And?” required Ophelia.

“It’s likely that you haven’t discovered any medical trauma present, physically at least, which would explain their condition,” expressed Rachelle. “The reason for that is: I implanted the agony Tim has undergone onto their minds.”

“That’s completely unethical!” spouted Ophelia, letting her emotions overrule her actions.

“I beg to differ,” refuted Rachelle. “It would be unethical, had I not acted to defend my brother, and prevent any further hostilities.”

“Young lady, you are greatly mistaken about what it means to have ethics,” corrected Ms. Hartford.

“Really! So, it’s Whateley’s stance, ‘ethically’ to let supercharged adolescents run willy nilly around campus without restraint? You consider it ethical to allow teenagers to carry: guns, blades of any size or shape, wield any weapon conceivable, as part of integrating them into society?” countered Rachelle, she had scanned Chief Delarose to glean his greatest concerns and worries, and chose to play upon them. “Whateley actively encourages violence, not only as a means to resolve conflict, but to acknowledge that you cannot enforce law and order on these unruly kids. In effect, you’ve given up trying to enforce control. What hope does society have for a peaceful future?”

“You are completely out of line,” rebuffed Chief Delarose. Only because it was expected of him, in truth, Rachelle had hit every chord he’d been thinking - perfectly! He was ready to cheer for her in his heart.

“To take it down a notch, might I ask Officer Everhart a question,” requested Cameron, receiving no open objection, he commenced: “What percent of crimes typically get solved by the police?”

“Seven percent,” supplied the Security officer without skipping a beat.

“Is that statistic a fair representation, including mutant activity?” was further asked by Cameron.

“That is the national average, most enforcement agencies acknowledge its accuracy,” detailed Hive. “But it doesn’t differentiate between mutant and non-mutant crimes.”

Cameron took the torch and ran with it: “Who of you, if playing a game having only a 7 percent chance of winning, would even bother playing that game? Isn’t it more likely that you would walk away, avoid the risk, and keep your money?” Cameron had cast the net, time to draw it in: “The thing is, this isn’t a game. It’s life, Tim and Rachelle’s life. As Officer Everhart has stated: In all likelihood, a violent crime at Whateley will go unpunished since only 7 out of every 100 crimes committed get resolved. Given those odds, no wonder Rachelle felt it necessary to not let the system fail them, as it did me.”

“You are out of line,” shouted Ophelia, standing in outrage at the affront. To then look around the table and see that no one else had taken up the mantle, especially none from Admin.

“Tell me, please,” begged Cameron. “What crime did I commit, that warranted me serving three months of detention? Which, by all accounts, is the longest punishment ever handed out at Whateley.” levelled Cameron. No one spoke up to provide a response. “That is why Perspicacious could not anticipate receiving a satisfactory response to her brother’s attack. It is also probably why - the average human lives in fear of mutants, because of the example being set for them here - which outright condones bad conduct.”

“Don’t you think what you did was bad? You confessed to committing a crime, we all heard it,” objected Ophelia.

“I took no delight from having to protect my family, getting pushed into a corner, forced to fight,” confided Rachelle. “Until now, I never understood why so many people are gun owners, but if those make a criminal think twice before assaulting anyone, then more power to them.”

“That’s not for you to decide, or place judgement on. You’ve hurt those boys!” pleaded Ophelia hoping to sway opinion to her side.

“Let’s be clear, the crime in question here, was the unprovoked assault upon her brother: Swift. Perhaps that issue should be resolved first, before taking Perspicacious to task,” cautioned Cameron. “Does Whateley have a suitable punishment in mind, fitting for what those two deserve?” questioned Cameron.

“They’re writhing in pain as we speak, isn’t that enough?” contested Ophelia.

“You’re argument is: that ever since Swift has been healed, the injuries he sustained aren’t worthy of consideration?” clarified Rachelle.

“No, that’s not it at all. You can’t go around inflicting pain upon others as retribution,” countered Ophelia.

“How else will they learn?” Rachelle’s reply stung, it held true to the underlying idea of correcting wrongdoing / wrongdoers with prisons and punishments. Rachelle determined that most obstacles in the room had been removed, it was only the doctors who remained to be convinced.

“Did you know they laughed while beating Swift up, like it was the most fun they ever had?” continued Rachelle, appealing to the doctor’s humanity. “Are you prepared to heal the next person they attack? And the next after that? What if they kill someone? Can you face knowing you did nothing to stop them?”

“That’s not the point!” stressed Philip Tenant.

“I am touched that you don’t want me to become a monster, like those two in Doyle. But, you should know, I left a backdoor in their minds,” softened Rachelle’s approach. “If they show contrition, real remorse for what they’ve done, and ask for Swift’s forgiveness. The mental block will disappear. So, it’s up to them, if they want to get better. Unlike Swift, who - thanks to them, would have lost his legs - and maybe his life if he couldn’t learn to cope.”

“You’re coming over to Doyle right now young lady, and removing this mental inhibition of yours,” demanded Ophelia.

“No, I won’t,” refused Rachelle outright, completely set in her conviction. “And I wouldn’t recommend having another Psychic attempt to lift it either,” she cautioned. “A mind is much like a house of cards, pull on the wrong thing and the whole shebang comes tumbling down.”

“You booby-trapped it! Can you live with yourself? Torturing others?” condemned Ophelia.

“I can live knowing nobody’s going to touch my family, not if there are repercussions for raising a finger against us,” refuted Rachelle.

“You have no morals!” Spat Ophelia.

“My morals are just fine, thank you. Do you honestly believe every person in America who owns a gun is immoral? Which is funny, cause your husband has a gun hidden in the nightstand beside your bed,” Rachelle’s revelation brought about red faces. “Since when is protecting your family a crime? Isn’t that one of the reasons why you married a big strong man?”

Ophelia huffed in displeasure, but she couldn’t pursue her argument. Her stand had too many holes in it, holes that Rachelle was easily maneuvering through.

“I’m going to recommend to the headmistress that this investigation be handed over to the Medawihla for reconciliation,” recommended Ms. Hartford, halting the debate. “The situation as it stands, is too nuanced for Whateley to handle internally, given the proximity to Mr. Burke’s existing legal suit, and the headmistress not being able to become involved.”

Rachelle nodded in acceptance, with Cameron vocalizing: “Agreed.”

“Perspicacious, you can expect to hear from the Medawihla shortly. Please reconsider releasing Diesel and Foremost from their mental bindings. That’s all everyone,” dismissed Ms. Hartford.

Cameron and Rachelle were the first to leave, exiting the office Cameron said: “You need to consider becoming a lawyer, you owned that room.”

“What do you think the Medawihla will do?” worried Rachelle.

“Not much,” assured Cameron. “They’re all for letting people settle their own accounts. They as much as had that written into the agreement which lets me stay at Whateley.”

The End
for now

Cameron leaves a coma after almost 8 years to rebuild her life after the loss of her family in a car accident. This story is told under the umbrella of the Whatley Universe, with thanks to it's creators.

Cameron is awake after nearly 8 years in a coma, her family is all gone, but she begins to re-build her life despite heartache and hurdles. Exploring her new life while confined to a bed opens unexpected horizons.

This story is set within the Whatley Universe, those authors have done great work constructing a foundation upon which this tale uses.

Thank you

Cameron has a surprise introduction to the MCO which causes an unfortunate recovery set back, and must face growing pains.

This being the third installment, hope it doesn't fail victim to the curse of the threes and be a turkey - more than it already did when posted earlier.

The story takes place in the Whatley Universe, thanks to it's creators for making such a marvelous playground.

Cameron receives emergency surgery, The value of his abilities begins to get noticed and appreciated.

As this is a series story: it will make more sense if you have read the preceding parts.

The setting is within the Whateley Universe, with much appreciation for the creative endeavors that it took to build.

Cameron takes the first steps along the road to Whateley, retracing her families last day and facing the empty place left behind.

Sometimes a fledgling leaves the nest and winds up taking a tumble and bouncing off the ground a few times before discovering it's wings, that scene inspired this story and seems to fit.

This series of stories is based upon the Whateley Academy Universe, with all due acknowledgment to the authors who made it a fun place to visit.

This format may not load onto all devices: sorry if yours cannot access it.

Eastward bound and determined, Cameron travels to meet the future and gets a surprise along the way.

Honestly this part of the story has been the most fun to write, I hope you enjoy it as much as I.

Since this is a series story, the characters and situations may need you to be familiar with the previous parts.

The setting takes place within the Whateley Academy Universe, from off the hard work of others I get to skip about telling this story.

I regret that not all devices can read this file, sorry that my lack of publishing skills might impede your entertainment.

Cameron learns some of the finer points of being part of a team as the trial finally gets underway, and he gets welcomed to Whateley.

This story occurs within the Whateley Academy Universe, hopefully none of the other students have been harmed in its telling.

Not all devices can view this file, I regret if yours is one of those.

This is a wrap on the A Matter of Fact story arc; Cameron's origin story.

Cameron is only a peripheral character here, as I wanted to explore a different facet.

The story is a bit more intense - I needed to see if my pen could handle it.

Please see comments on Part 7 for direction to view it if you are having a problem.

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’s a Matter of Death and Life: Part 1

By Camospam

Sequel to: A Matter of Fact

Monday September 24, 2007. Whateley Academy: The Quad

 A rising sun is normally an indicator of mornings arrival, unless you’re talking about teenagers; who honestly are completely oblivious. In fact most parents believe that an alarm clock needs to have the most obnoxious noise imaginable set at maximum volume to even begin to be effective at wakening a sleeping teen, that or any Brass Monkey tune will suffice.

 However, the insistent tapping of a truncheon against Cameron’s foot did manage to get the boy’s attention, the act of raising his eyebrows dragged open a single eyelid which revealed a uniformed man standing above him.

“Up witch ya Lad, can’t be havin ya loiterin aboot ta groonds all day new.”

“Okay, okay, I’m up” yawned the exhausted boy who unsteadily sat upright upon the bench he’d been sleeping on, then stretched the kink out of his neck and flexed his arms to get some feeling back into them “Can you tell me what time it is”?

“It’s nearing 8:30, yah’ll be late fer classes if’in ye don’t be git’n a fire lit.”

“I need to go to the office first” reasoned Cameron who then looked around with a worried expression “Umm, could you show me which way the office is please?”

“Oye, one of those mornin’s be it? I’v seen enuff a mornin when I di’na know which way was up till me feet hit ta groond” sympathized the security officer “C’mon, I’m headin tat way m’self.”

“Thank you” offered Cameron as he grabbed the backpack he’d used as a pillow and stood to join the man.

“Av ye a name lad? I’m not tinking to hav seen ya afore” asked the man as they ambled along the walkway.

“Cameron sir.”

“Ach, a fine Scottish name it be, I’m McTavish. Did ye git yerself n’ta a brouhaha tat ye be a sleep’n out in ta cold - sted a nice warm bed?”

“Just needed to catch some fresh air and set my bearings.”

“Aye, a clear head is good t’hav m-boy.” Using his truncheon to point with “Tat builden be ta office - now off with ya - an be keeping yer nose clean young’n.”

“Thank you officer McTavish, much appreciated”

 The ‘office’ was located inside an older brick building, a set of double doors had a sign above it saying ‘Administration’ but a small wood sign standing about knee height and set into a flower bed with shrubs behind it announced that this building was called Schuster Hall.

 Cameron recognized the driveway now - his eyes could identify the old blood hidden within the gravel, a cold shiver ran up his spine so it was with great trepidation that he scanned the surrounding area as a precaution.

 Taking a seat on the buildings steps Cameron took a moment to prepare himself for what was certain to be a barrage of questions. The boy certainly had a few questions of his own that could use answers, like: why did he wake up in a morgue?

 You’d think having coming out of a coma after so long would have been a comparable experience, but in Prince George that was a slow realization with awareness just creeping back slowly - this morning had been a sudden jolt: from absolute blank to full sensory influx. Cameron’s reaction had been bewilderment, then confusion set in, and all the while mixed in with being scared. Sitting in the cold little room he’d started to shake - be it from either panic or being cold.

 He’d quickly found his pack and put on a change of clothes, then left the eerie little room and headed upstairs, then outdoors but not encountering anyone along the way. Cameron had looked up at the school’s shields, intently watching the energy pulsations and studying the multiply layers, after many attempts and adjustments he eventually managed to build some non-interfacing protection based upon his usual kinetic dampening and energy absorbing ability; as long as he kept a safe distance they shouldn’t interact adversely.

 It was only after finishing with the crucial task of being able to protect himself that Cameron - not knowing where else to go or what else to do, found a bench and had fallen asleep.

 Checking the time on his SI phone Cameron decided he’d better break the news to folks back home, so placed a phone call to Special Investigations; but was only able to leave a message for Ray. It was far too early to call Mike Williamson in BC who was 3 hours behind but decided to at least leave a message at his office.

 Entering through the door into administration, the hallway lead down to a reception counter, the office behind it was humming with activity, the open area was divided by desks and file cabinets to separate workspaces, however a conspicuous area was cordoned off into a ‘domain’ in one corner, and a few doors closed off private rooms.

 Cameron was preoccupied getting the lay of the land so didn’t see the lady waving her hand in-front of him, it wasn’t until she ‘asked if she could help him’ that he focused upon her.

“So sorry, just a touch nervous” confessed Cameron.

“Are the ‘blind man’ glasses for real or show?” questioned the administrator.

“A little of both” answered Cameron.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Yes ma’am, I understand I need to register. I’m a new student”

“Oh my!” responded the lady expressing surprise “We didn’t have anyone set to arrive today … what’s your name dear?”

“Do we use code names now?” queried the boy “I’m not sure what the protocol is?”

 The question made the lady chuckle “A common misunderstanding: your real name is fine - but the school makes sure no one knows who you are off campus.”

“Yes Ma’am, Thank you” was said with a smile “Cameron Burke, I had arrived on Friday but was detained until recently.”

 The lady behind the counter dug out a couple of papers, and began scrutinizing the information held within, she seemed to find something but became flustered “Ms. Hartford, could I get your help up front ?” she called out.

“What’s up Mrs. Claire?” replied a woman coming out from behind a bank of file cabinets.

“A new student is checking in, his name is on the list, but - well! It’s been crossed off for some reason.”

“What ever for! Let me see?” resulting in Ms. Hartford taking the pages, then asking the boy “Your name?”

“Burke; Cameron Burke … might be under Alex. There always seems to be confusion since I don’t use my first name” supplied Cameron.

“Burke, Burke … here it is” the woman took on a mystified look, then went back into the inner office to return a moment later “We had everything ready for you last week. It’s just that … according to Doyle - your deceased.”

“Hold on a sec… I might be missing something here.” Cameron pondered for a brief second “Whenever Dad played cards and a move was questionable; he’d always say ‘according to Hoyle’ - which I found out later was a guy who wrote a rule book, so I gotta ask: who’s Doyle?
“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: he wrote …” The woman was set to continue but was interrupted.

“Sherlock Holmes! yes okay, I get the picture.” provided Cameron. “So then - it’s by means of deductive reasoning that I’m assumed dead?”

“NO! It’s because Whateley’s Medical Centre is named after the famous Author, and this report from them says you died!” stated the woman holding another set of pages up giving them a shake.

“But Doyle wrote about a sleuth, and is considered to be the founder of modern forensic’s. Why wouldn’t you have named your police station after Doyle?”

“It’s called Kane Hall” mentioned Mrs. Claire: the first lady he’d spoken to behind the counter.

“Kane? Bob Kane: the creator of Batman? Wait don’t tell me - I’m keen to guess. Detective Comics.” surmised the youth.

“Nailed it” said Ms. Hartford shaking her head in agreement.

“So then Doyle is the medical centre” continued Cameron “… since the stories were written from the perspective of Doctor Watson.”

“I always wondered about that” said Mrs. Claire as Ms. Hartford kept smiling.

“So - I had best be going to ‘Doyle’ and have them confirm that I’m alive” again receiving an affirmative head bob “Since our speaking with each other doesn’t qualify as proof of life.” again the bobbing head reply. “Someone I need to speak with there?”

“Dr. Ophelia Tenant. Do you know the way?” supplied Mrs. Claire.

“I’ll follow the trail of blood.”

 The two watched from behind the counter as the boy left, it was only after he’d exited the building before Claire said: “I hope he was joking about the blood.”

“I was having fun watching the gears grind” grinned Ms. Hartford.

“Really? Then how come we’re the ones left standing here wondering if he’d died?”

“D’oh” muttered the assistant headmistress.

~o~O~o~

 Outlook sat in Doyle’s waiting area, when he had requested at reception if he could have an appointment with Dr. Tenant; he’d had to specify Ophelia. He was told she was running late due to a house call at Hawthorne Cottage assisting Dr. Cho, Cameron was directed to have a seat.

 Having brought his backpack he took out his laptop, only to discover it had sustained damage in the bear attack: the screen was shattered. Cameron thought for a moment before deciding that this was a good opportunity to make a few improvements - improvements that would allow him to see the screen much easier. After effecting repairs to the screen it would be impossible for someone with only normal sight to see the laptop’s display, considering it looked like a TV with absolutely horrible reception.

 Cameron watched from his waiting room vantage point as two young girls entered the medical facility, one assisting the other up to reception, the attendant then had a wheelchair brought for the hurting girl to collapse into, she was taken to a room down the hall to get checked over. The second girl, certainly no bigger than and perhaps a year younger than Cameron looked around the empty waiting room spying its sole occupant.

“This seat taken?” asked the friendly girl with an infectious smile, pointing to the chair beside Cameron.

“Not really, no” replied Cameron “But there’s a room full of empty seats?” He said with a sweeping motion.

“Sure. But you’re in the prime spot; Back to the wall, clear view of all exits. For situational awareness; the next best place is the chair beside you.”

“Then be my guest” offered Cameron.

“Haven’t seen you around! You a Freshthing?” asked the inquisitive youth

“Sorry, a what?”

“A Freshthing, you know; a freshman.”

“Ahhh! guess that’s me. You threw me off there; hadn’t thought I’d gone stale.”

“You didn’t know that first year students are called freshmen?”

“Nope, only used to having grades, you know: 8, 9, 10.”

“What are you? Some kinda foreigner? What happened to your accent?”

“Canadian.”

“There’s a few of your kind on campus: Whateley’s a pretty open minded place … eh? My names Generator.” Offered the big eyed girl.

 Shaking the offered hand Cameron added “Outlook! Still trying to get my head around needing a ‘code name’, but it seemed fitting.”

“Heard worse. What’s with the shades? You shoot ‘laser beams’ from your eyes?” asked the girl using her fingers to make quotation marks.

 Tipping down his visor Cameron looked at the exuberant girl letting her see the golden coloured glow “Nothing more than a pair of bright eyes.”

“Cool. So what then: melt steel, burn rubber, cook flesh?”

“So far; they’ve been quite handy for finding the washroom at night.”

“Really! wait; that’s actually kinda lame.”

“Called it in one! Give the kid a prize.”

“Comedy?”

“I try. Why? What passes for funny round these parts?”

“Lets see: sarcasm, dry wit, puns that cause retching” stated Generator counting off fingers.

“Humourous anecdotes?”

“Eeew; best look into getting those surgically removed, they might fester.”

“I’ll ask the Doc when I see her. Think it’ll hurt?”

“Only when you laugh!”

“Oddly enough, that makes sense.”

“So what’d you win in the powers lottery?”

“Unclassified actually. So far everyone’s just been spit balling. I gather more testing is in my future" confessed Outlook "What about you?”

“Devisor. Wanna see one of my inventions?” she retrieved something from out of one the multitude of pockets, it was a disc bearing an odd-looking cat emblem “I call it ‘Kitty Compact’” it began rotating and took off flying.

 The unfolding story didn’t’ jive with reality; Generator didn’t have an energy signature that looked like Smith’s at all – if anything it was more akin to Decimal but still with huge differences, before the disc took-off there appeared to be a transfer of energy into it and now Generator herself looked less … vital? Also, the disc had no internal workings aside from some wires for lights and sound plus the extending blades - yet it had the same energy pattern as the girl.

“That’s sweet: magnetic or gravity drive?” asked Cameron.

“It’s a secret so nobody steals my ideas” confided the girl holding out her hand as the spinning disc returned. The two noticed from their vantage point that Generator’s friend was being discharged after having been attended to and now had a bandage wrapped around her leg “Guess we’d better get back to class, see you around”.

 Cameron remained sitting in the waiting room doing as the namesake required: waited.

 During this lull he made another phone call to Mike Williamson: his guardian. This time he answered and proceeded to pepper the youth for details, he eventually seemed pacified when Cameron told him he was at the hospital to get a check-up, but Cameron could only fill him in on the details leading up to the attack, and the more recent events of this morning. Cameron promised to call back since the lady at reception had called three times for “Outlook” and it didn’t immediately click that that was him.

 Cameron was shown to an examination room, and told to climb onto the table and that the Doctor would be with him in a minute.

 The person who entered next wore doctor whites, she had long hair which had an energy signature imbedded within and moved contrary to normal, the woman also had a different kind of energy pocket centred in her chest which Cameron had seen similar to before but had not identified yet.

“I was told you asked specifically for me to do an examination” said the lady.

“Yes Ma’am, I’m Cameron Burke” answered the boy

 Watching the woman faint was like having everything shift into slow motion, she twisted in a spiral as she crumpled downward collapsing to the floor, her hair looking like wings fanning out behind her.

 Cameron quickly recalled a mattress from warehouse and positioned it beneath her, thereby catching her fall. Then the boy snagged the pillow off the exam table using it to prop up her head, Cameron began to gently put her into the recovery position; it only took a few breaths before she revived.

“You’re about as subtle as a freight train” she said looking at the boys face while she slowly raised herself up “Where did this bed come from?”

“Freight train” replied Cameron, deciding to joined her down on the floor and sat cross -legged “I had hoped giving my name at reception might have been enough to lesson the blow.”

“I didn’t clue in” then after staring questioningly at the boy she finally asked “How?”

“Doc, I was hoping you would be able to answer that question.”

“You don’t know?”

“I know I was attacked by a bear - but haven’t any memory after being slammed into: Did I survive the attack? If so - how come I found a death certificate? Did you give me some kind of medicine that took longer to act then expected?”

“Looks like we have a mystery to solve.”

“Should I take comfort from this being the Arthur Conan Doyle Medical Centre?”

“Can’t hurt” smiled the lady “First up: explain the bed?”

“I brought it out so you wouldn't get hurt.”

“You manifest beds?”

“No! it already existed - I just had it tucked away, stuff like this comes in handy.”

“Thank you for it” commented the doctor as she relaxed a little on the mattress “Second; you hadn’t been playing dead or hiding in a deep trance had you?”

“No doctor, I. I … think I was dead.”

“Why do you suppose that? Did you see a bright light?”

“Nothing of the sort - I have nothing between the bear and waking up downstairs in the morgue.”

“What do you remember of the attack?”

“Bear! Big bear!” exclaimed Cameron “It hit me real hard, I heard a snap in my neck and … I don’t recall falling to the ground - but I must have.”

“Your neck was broken; you likely lost consciousness with that.”

 Hearing that news from the doctor Cameron reached up and massaged his neck “So I take it the attack didn’t stop there.”

“There were multiply lacerations; your heart was nearly torn from your body” tears began to track down the boys cheeks hearing this news “when we tried defibrillation on your heart; it wouldn’t respond, so it was necessary to resort to life support.” Cameron had pretty much stopped breathing while following the doctors account “Your condition didn’t improve, your body was shutting down: until” paused the doctor “Until there was nothing more that could be done - you were gone.” She finally admitted hanging her head down.

“Forgive me doctor, I’m having difficulty taking all this in” confided the boy. “ I … Thank You for trying so hard” sincerely said Cameron “Umm, can you explain why I don’t have any scars?”

“You’re kidding! I worked for hours sewing you up.”

“Seriously - I don’t have a scratch.”

“Alright you; up on the exam table” directed the woman as she picked herself up off the floor “This I have to see.”

 After removing his shirt Cameron was the object of Ophelia’s undivided attention.

~o~O~o~

 Doctor Tenant was extraordinarily meticulous in conducting her examination of Cameron, she expended all effort and ran every conceivable test to protect her reputation as a doctor: mistakingly declaring someone dead is a mis-diagnosis not taken lightly. She made certain all current and previous scans and x-rays had date stamps to verify her earlier actions and decisions.

 Camerons medical file ended up being extremely thick, but he came away with a clean bill of health. Ophelia had poured over ever detail, questioning the boys medical history, and rechecking all recorded injuries - as well as another blood test looking for the meta-gene.
Ophelia had to question his files comments about self healing: Had he been playing possum?

 Cameron explained to the physician how he healed by means of manipulating molecules, and he needed to be conscious in-order to see and do that. The Doctors curiosity about his ability could only be satiated through demonstration: She called in Nurse Bonny, who she knew had arthritis in a knee, and coerced Cameron to heal the painful limb - the x-ray taken afterward showed no indications of the ailment.

 It was much later in the day and Cameron was rather wore-out after the exhaustive barrage of tests, he lay on the examination room table in an attempt to re-coup his strength. When Ophelia entered the room she looked at the prone boy:

“You’re not dying on me again are you? After all we went through to prove your alive!”

“Ha Ha, It is to laugh!”

“Robin Hood Daffy.”

“You’re a fan?”

“Yoinks. And away!”

“I knew I liked you.”

“Want to hear the test results.”

“Okay, but this time I’m sure I have a fighting chance against a 98 pound weakling.”

“That’s pretty good - I might need to steal that line.”

“Your’s for the taking.”

“I can: without any doubt or reservation confirm - you’re alive!”

“And how might I ask, did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Because you’re not dead.”

“I guess I deserve that.”

“It gets better” comforted the doctor “I made certain there was no necrosis in your body, all body tissue is active and healthy, lab work found no dead cells, so you’re not a zombie or a re-animated corpse."

“Wait … you’ve run tests on the walking dead before?”

“This is Whateley Academy! It might surprise you what comes through the door.”

“On a regular basis?”

“Tuesdays mostly.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking?”

~o~O~o~

 It had taken a long - long time to finally get cleared by Dr. Ophelia, but he was provided with an official document stating that Alex Cameron Burke was indeed alive, he took a picture of it and sent it to Mike Williamson.

 Next step; back to Schuster Hall, and of course: more waiting.

 The lady at reception took the doctors statement and filed it into Cameron’s official school record, then asked the boy to take a seat in the hallway.

 Cameron’s seat was a wood bench situated in the hallway and it had to be the most uncomfortable piece of furniture imaginable, comfort was simply not considered when this atrocity was made. Taking a few minutes Cameron reshaped the woodworking thereby adjusting the bench to provide some relief to a weary body.

 He was just beginning to enjoy the fruit of his endeavour when a nicely dressed man sat down next to him.

“Hmm. Not bad: good lumbar support, nice back alignment, pleasant curvature at the thighs.”

“You’ve become a connoisseur of benches now?”

“A nice place to sit and take a load off is one of the finer things in life.”

“Yeah, about that: I get the whole having to die bit … but coming alive like that was some freaky.”

“Life is the exact opposite to death, you either are - or you aren’t.”

“Please don’t start quoting the Parrot sketch.”

“It might help lighten your mood.”

“No, I’m good” confided Cameron “Have I missed something that you’re here?”

“You’re doing just fine. But do take a look at this” the man held up a small energy sphere “attune your fields to this modulation and you’ll be invisible.”

 Cameron inspected the ball intently and then made the corrections suggested, when he looked back up the bench was empty beside him.

 It was shortly after this exchange that two Whateley Security officers came up to the reception desk speaking with Mrs. Claire who then pointed at Cameron.

“Cameron Burke?” asked one of the men.

“Yes sir”

“Please come with us, Security Chief Delarose wants to speak with you.”

“Ohh” realized Cameron “Should have seen that coming. Lead on.”

 And then: more waiting.

 This time in Kane Hall’s waiting room, it was at least a little more private than sitting in the school hallway had been, with passing students sneaking curious looks Cameron’s way as he’d sat affixed to that bench.

 Now the waiting space he occupied was under the watchful eye of an officer posted at the first contact station, he was seated behind the counter but every few moments the officer would look towards Cameron to ensure he was behaving himself.

 Cameron waved at him which earned the boy a smile.

 Eventually Cameron was called to enter, and brought into a small meeting space which held a table and chairs, he was shown to a seat and then left to sweat. The table he sat behind had two long sets of gouges which deeply marred the otherwise smooth surface, Cameron took the table top into warehouse and withdrew another wood surface to replace it with.

 When the door opened a large uniformed man entered, he held a file folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other: He offered a “Good Morning” in his deep husky voice.

“Hi. Guess I’ve lost track of time, thought it was evening at the latest.”

“Ugh, nope - just me, I work nights mostly” admitted the burly man “But imagine my surprise to find out who had shown up at Admin today”.

Cameron pointed at himself with an innocent look.

“Yup!” answered the man just before taking a sip from his mug “You say you’re Cameron Burke, can I see some ID?”

 Cameron lifted his backpack up off the floor and placed it on the table, then began rooting around inside before pulling out some cards, he needed a way to obscure bringing them out from the ‘Cupboard’.

“I have my Birth Certificate, Social Insurance Number, British Columbia Health Card, Credit Card.”

“Photo identification!”

“Ah! of course.” He said returning into the pack, he stopped “May I ask for your ID first?”

 The man raised his eyebrow at the boy “Good call.” He then set down in-front of the youth his Whateley Security photo ID embossed in gold lettering.

“Franklin Delarose. Chief of Security” read Cameron “Does that mean you’re the Boss?”

“That it does. Now; yours please”.

“Certainly. First up is my passport” the small booklet was retrieved and then set onto the table.

 Looking at the photo inside and then reading the pertinent info the man snerked “Why’s it red, did the forger make a mistake?”

“No mistake: it’s a diplomatic passport.” replied Cameron “Perhaps this might be a better explanation” was proffered as he set down his RCMP ID and badge placing them mid table.

 Taken aback the chief inspected both items closely, then looked across the table with a tilted head trying get a read on the boy.

 Cameron remembered that all official photo’s required a person to be looking stern, so Cameron tried hard not to smile - even thou that was precisely what he’d always end up doing to hide his nervousness.

 Standing and saying he’d be right back the chief left the room and returned a few minutes later with a printout of RCMP rankings.

 Cameron felt this was a good time to bring the topic up; so said “I hope you don’t mind Chief. I was given a letter to hand deliver: It’s addressed to you … well: the Chief of Police” handing over Ray Martin’s introductory letter to the man.

“Hold tight” said the man as he began to read the personal letter, he mumbled something at points but stopped partway though and commented “Damn MCO!” but continued reading before getting a reply. A grunt signified finishing the letter and his attention returned to Cameron.

“You’ve been in protective custody; did you come to hide at Whateley?”

“No sir, While I suspect this schools practice of providing a safe haven was integral to my guardian and the RCMP allowing me to come here. I only wanted to go to school - everything else just kinda snowballed.”

“This man: Ray, recommends I ‘hire’ you.”

“I hadn’t given that consideration" admitted Cameron "I figured I’d be busy with - well, learning.”

“Good. I couldn’t use you anyway: We are strictly a Security detail, to have a police officer on-staff could contravene our neutrality.”

“Okay! I don’t have a problem with being just another student.”

“However: having an active officer of the law on campus has the potential to create huge problems. For you - and for me.”

“But you do believe I’m who I say I am?”

“I’m convinced! I don’t know how - but you are Cameron Burke, so put away your ID and don’t be waving it around at anybody… ever.” cautioned the Chief. “Now Cameron; I need to ask you about being attacked. Do you know who your attacker was?”

“You mean what don’t you? Even if you’ve named that bear you’d still refer to it as a what.”

“No prior history with bears?”

“My friends and I came across a bear with her cubs while hiking - I can’t imaging it’s related. Besides this bear is extremely ferocious, while that other one had only been protecting her family.”

“Do you know why you were attacked?”

“Nope! Don’t know what set it into a rage. But - one of your men was there. Did he see what offended it?”

 Delarose shook his head in the negative, then asking “Are you a wizard? A magic user?”

“No. Aside from sleight of hand tricks on TV: I’ve never even actually seen magic.”

“Can you show me your MID?”

“Don’t have one! So far all the testing they’ve done says I’m not a mutant.”

“Are you a Were?”

“No. Although I’ve encountered them twice now: a family when traveling across Canada, and a village under siege."

“What can you tell me about the village?”

“A small remote community on the East coast. They had been invaded by other Were’s who had been corrupted by a black contaminate. The village had been decimated, but we managed to rescue some survivors.”

“Did your encounter include fighting them?”

“Yeah, we found that Silver bullets and intense light worked. Are you asking because you’ve encountered them too?”

“Yes, we’ve taken to calling them Voodoo Wolves.”

“Would you be willing to share intel with the RCMP?”

“I can try to set something up - with the gentleman who wrote the letter?”

“Ray: Yes. That would be most helpful.”

“Explain to me about this bounty that’s been put on your head?”

“Somebody out there doesn’t like me very much” confessed Cameron “all the attacks so far link directly back to the MCO, but Ray suspects it’s bigger than that.” Cameron considered a thought for a second “I don’t suppose Whateley Academy has an MCO trained bear on campus?”

“Ahh - no! There isn’t a connection to the MCO.”

“It looks like we have a problem then: I didn’t antagonize the beast, and it’s shown itself to be aggressive and disposed to kill … will it be put down?”

“We can’t do that.”

“And here is where I must conjecture as to why not … because it isn’t just a ‘bear’: perhaps a student that can transform, like a shapeshifter or … a Were. Is that why you asked if I was a Were?”

“I cannot comment.”

“Strange, I’d have thought you would want to get to the bottom of this.”

“I act within the boundaries governing this school, I can’t disclose who your attacker is - just like I can’t reveal who you are to them.”

“Excuse me! You said they don’t even know who I am … yet wanted to kill me! You have an odd idea about what protecting somebody means.”

“Whateley is neutral! We are only a Security detail; I can’t relinquish information that could lead to a personal vendetta or start a turf war.”

“But you will allow someone to continue a killing spree?”

“You were the only one attacked.”

“Which resulted in my death: It was murder!”

“Yet here you are.”

“Good point, semantics aside: there is proof of death. But even so - attempted murder.”

“It’s out of my hands, as I said: ‘Whateley is neutral’, only the headmistress deals with punishment.”

“Am I allowed to report that a crime has been committed?”

“That is your right.”

“Might I be able to contact the local police department?”

“Certainly, this is the number for the Medawihla tribal police” handing over a business card to the boy.

“Thank you, Hope you don’t mind if I make the call now.”

“I’ll be in my office when your done.”

Cameron used his SI phone to place the call.

“Medawihla police, what seems to be the problem?”

“Oh Hello, my name is Cameron Burke: I’m calling to report a murder - or attempted murder.”

“It’s one or the other kid. The difference is pretty obvious.”

“It’s not as simple as one might think.”

“Okay, okay. Where did the murder take place?”

“Whateley Academy.”

“Should have known. And who was killed?”

“I was.”

“And your sure this warrants bringing the police in on?”

“A crime was committed, it should be handled by the proper authorities.”

“All right kid. Listen up: Whateley is a hands off place for us, their internal security usually deals with most issues.”

“Yes, I’m at their office now, I got your number from them.”

“I’ll talk to the Chief, see what she wants to do, stay on the line for a minute.”

 Cameron only had to wait a minute or two.

“Kid?”

“Yes, Hello.”

“She’s super busy right now, normally she would take care of Whateley herself, but she’s asked Ben to go out to the school. You’ll be at Kane Hall right?”

“Yes sir, I’ll stay at Kane Hall. Thank you.”

 Finding Chief Delarose’s office was pretty easy as it was located beside the bullpen - and it had a name plate on the door.

“Pardon me Mr. Delarose, I was told someone was being dispatched, a fellow named Ben.”

“It will take awhile for him to arrive. Anything you need in the meantime?”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a bed nearby, I’m feeling very tired.”

“Down that hall are some jail cells - they have bunks, you okay with that?”

“Not the first time I’ve slept behind bars.”

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Thanks much.”

~o~O~o~

 When Eloise Donner asked Ben to take care of a problem at Whateley, she was certain that the Medawihla Tribe just needed to make an appearance to settle an onsite dispute, he was being sent to put out a fire.

 It wasn’t the first time that the Were’s had needed to make an appearance, it was their territory and had say over how laws are interpreted and how tribal rules get applied; usually it was as challenging to resolve such disputes as when a couple dogs fought over a bone.

 The Security Officer at the gate waved him in and Ben parked near to Kane Hall, upon entering the schools Security office Franklin Delarose was quick to meet him at reception. Frank was close to Ben in size: only an inch or so shorter but the men had developed a comfortable familiarity and both gave the respect due the other.

“Couldn’t have handled this on your own?” was Bens greeting.

“I support the kid having called you, this is something the Medawihla should be aware of.”

“Where is he?”

“In the back, he’s in a cell.”

 Cameron had claimed a bunk in as quiet a spot available and was fast asleep, he stirred when he heard his name being called and rolled up to sitting upon the bunks edge. Looking out of the cell while adjusting his covered sight; standing beside Delarose was a big Were. Although he was in human form the signature was telling - being too near a match to be otherwise: a bear.

“Cameron; This is Ben from the Medawihla people” introduced the Security Chief.

 Cameron stood and neared the cell bars but kept a distance. Ben extended his arm into the cell offering his hand to shake, Cameron didn’t move to accept the gesture instead keeping a ‘safe’ distance.

“I mean no disrespect, but this cell works both ways - you might see it as keeping me in - but it also keeps you out, I’m not inclined to get within reach of a bear.”

 Ben had a look of shock while Chief Delarose nodded in understanding.

“Have we meet?” asked Ben curious to know how this boy knew his nature.

“Not that I know of” replied Cameron looking to the Chief “Is this someone I can trust?”

“Trust is something that is earned, but you have no need to fear Ben. Perhaps my office is better suited to have a discussion?”

“Could we use the meeting room instead” suggested Cameron “It’s not infested.” To which Delarose nodded in agreement, after unlocking the cell door he then escorted them down to the room.

 Upon entering the Security Chief wrote a small note to Cameron asking how many listening devices were in his office. Cameron scrawled ’16’ and returned the note.

 The Chief raised his eyebrows and shared the note with Ben as a courtesy due to his look of puzzlement. After a moment of consideration the Chief wrote on the note asking about the meeting room they sat in.

“Nothing here now, we can speak freely” spoke Cameron.

“What about the bugs in your office?” asked Ben.

“Fumigation works wonders” supplied Cameron “wipes out everything.”

“I enjoy the chirping sound they make, helps me think” retorted Delarose.

 The message was understood - thou they might not understand the why.

 Ben sat close to Cameron and began sniffing the air, after which the Were became agitated but kept it to himself. “So what happened that the Medawihla need to step in?” questioned Ben.

“I was attacked and killed … by a bear” stated Cameron.

 That statement made the Were make a serious expression and mull over his next words “I take it, this was not an actual bear?”

 The chief informed all at the table “No, and Whateley’s charter specifically demands for us to remain neutral, I am not allowed to disclose the identity.”

“But murder - or attempted murder; as the case may be, is a serious offence. The Medawihla should take the matter to the State police to deal with” confessed Ben.

“Which is why Cameron placed the call to you. But there’s more: Cameron if you would?” inclined the Chief

“I’m an RCMP officer - on assignment in the United States.”

“Oh boy!” Startled the Were “You’re saying it’s not just internal, but potentially international. Is there anything in Whateley’s charter that addresses a situation like this?”

“I’ve been reading it over - for obvious reasons.” Supplied Delarose “The intent had been to prevent anyone with a grievance from coming onto campus and enforcing a law - such as arresting someone for a crime committed off campus. Whateley acts as sanctuary while that person is on-campus.”

 Ben nodded in understanding, while Cameron sat soaking in the details.

 Delarose continued “When a crime happens inside Whateley - within the boundaries established upon Medawihla lands. The headmaster decides if external policing needs to be involved: using a floating scale to determine the seriousness of the crime. Petty theft and fighting would be dealt with internally as an example. More to the point: Grievous injury and death should have outside police involvement.”

“So why is it Frank, that Cameron placed the call to us - and not you?”

“Two reasons Ben: first he is a police officer and has taken the step to notify the local police independently of Whateley Security - at his own behest. Secondly; Whateley has not aided an external nation or agency by divulging information regarding an internal incident - keeping itself neutral.”

“What does Elizabeth think about this?” questioned Ben.

“She hasn’t been brought up to speed yet, she’ll arrive back to school tomorrow.”

“Sorry, who is Elizabeth?” interjected Cameron.

“Mrs. Carson; the Headmistress.”

“This is … this is some serious stuff. I’m out of my depth here. I’d better head back home and talk to Eloise, see how she wants to handle it.” Standing the man leaned over to shake the Chief’s hand “Frank; as always a pleasure” then turning to face Cameron he didn’t offer his hand to the boy. Cameron however likewise stood presenting his hand to the big man who took it “Cameron, despite the situation; good to meet you.”

 Left alone in the meeting room Frank looked at Cameron “It’s gotten late: what do I do with you?”

“If it’s alright: can I go back to sleep?”

~o~O~o~

 Cameron had been soundly asleep in his cell when a loud disturbance woke him. Two Security officers brought a youth into the holding area, he yelled at the world for all to hear: ‘he’d been wronged, a mistake had been made, he was innocent’. He was locked into the cell across from Cameron.

 He quietened down after awhile but remained agitated, he called over to Cameron “Hey, Hey you.”

 Half asleep Cameron acknowledged the youth “What?”

“What they got you in here for?”

“Just go to sleep!”

“C’mon dude; I’m being framed - it was entrapment. How can you possibly sleep in here?”

“Cause I’m tired.”

“Why they have you in here?”

“Illegally parked in a handicap zone.”

“Man! their harsh.”

“I’m blind. Everything looks like a handicap stall to me.”

“Oh!”

 After a few minutes, just as Cameron was on the verge of sleep:

“Hey, you wanna bust outta here?”

“Can it wait till morning?”

“Yeah, sure. Good idea.”

Tuesday September 25, Kane Hall

 The boy wasn’t thrilled when morning came far too quickly, but standing in front of the little mirror inside his cell he did a double take - according to his sight he’d grown overnight; roughly 3 inches, no wonder he’d been so tired last night and it would explain how come the bunks mattress was so uncomfortable. No wait - it really is as lumpy as it felt when trying to sleep on it.

 Cameron brought some bread out of storage, toasting it and ate it with Saskatoon jam, as well as some fresh fruit. He checked over his phone and laptop ensuring the batteries were topped up. A security officer walked past the cages and Cameron asked for the wifi code, after checking if it was allowed it was given to him and he connected to the internet.

 Cameron sent off emails to both Ray and Mike explaining the situation with Whateley Security, giving Mike a copy of the Doctors report. Cameron was in the middle of composing a nice long letter to Grace when his neighbour woke up - everything the kid did was a production, each move made was accompanied by groans and complaints and he made certain everyone heard ‘he was innocent’.

“Hey; Dude. Did I miss breakfast?” he called over.

“No, nothing delivered as yet”

“Arn’t they supposed to feed us? Isn’t that in the Geneva convention?”

“Did you declare war on Whateley?”

“No!”

“Then the Geneva convention doesn’t apply, but international human rights would require a person being held prisoner be fed.”

“What about somebody who’s a mutant?”

“Now that’s a darn good question! Does being a mutant disqualify you from being human? I’m going to ask my guardian about that.”

 Cameron quickly wrapped up his letter and sent it to Grace, then sent Mike Williamson an email.

 The response from Mike was slow in coming but read ‘Cameron you’re a genius’.

 A series of emails was shared between the two - somewhere in the interchange the guards brought in breakfast, but Cameron wasn’t hungry so sent his plate over to his neighbour.

 Mike in his excitement had corralled everyone at the Prince George prosecutors office to check standing laws and dig into old case histories. Cameron had sparked pursuit of a new legal angle: If a person with disabilities is granted all the rights and freedoms of a ‘human’ then why aren’t persons with abilities?

Schuster Hall

 Elizabeth Carson had only been away from campus for an extra long weekend, leaving Whateley Thursday night and after attending to some school business she had headed to New York to do some shopping and then just enjoy herself: catching a play and meeting up with some old friends. She pulled into her parking stall just outside Schuster Hall and was satisfied to find that everything looked just like she’d left it.

 Stepping into the office Liz said ‘Good Morning’ to everybody, but the tone of greeting she received from Amelia said something was wrong. Amelia Hartford walked into the Headmistresses office a step behind Elizabeth - holding two large folders, it was apparent the shoe was about to drop.

“Which one should I look at first ?” quizzed the headmistress

“I suggest this one” stated Amelia handing over the hefty file “Chief Delarose, Ophelia, and Mrs. Donner are already in the conference room.”

“Eloise is here! Just how bad is it?” worried Liz as she started walking out the door.

“Liz. I’m not even sure where to start trying briefing you on this. Hope you don’t mind if I join the meeting?” said Amelia following Liz to the conference room

 Entering the meeting space, Mrs Carson greeted each of the occupants and took the chair at the tables head “Who wants to go first?”

 There was a brief battle of glances between the Doctor and Security Chief with the Chief relenting and gesturing for Ophelia to go first.

“On Friday morning a new student arrived at Whateley and was attacked outside Schuster Hall, he was rushed to Doyle and received emergency medical care: but all efforts proved fruitless. He succumbed to his injuries and was pronounced dead on Sunday afternoon when life support was disconnected. On Monday morning that same student showed up at Schuster Hall to register with the school, he was sent to Doyle for an examination.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” asked Mrs. Carson with a scrutinizing look at Dr. Tenant.

“The extensive examination conducted upon the youth concluded that the two individuals are indeed the same person: blood and DNA tests are identical, we even did a full chemical analysis which showed no deviation. It’s the same boy. There is no evidence remaining of the trauma suffered including no scaring or cellular necrosis.”

“What kind of scars are we talking about?” put forward the headmistress.

 Ophelia passed some photo’s over to Elizabeth who was taken aback by the dreadful damage depicted by the deep gouges intersecting a torso. Dr. Tenant continued “The medical report is very detailed, it is beyond doubt that the boy died.”

 Elizabeth looked at her assistant with a dumbfounded expression, Amelia mouthed back ‘wait for it’

 Chief Delarose took the pause to indicate it being his turn.

“Security officer McTavish had driven the boy from the entrance gate up to Schuster Hall parking lot where the attack took place. McTavish administered CPR until relieved in Doyle. At the scene a rumour was spreading that the school was facing an imminent invasion. I sent Samantha Everhart out with squad 4 to conduct a perimeter sweep: no indication of trouble was detected. There is camera footage of the attack from 5 angles: it leaves little to the imagination regarding the event. After interrogation at Kane Hall the perpetrator was released.”

 Mrs. Carson said: “We can forgo the adjectives and just use names.”

“Do we want the involved individuals names made public?” wondered the Security Chief as he made a gesture of circling the room with a finger.

“I have to expect that privacy of individuals will be honoured, or the wrath of this school will be faced by whoever discloses a confidential matter.” Said Mrs. Carson not for the benefit of those meeting together, but for anyone listening in.

“Very well: Elaine Nalley was released from custody into the care of Mrs. Horton” disclosed Delarose.

“What could the boy have done to infuriate Elaine and make her resort to violence?”

“Cameron did nothing.”

“He must have! Elaine is as peaceable as they come - she does everything possible to avoid a fight.”

“I am aware, but…”

“She’s called Loophole because she tries to find a way around conflict!”

“Yes, but…”

“She’s the most trustworthy and dependable student I’ve had in years.”

“Of course Mrs. Carson, but the thing is - Grizzly was manifest during the attack.”

“What does the boy have to say for himself?” interrupted Mrs Donner.

“He is only aware of being attacked by a bear, and has no memories until waking in Doyle’s morgue” informed Delarose.

“Does he know who attacked him?” Inquired Eloise Donner.

“No, he at first felt it was simply an animal attack - but has since begun to suspect it to be an unknown person.”

“So this boy: Cameron is it?”

“Cameron Burke: uses the code name ‘Outlook’’’ added Amelia Hartford.

“Thank you. Cameron has no lasting physical injuries?”

“No Liz, he’s completely healed up.” supplied Ophelia “Quite amazing."

“Then we can dismiss this as being a minor disagreement between two students, I will assign Miss Nalley some detention.” The headmistress looked around the table for consensus - and didn’t receive it from anyone but Amelia.

“There is more Elizabeth. Outlook sought police involvement for the murder / attempted murder of himself.” informed Franklin Delarose.

“Which brought the Medawihla to the table” interjected Mrs Donner

“Damnit Frank, why did you take it outside Whateley?”

“I didn’t. And I assure you everything possible was done to protect Whateley’s neutrality” forcefully stated Delarose, then added “A police officer followed due process by reporting a crime - as he is sworn to do.”

“When did we hire an active policeman?” Shouted Liz Carson at her Security Chief.

“We haven’t” retorted Franklin Delarose, settling his nerves before continuing “Cameron Burke is a Staff Sergeant with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

“He’s a Mountie,” gasped Amelia Hartford.

“You can’t be serious!” said Mrs. Carson shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’m very serious and it gets worse: he’s on a diplomatic mission to attend Whateley Academy”.

“Did we know any of this when he applied?” asked Ms Hartford.

“I’m afraid I must add something else to this conversation,” interceded Eloise. “The boy is marked, it is Were custom for him to be granted full tribal status and protection.”

Elizabeth Carson dropped her forehead into her cupped hands saying “Oh God! I hate Tuesdays”.

End Part 1

It’s a Matter of Death and Life: Part 2

By Camospam

Sequel to: A Matter of Fact

Tuesday, September 25, 2007. Whateley Academy: Schuster Hall

 Elizabeth Carson’s face almost touched the muzzle opposing her, she felt the hot breath being exhaled in bursts as it washed over her nose, her vision was blocked by the nearness of the snout prominent on a wide furred face; the blackest black nose indented by flared nostrils met bristle ends of short fur running up the bears face. The beasts eyes where big and menacing, Mrs. Carson was checking those dark pits in hopes of seeing something of the girl: Elaine. Some indicator of the intelligence, compassion, any hint of the humanity that the teacher had come to love about the student. She found nothing; and that thought scared her most.

 Lady Astarte and Grizzly held the standoff for long moments, fighting a battle of wills, neither one backing down - and neither one ready to escalate this to a physical conflict, each waiting tensely for the other to make the first move.

 Liz began calculating which attacks would be most effective to take down the Avatar, what containment spells might restrain a raging animal, could she appeal to the girl within - and wondered if she was truly even there. She recalled the photos of the deep gouges on the boy and became concerned over how much injury she could sustain from those claws. But unflinching and unyielding she stayed her ground; until.

“Don’t ever threatening me!” eventually came growled through bared teeth.

“It's a matter of fact: murder is potentially a 20 year sentence,” sounded the heroine

“20 years in jail is a threat.” was spat in response.

 Liz challenged by stating: “And murder is a crime!”

“Is a soldier charged with murder when he kills the enemy?”

“What enemy? You don’t even know who you killed.”

“It’s been explained: it was a minion of ‘The Bastard’, it came here to scout out Whateley’s numbers and defences in preparation for another attack”

“You know this how?”

“It stunk of Were’s and Mytho’s magic: the smell of voodoo wolves.”

“Did you know your claim was tested out by Security.”

“What? did somebody analyze the grease spot they leave behind?”

“No. Your victim lived a short time afterward, it was determined to be neither a Were nor was any magic found. Plus - there was a corpse left behind in Doyle’s basement. It didn’t dissolve like you’ve imagined.”

“It matters not, I did what needed to be done to protect Elaine.”

“It does matter! In fact you’re likely facing a murder rap - you have harmed Lanie by ruining her life: you have broken your vow.”

“The vow is intact, she agreed to the course taken.”

“Was it an informed decision?”

‘You question what you cannot comprehend: ‘The hosts will is my will, there is no separation between us …’”

“‘And there is no separating you.’ Yes: I’ve heard the avatar creed.”

“Host and Spirit act as one.”

“And that is the sad truth.”

Kane Hall

 Cameron was keeping himself occupied inside the jail cell by sending and replying to emails, he’d had to explain umpteen times now that he was ‘okay’. He noticed that something was happening up front so focussed upon that area, he spotted Ben from the Mediwahla tribe and there was another Were with him; a werecat.

 The two had a Security escort bring them back to the holding area, Ben smiled upon seeing the boy.

“Cameron, would you mind having a couple visitors?” Asked the big man.

“Of course” he said as he closed up his computer.

“I would like to introduce you to Eloise Donner: she is the Mediwahla tribes Chief.”

“A pleasure” commented Cameron as he shook the ladies hand “Am I correct in guessing a werepanther.”

“You guess correctly - but I would like to know how you did that.”

“Energy signatures: everybody has them: normals, mutants and were’s. I’m just starting to be able to distinguish the differences.”

“Some kind of second sight?”

“No. All matter is energy, energy in different applications has defined patterns - I see energy much like you would colours.”

“I am hoping to speak with you … but don’t like doing so through bars.”

 The three were granted use of the small meeting room. Once inside Mrs Donner commenced “Cameron, the Were people have a long held tradition of welcoming marked individuals.”

“I hope you don’t mind explaining that - I’ve had someone else say that I’m marked - and I don’t know what that’s about?”

“Marking is a scent that acts as an outward indicator that a Were female has chosen you.”

“Kinda like saying we’re dating?“

 Ben roared with laughter “That’s cute! No boy - you must know the significance of a ring on a normals left hand ring finger?”

“Marriage!”

“For Were’s, scents are used.”

“Why that little minx!”

“You didn’t know?”

“I only thought she was encouraging a friendship.”

“Did she kiss you publicly: in-front of family and friends and place her neck against yours?”

“Yes…”

“Then my young fellow - it’s binding… congratulations!”

 Cameron sat in deep contemplation, and despite himself couldn’t shake the smirk.

“Who is she? Your minx?” asked Ben.

“You might know her Mom: she said she lived near to Whateley. Terry… Terry Franklin. Do you know her?”

 Eloise reeled from the revelation. But it was Ben who responded “Yes, we know Teresa: she’s Eloise’s sister.”

 Eloise gradually returned to the conversation by saying “We haven’t spoken for years, I’d heard she had two sons: Alan and Lawrence - nothing about a daughter.”

“Her name is Lynn.”

“Is she … special?”

“Is your question regarding my feelings towards her?”

“Her mother could see the future - she always seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else.”

“I suspect Lynn is five steps ahead of her mom.”

“That’s … surprising,” Eloise was wrapped up deep in thought for so long Ben nudged her and pointed towards Cameron with his chin “Cameron, may I see your eyes?” When Cameron lowered his visor both the Were’s gasped “Golden eyes!”

“Sorry! I keep them covered since people are freaked out by them.”

“They’re certainly distinctive.”

“That they are” confided the boy “I think I’m due for a long conversation with a certain someone. But before that: you had said I was welcome in your tribe, what does that mean?”

Schuster Hall

 Elizabeth Carson sat in her chair and leaned it back as she looked out the window, the tree’s surrounding Whateley Academy had just started to turn from the lustrous greens of summer to the oranges and reds of autumn.

 It was one of Liz’s favourite things - watching the seasons burst of colour when fall settled over New Hampshire, a bonus to having given up superheroing. Liz Carson had enjoyed being a superhero - the adventure of it all, challenging ones strength, wit, and resolve against another person. That life had been enthralling: but - she realized she loved teaching more.

 Most days anyway, since becoming the headmistress her joy of teaching had morphed into becoming an administrator, her younger self would be laughing silly at the irony of the kid who thought rules were for schnooks - to see her now as the one keeping the rules - living by the book, being the old fuddy-duddy that spouted regulation like scripture. But times and life change and people need to adapt to cope with change … just like moving from one season to the next.

 Tuesday morning so far had been a touch worse than most, the briefing meetings had set the day’s agenda and she didn’t like the implications. She had called in Miss Nalley in hopes of getting to the bottom of this whole deadly assault problem. It hadn’t gone well - not well at all.

 In the earlier briefing she had chosen to be the lead for the deadly assault problem, and let Amelia handle the blackmailing. After speaking with Elaine - attempting to gain the girls confidence, it wound up nearly digressing into a fight, she had only gleaned one piece of information for her effort: Elaine had had bacon for breakfast.

 In past encounters Elaine had stood up to Liz, battled with her by quoting rules and regulations, fighting back against the headmistress over every inch. It had pushed Liz in her duty as headmistress to consider the intent of a rule and not just the words used. Those had been the most interesting and challenging battles she had fought since becoming an instructor.

 Elizabeth Carson respected the young girl for her courage; she was reminded of a very young and impressionable Miss Champion.

 Mrs. Carson simply did not want to admit that she had succumbed to one of the biggest mistakes a teacher can make: giving preferential treatment to a single student. She had discovered something about herself while staring into those lifeless eyes: Elaine Nalley was very special to her, she had maternal feelings - and she would do anything to protect the girl. She had realized at that moment she couldn’t focus on the murder charge when she was more worried about the bond to a spirit.

 Liz had been livid when Kayda bonded Elaine with the spirit Grizzly, she wasn’t even an Avatar so it shouldn’t have even been possible - but dealing with the kids at Whateley; the impossible was an everyday occurrence … still, it was a decision Liz didn’t agree with. And the consequences had started to become manifest now - after their encounter in her office.

 Liz rang up Amelia and asked if she could to join her in the office.

“How did speaking with Elaine go?” asked the headmistress’s assistant.

“Worse than I’d ever have imagined. I should have listened to Frank at the meeting: I’m too attached - I can’t be objective. Would you be alright if we switched problems? I’ll deal with ‘Wrought’ and you handle ‘Outlook’.”

“Sure Liz, I understand.”

“Thanks Amelia … and please - whatever you do: try to keep Elaine out of jail.”

“You know I will.”

“I’ve notified Marissa Walcut already: she has the briefing notes, I was going to meet with her over at Kane Hall.” instructed Elizabeth.

Kane Hall

 Amelia Hartford and Marissa Walcut exchanged greetings in Kane Halls reception area, they chatted briefly about the task at hand, ‘Outlook’ was just finishing up in a meeting with Mrs Donner.

 The huge figure of Ben walked out of the Security offices towards them and notified them “They are ready for you now. Eloise wishes to remain with the boy.”

 As the two Whateley representatives entered the room and took seats across the table from the boy, it was Dr. Hartford who made the introductions “Mrs. Donner - Mr. Burke, This is Mrs. Walcut: Whateley Academy’s legal counsel.”

“Doctor, Mrs. Walcut. Do you object to having Outlook’s guardians attending this meeting remotely?”

 After a brief consultation Dr. Hartford replied “We are willing to oblige him by having legal guardians present.”

 It took a short while to make the connection to bring Mike Williamson in via a computer link, when his picture came up on the projected screen he was seated at a table and was joined by Karen.

“Hello, I’m Micheal Williamson: Cameron Burke’s legal guardian, on my left is Karen Mitchell; my associate and Cameron’s friend and confidant. Thank you for letting us join this meeting.”

“Allow me to introduce our end: I am Doctor Amelia Hartford: Whateley Academy’s Assistant Headmistress, this is Mrs. Marissa Walcut: Whateley’s legal counsel, and lastly Chief Eloise Donner of the Mediwihla people.”

 Mike asked the question “Mrs. Donner, what role do you have in this affair?”

“This school is located on tribal lands, ours is the first level of external government at Whateley.”

“Thank you, I believe we understand the implication.” Responded Mike “Cameron, good to see you.”

“Nice to hear your voice. Hi Karen” Piped in the youth while adding a wave.

“How are you doing Cameron ?” Asked Karen trying to asses his appearance over the link.

“The shock is finally wearing off, and I’m feeling okay for the most part.” Smiled the boy.

“Good! How are they treating you?” Questioned Karen

“I think the wheels fell off the welcome wagon.” Commented Cameron

“That’s a rather uncomplimentary criticism!” complained Marissa Walcut.

“That is coming from someone who just lived in a bomb shelter for the last two and a half months without complaint … I’d say he’s being generous.” Asserted Mike

“Whateley has very nice accommodations. My daughter has a splendid room and the Cafeteria is second to none.” Chastised Marissa

“Cameron: where have you been staying since arriving? Asked Mike

“Well … my first room was the morgue, and last night was a jail cell.” confessed Cameron with a shrug.

“Mrs Walcut: is that your idea of ‘nice accommodations’?” The lady made a huff of displeasure but before she could refute - Mike redirected “Cameron, how would you rate the food?”

“I can’t say: I’ve not been given me anything to eat.” Was released as an answer.

 Mike glared at the Whateley delegates over the video screen “Imagine how this makes me feel! Learning about the outstanding level of care being provided my ward. Indeed! ’Second to none’ is the most honest thing I’ve heard any of you say yet!” Mike said with near hatred in his voice “Even so - I don’t believe my concerns have anything to do with the reason behind this meeting! Am I right?”

 Without even acknowledging Mike’s statement, Mrs Hartford supplied “Whateley would like Cameron to drop all charges in consideration that Whateley Academy is situated upon neutral territory and so is outside legal recourse.” Her tone reflecting superiority and an air of self-righteousness.

 Karen leap at Amelia’s throat by jabbing with “Please reiterate your statement: You want Staff Sergeant Burke to drop criminal charges against you.”

 It was obvious Karen had just narrowly beaten Eloise to commenting, but she spoke next by clearly stating “I must object to your ascertain since you are very much mistaken” looking Amelia in the eye “Whateley is not neutral territory! It has protection due to being situated upon tribal land - that relationship makes it exempt from many laws. However; an assault was made against one of the Mediwihla people, on Mediwihla lands. Mediwihla law must be observed and the situation demands justice!” Counselled Mrs. Donner

 Mike stepped up and reminded everyone “Lets not forget the implications stemming from a foreign dignitary being assaulted: I doubt your school is claiming independence as a nation. US federal agencies are likely going to have something to say about what laws apply, one phone call will undoubtedly have them lining up to beat down your door. Are you prepared for the inevitable involvement of politicians?” Summed up Mike, sizing up Whateley’s resolve.

 Cameron was restless sitting in his chair, he sensed where this discussion was heading. That outcome was not what Cameron wanted; arguments getting heated, the entrenching of sides preparing for war, battle lines being drawn. He saw his opportunity to attend this school slipping away by the second.

 Cameron stood and positioned his hands to form a ’T’ and showed it to everyone - the room quietened as the combatants relented to allow the boy to interrupt, once attention was focused upon him he returned to his seat.

“First up: I don’t want to be the spark that ignites a war. Goodness knows this could flare up to involve nations - perhaps even armies - read history people: world wars began over less.”

“Secondly: I was killed - no: ifs, ands, or buts about it. Somebody decided I didn’t deserve to keep living, obviously that claim was denied … cause here I am.” Cameron looked around at the assembled people before continuing.
“Asking me to ‘forgive’ being killed is neither fair or just. Besides - I don’t think my forgiveness is what matters, better ask the one who brought me back how they feel about it. And just so you know I’m looking at it this way: Because I’m alive - that kinda says they might just be ticked!” He let that thought soak in for a second.
“However: I am willing to consider waiting pursuit of my attacker: until … say ... such a time as Whateley is no longer in the equation, perhaps after my gradation.” Everyone in attendance caught their breath and had looks of surprise.

“Thirdly: Whateley cannot function if under direct outside control - that is if I understand this schools charter correctly. If any single authority has too much leverage the whole structure will topple. As I see it: balance is needed or else a lot of kids are going to lose their best hope in life. Am I wrong in my assessment?” Low voices admitted assent.
“That balance has gone awry and needs correcting: I propose all relevant security and medical documentation about me, the attack upon myself, and the identity of my assailant be placed into a sealed container. That container be given to the Mediwihla tribe for safe keeping - until such time as I finish at Whateley Academy, thereby upholding the internal integrity and external neutrality needed for balance to continue.”

“Fourth: I am very much concerned about my safety here … for obvious reasons. For my suggestions to work - we need to agree upon a measures that guarantees no more attacks while I’m at Whateley. Otherwise; failure of that commitment will have the sealed files getting released. I imagine the Mediwihla people would be best suited in fulfilling such a role.”

“Fifth: Since my status as a police office jeopardizes this schools charter: I am willing to not perform any policing duties while in attendance here, and I shall remain completely separate - unless my assistance is sought by this school.
I am however, also here in service as an emissary of Canada to be an observer, I see no obstacle in fulfilling that role and shall carry it out to the best of my abilities.”

~o~O~o~

 The tone of the meeting changed drastically after Cameron stated his expectations and concessions, each party discussed the merits of the different proposals and how these could be implemented, as would be expected whenever lawyers are involved there was jockeying for position. But by meetings end they had establishing a clear understanding and had an agreement all parties could live with.

 An addendum from the Medawihla which Eloise Donner had insisted upon was unexpected. While she was mostly satisfied with the tribes inclusion in the agreement, she added a few points:

• If Cameron’s health or safety was endangered then tribal rule of ‘eye for an eye’ would be enforced.
• Cameron was to spend one weekend a month at the Were village as a guest.
• Finally but most contentiously: Cameron was now considered a full fledged Were - as such he must be exempted from powers testing.

 The Whateley contingent and Mrs. Donner left together to get containment for the documents sorted out, leaving Cameron in the meeting room with it still connected to Mike and Karen.

“Cameron, you did alright today, but we could have squeezed more out of them if you hadn’t stated what your desired outcome was.”

“Mike, I’m certain you could have bled them dry, but for me - the important thing is: I’m where I need to be. So letting them come away with feeling like they won some ground will make my time here better in the long run.”

“It means that much to you?”

“In this instance I think my Dad’s advice that ‘to have a friend you need to be a friend’ is well worth whatever concessions we might have gained.”

“Are you okay with what the Mediwihla wanted?”

“They’re good people, I'm intrigued and looking forward to meeting more of them. I could have kissed Eloise when she said I didn’t have to undergo more testing.”

“That certainly was a surprise! Glad you managed to contain yourself. Is working with Doctors really all that bad?”

“I don’t hate Doctors, I just don’t like being the object of examination. I like my privacy, being scrutinized and dissected feels like a violation.”

“But there is so much that isn’t understood about you?”

“Would you prefer to be told you’d only ever amount to becoming mediocre lawyer - or, find out on your own just how good you really could be?”

“Skys the limit if you believe in yourself.”

“Are you going to be okay with getting the RCMP and Foreign Affairs to put my attack on ice?”

“I have a couple angles that should satisfy them, and - it does let you stay at Whateley to complete your report.”

~o~O~o~

 Cameron had made his goodbyes then picked up his pack and moved out to take a seat in Kane Halls reception / waiting area, Mrs Hartford had said would need some time before she could be available to help with Cameron’s registration. The officer manning the desk suggested to the boy that he could head over to Schuster Hall to wait there, he arranged for the patrol just leaving Kane to take him to the office, and once there his impromptu guards even waited until he’d signed into the day’s logbook - as directed by Mrs Claire; who then pointed Cameron back to his old friend ‘the bench’. After he took a seat, he noticed sitting at the opposite end of the bench was the same student who had been his next-door neighbour last night in jail. The two nodded in greeting.

 After a short while and multiple checks ensuring that the coast was clear, his bench mate slipped out of the handcuffs that had bound him and whispered at Cameron “I’m outta here … you coming?”

“I’ll stick around.”

“Suit yourself.” He then quietly stole away and exited the building at a run.

 Elaine Claire was handling the office alone this morning, Amelia Hartford had booked out saying she had to take care of something important with Mrs Donner. So far it had been a busy morning with high level meetings necessitating staff coming and going.

~o~O~o~

 It turned out that the number of the blackmailed families ‘Wrought’ had been extorting money from reached all the way back to his freshman year, Whateley had received numerous complaints over that time and Elizabeth Carson had tasked Sam Everhart to find the culprit.

 Sam had been resourceful by enlisting help from the mystic arts faculty, it was know that all the ‘pidgeons’ had been Melville residents - but Security could never pin down who was responsible until Sam formulated a plan.

 At the start of the new year school year Sam constructed a prime candidate for blackmail - a mutant kid who’s rich family didn’t want exposure, after arranging fake ID and having spells cast that would make each person see different information - along with the new students illusion power, she could track who saw what.

 So it was, when a few weeks into the school year - one of the false contacts got ‘the call’. Sam arrested Ronald Lundquist: aka ‘Wrought”, and conducted interrogations and further investigations to reveal his outside cohorts.

 The Security report provided to Liz during the mornings second briefing, had detailed the ensnarement trap. From the information gleaned Wrought / Ronald Lundquist was being manipulated externally to supply details on families who could be extorted. The revealing information about Ronald was disturbing as Mrs. Carson weighted how this could be dealt with: It was the worst crime possible at Whateley - the school was entrusted with these children's lives and the parents faith. Whateley’s reputation was at stake.

 Mr. Lundquist was in his senior year, he had completed most of the curriculum and with just a few more classes could graduate … It was a coin toss - let him stay / throw him out. Liz hated being in the position of choosing this boys future.

 The Headmistress stewed over how best to handle this problem, if Ronald was not part of the scam - if he was being forced or coerced into it: he deserved a second chance. It all depended on him - how he’d react; no matter how bad the act, she simple couldn’t just give up on any of her students, no matter how deserving they might be of the full fury of her wrath.

 She needed to calm herself and keep a handle on her emotions.

 Using the intercom, Elisabeth called up front “Claire. Security escorted a student to us, would you show him into my office”.

“Yes, Mrs. Carson.”

 Mrs. Claire looked out toward the bench and saw waiting there a lone youth “Mrs. Carson will see you now.”

 Cameron gave the lady a “Thank You” as he walked past and moved toward the door stencilled ‘Headmistress Carson’, entering into the impressive office Cameron noted the large desk and the woman sitting behind it, she radiated a huge energy signature obvious to Cameron even though she sat with her back turned to him – her hands clasped tightly and held at her chin as she looked out the window.

“Good Morning Mrs. Carson, I was told you wanted to see me,” spoke Cameron with an uncertain voice to the seated woman - she remained facing the window without movement, with no acknowledge him, she just kept looking out the window - but her energy was boiling.

“Don’t bother sitting Ronnie!” Elisabeth used a name which Hive’s report said Wrought hated – doing so specifically to try and get under his skin, evoke a reaction and shake the student up, to see if redemption was possible.

 Cameron gasped audibly, the only person who had ever called him that was James her little brother; and only when being an annoyng pest. Getting hit with such a painful memory from his past hurt Cameron so he let slip a groan, a strip was torn from his heart.

 Elisabeth smiled ever so slightly: there was hope for him. Still keeping her back turned for fear she would lose control of the situation; if she looked him in the eye. “So! Do I toss you out to the wolfs? See if the MCO or maybe FBI would be interested in you?” It was a leveraged attack - laying out the consequences, see what he’d shoot for.

 Fear shot through Cameron's every fibre due to the magnitude of the threat to his life. Cameron responded ever so quietly “No”

“If you’re going to stay at Whateley - you’re not going to be very popular, rumours will spread, some will outright hate you. Are you prepared to handle that?”

“I’m willing to try” spoke Cameron, his mind racing at the implications.

 The scary lady behind the desk hhmmed for a second “I’m assigning you detention: Report to Mr. Duncan at Maintenance, everyday after classes – and weekends. How long you’ll stay on detention Ronnie will depend entirely upon you! Check in at Kane Hall every morning with the duty desk. Now go!”

 Cameron shook as it took a moment to force his feet to move but made his way to the door, stopping a short distance from the exit door with his hand on the knob “Ma’am, perhaps there’s been some mistake, could you maybe …”

“Don’t push it Ronnie! If you so much as show your face at this office again until you have a high school diploma in your hand, so help me I’ll hand you over to the MCO myself.”

 Cameron closed the door behind himself, and didn’t so much leave Schuster Hall as fled once he’d collected his detention slip. Cameron ran trying to distance himself from the display of anger he’d just been the brunt of. A copse of trees gave the first indication of shelter and he ducked down into the low growth to try and collect his wits.

 He stayed hidden, seeking a way to grasp what had just happened: they had come to a workable solution… what happened? He replayed the conversation a dozen times from off his SI phone to make sure he really understood all that had been said.

~o~O~o~

 Mrs. Carson was notified that Security was on a line for her “Headmistress’s office” she said into the receiver

“Mrs. Carson. Arthur at the front gate calling, you wanted to be notified if Ronald Lundquist left Whateley, he has departed ma’am”.

“Thank you Arthur,” Elisabeth slowly returned the phone to its cradle “Damn! I actually thought he’d stay”. Her next calls went to the Dunwich Sherriff and then to Berlin MCO notifying them of a runaway and his recent activities.

~o~O~o~

 Cameron eventually pieced himself together, maybe he was allergic to these trees because he’d had to wipe away tears more than once. If not for the assignment he’d been given he would have gladly taken up the offer to get out of here, but he was resolute that he would do the best he could under whatever circumstances - his Dad didn’t raise a quitter and his Mom would always press ahead despite difficulties. He wasn’t going to let them down now.

 Having sizing up the situation he’d come up with a solution: he could continue distance learning - surely this place had a library and those almost always had internet, he had being doing well with the online courses … it might take 6 months but he could graduate - then he could sign up for some of the courses that had caught his attention off the Whateley registration brochure.

 He’d noticed the school uniform worn by the students; taking a suit out from cupboard he made alterations to it as a facsimile of an ‘official’ uniform and donned the clothes to be less conspicuous.

 He then began a self guided tour of the school grounds to become familiar with it’s layout. He easily found Liard Hall: the schools Library, and convinced the lady behind the desk to let him do correspondence course at the library - and asked if he could have the wifi password, the librarian wanted to know why he wasn’t using a school issued computer - he said his laptop was specially designed for his sight problems.

 After signing up to continue his online education, Cameron continued exploring and found the maintenance compound he was to report to. At the schools centre sat a large domed building that it was attached to the schools office but Cameron felt confident enough to enter.

 Crystal Hall was impressive, it was an open expanse with seating levels, stairs, escalators ,and elevators emptying everyone to the main floor which had huge serving tables that were set up buffet style. Tables spread out like a fan from the buffet and as a focus the room had a waterfall. Each raised level could look out over the bottom floor, it reminded Cameron of a grand theatre.

 Much noise was coming from the kitchen, with no doubt preparations underway for tonights meal, Cameron noticed some sandwiches still at the table so grabbing a tray put one onto it and a glass of orange juice, stepping up to what must be the cashier he disturbed the lady with a polite ‘ahem’ and handed her his credit card.

“Sorry dear, we don’t use money - I just need to swipe your student card.”

 Patting his pockets Cameron shrugged saying: “Guess I forgot it.”

“We can't let you eat without it, so hurry and get it.”

“Yes Mum.” Cameron returned the items to the displays and left the hall. Sitting on a bench just outside he sat and did an internal inventory of Storage, he estimated enough food for a couple months anyways - but some basic’s like milk he’d run out of fast. Loud banging drew his attention and looking behind the building he smiled: a garbage truck was emptying bins.

 He approached the truck and waved to the driver, after introducing himself the boy asked Mr Cooper "How often do you have to come to Whateley to empty these?”

“Three times a week: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - unless there’s a holiday then the schedule gets adjusted.”

“I’d like to make you a proposition.”

“I can’t smuggle contraband for you kid.”

“Would you consider milk and some dairy products as contraband?”

“What ? Don’t the feed you here.”

“Afraid not. I could pay you - or provide a service you might find useful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can ensure these bins are empty - all the time. You would only need to come and make it look like you’re doing a pick-up. Interested?”

“I’ve got two bins to collect yet - show me how you’d empty em.”

 Climbing into the trucks jump-seat Cameron went with him to his next stop on campus and demonstrated how he dematerializes matter, then explained that he used the raw materials later.”

“You the kid Albert was on about - fixed a water leak?”

“Yeah, that was me: Downtown Dunwich in-front of Cecilia’s.”

“Then I’d say we have a deal - a little milk and dairy: nothing illegal … right!”

“Deal.”

~o~O~o~

 Deciding to halt his exploration, Cameron found an empty study alcove at the Library and claimed it, setting up his laptop. The Librarian: Miss Henderson, stopped by to check up him and adjusting the computers display to show her the Ministry of Educations distance learning site: explaining that he needed to take Canadian History.

 Reviewing where he was with his current courses: he still had a couple subjects in grade Nine to finish, but had already taken some grade Ten courses.

 Reflecting back on something Buck had said which had stuck with Cameron: ‘Fortune favours the bold’. The battered but not beaten boy dug into his studies, the system didn’t have him cornered yet.

~o~O~o~

 The relative tranquility offered in the library was broken when classes let out, students came in to make use of the resources available, the influx told Cameron it was time to head off to his detention assignment at Maintenance. He managed to locate Mr. Duncan who sent him to join Stan and Morie in the maintenance shop: the two men had been providing instruction to a small crew into which Cameron was added.

 Checking over his fellow workers Outlook noticed that one of them was only an assemblage of animated metal bones: including some chains, a toolbox, a bear trap and other nasty bits making up the form of a person. Outlook was introduced to Shroud.

 Stan and More apportioned duties to the teams they’d made, Cameron and Shroud would be working together and since she knew how to do the day’s tasks, she was assigned as the twosomes foreman. Collecting the tools needed they proceeded into the labyrinth that comprised Whateley’s underground tunnels to access the sewer system.

 The first few passageways had lighting, but soon they transitioned into dark tunnels.

“I don’t really need light to be able to see down here” informed Shroud speaking through a small voice box disc “I noticed you didn’t grab a flashlight.”

“Don’t need one, I have my own light” responded Cameron as he removed his visor, the uncovered light was enough to illuminate the confined space.

“I see what you mean that it’s handy for finding your way in the dark”

“If it’s reveal our secret time; Generator. How do you impart your life-force into objects?”

“What? What are you talking about? I’m Jade’s dead sister Jinn.”

“You’ve got a good cover story going, but sorry” intoned Cameron as he tapped his temple “energy can’t lie. You match your ‘sisters’ energy signature exactly, just like ‘Kitty Compact’ did.”

“You knew? Back at Doyle - you knew!”

“I only suspected. I couldn't find the tether when you showed me … a free roaming surveillance and attack platform” discerned Cameron “Can you communicate directly with your main body when separated or do you need to re-join to share information?”

“no, no, No. you can’t! You'll ruin everything. If people find out …”

“Thing of it is: I’m good at keeping secrets” assured Cameron “What’s said; stays between us, these walls” then pointing to a recess “and that rat - they’ll have to figure out a way to make it talk before I’ll say anything.”

“Pinky swear?”

“I’m not altogether certain you presently have a pinky, but I swear it”.

“So, what’s this tether you mentioned?”

“You’re spreading yourself around, but need to reconnect … since we’ve been together your signature has been slightly decreasing, maybe a separation of say 6 hours? If you exert yourself does it shorten the time?”

“Not that we’ve noticed.”

“But each time you divide, what’s separated returns so you must know where ‘you’ are at - must be some kind of link … how far apart have you been?”

“I went to Colorado once, and returned from there.”

“That’s a stretch! How many of ‘you’ can there be?”

“I’m up to six now, my friends call me J-team.”

“J-Team?”

“Each individual has a name starting with J.”

“Oye, that’s got to be confusing.”

“You’re catching on.”

“So Jinn, are you J-One?”

“It’ll do. Now, what’s your story? Really!”

“My eyes can see multiple ways: Temperature, x-ray, telescopic, microscopic for example.”

“That’s why you could see through me?”

“It is. So far everyone I’ve met has a distinct energy signature: it’s like what they say about fingerprints and snowflakes.”

“So, do you know what a person can do - from their energy signature?”

“I’m starting to be able to identify groups of powers, but there’s so much variety; I figure Crystal Hall will be like being in a candy store.”

“Anything else - holdouts?”

“Yes. I manipulate matter.”

“Like a manifestor?”

“No. I have to use existing materials to be able to repair or reshape stuff.”

“That’s cool! Can you show me?”

“No problem, see that crack in the wall: watch!”

 Jinn moved closer to get a better look at the wall that went fuzzy as the manipulation effect moved up repairing the cracked concrete.

“That’s like so cool … can you do that to everything?”

“Pretty near, depends if I have that material stored to work with.”

“Where do you keep it?”

“I’ve got it tucked away in a safe place.”

“Then … we could maybe fix a lot of the problems down here instead of needing to come back every couple days.”

“Don’t know till we try … you first - oh leader of mice and men – lets see about losing that rat though; eeewww.” was said with a shudder.

 The two walked a little further down the tunnel before Jinn stopped in front of a heavy steel door that showed many years on its rusted surface. Taking a moment of time, Cameron did a restoration on the door, then Jinn worked the opening mechanism, it moved with ease letting the teens enter. The assigned task was clearing a blockage, thankfully being able to prevent odours from entering his nose meant Cameron could ignore the smell, otherwise he might have been overcome by the stink.

“Someone has to come and do this every few days” informed Jinn.

 Looking up and down the old brick pipeline, Cameron noticed the issue, a dip in the alignment. Walking between the access points Cameron corrected the sag after which it allowed for a free flow, in the process Cameron lined the surface with plastic which was an upgrade from the ancient worn brick. Since their work went quickly, Jinn had them restore two more lengths of the dilapidated and deteriorating system before Stan and Morie expected them back at the shop.

 Walking the tunnels on their return Jinn started to recount how some of the original tunnels might have dated back to the civil war era and could have been used by the underground railroad.

“They had trains go through these?”

“No … are you topid or sumtin. It was how slaves escaped.’ She explained then went onto “Must be all the cold up north - froze your brain.”

“Sorry: Canadian, remember. We have a different history than you. And just so you know: snowdrifts and tundra don’t start once you cross the border.”

“Ohh really Mr. Smarty-pants; then why is Canada white on the map?”

“It might have something to do with being a separate Country.”

“Sure - sure. If your oh-so-different from the US: name a Canadian food.”

“Poutine.”

“We’ve got all sorts of breakfast cereals, there’s a whole table full of them at Crystal Hall. Mind you I’ll be sticking with Fruit Loops! I tried some of that other stuff and man … drano for your soul or what.”

“Uggh, No! Poutine is fries with cheese curds and gravy, not … whatever you - just no.”

“Never heard of it, next!”

“Back bacon.”

“You can always go back for more bacon. Billie does it all the time.”

“No… it’s. nevermind. Listen: can we drop this for now? I’m getting a headache”

“It’s the fumes; happens every time. You wouldn’t believe how often people get headaches while working down here with me.”

“Must be it.”

 A short while later the two had returned to the maintenance shop, Cameron found it to be a huge relief to be using the shops shower: he could wash himself but the whole idea of having been in that muck … it warranted a long hot shower to honestly feel clean again.

 Jinn was still cleaning up their gear when Cameron exited the washroom calling over to the boy “Almost done.”

“I can finish up if you need to get clean.”

“A shower isn’t exactly the best thing for me … rust don’t you know. I get a buffing back at my room.”

”I could help - with your permission.”

“Are we talking a make-over?”

“How’s about a deep cleaning?”

“Yeah, please! Billie complains when I waltz in after being knee deep in it.”

 Cameron commenced rejuvenating the metal that made-up Shroud’s frame “Billy? You’re in a co-ed dorm?”

“She’s my roommate, but yes; Poe is co-ed.”

“All done, rusts gone and I lubed your joints - you creaked. Are we finished for tonight?”

“Yup-ers, now its time for chow. See you at Crystal Hall ?”

“I’ll drop by if I see you.”

~o~O~o~

 Using the sign out punch clock as instructed, Cameron left Maintenance and followed at a distance the stream of students heading towards the large domed building. Crystal Hall was an overwhelming array of energy signatures at meal time, steadying himself Cameron bypassed the buffet line and hunted up a place to sit amidst the throng.

 He found a table on the main floor removed from the crowd, sitting down he decided a bowl of soup would be a good starter, he’d hardly taken a couple spoonful’s when two of the more colourful students approached and stood staring down at him, the bigger one who looked like a dinosaur from a movie she’d never been allowed to watch, put his food tray down and started making gestures ending with a load shriek.

“Razorback here wants to know if your white or dark meat?” said the shorter, stocky looking boy with patterns in his clothing that made Cameron dizzy.

“I suspect I taste just like chicken, but it doesn’t mean I am one.”

 Dino-boy made a snort and stocky had a smile, then; after some more signing “He says your too scrawny to even make a decent appetizer, we should throw you back until you’ve gotten some meat on you”.

“Your table I suppose?”

“Yup: Outcast Corner.”

“Not to worry, all yours. Thanks for the respite.” Said Cameron as he picked up his food and moved on.

 Searching around Cameron found an isolated tabled on the second tier with only two seats and since it was tucked into a far corner behind a support pillar no one was using it. It looked to be unused since it was so well hidden away, but for Cameron it afforded an excellent view - for people watching.

 From Storage came a nice steak with veggies and some rye bread, digging in - it was a most refreshing meal and since he’d not been intruded upon for having claimed someone else’s territory, Cameron discretely etched ‘Outlook’ into the tabletop to stake claim to this perch.

 The activity in Crystal hall was riveting: the energy signatures pulsing and shimmering, a spectacular dance amid the noise and laughter. Cameron was able to single out Generator … the one Generator and the currently two divided up J-Team members, J-Central was in the company of a truly remarkable energy signature, Cameron hadn’t seen anything like it before: except maybe at a fireworks display where he had been given a lit stick that gave off sparkles, this signature had sparks flying out that fizzled off.

 Generator and her friends gathered food and sat a table nearby, but when Cameron was heading to the escalator Shroud came up and offered to introduce her friends, stepping up beside the table it began:

“Gang. This is Outlook my fellow sewer rat” working around the table she made introductions.

“This is ‘Lancer’, or Hank; only his code name is pretentious.” Which got an annoyed look from the young brick to … well at first to Generator but then to Jinn.

“Toni, also called ‘Chaka’” pointed his hostess.

“Sup?” was offered by what could only be described as ‘wired’ girl.

“My sister Jade, aka ‘Generator’” who nodded.

“We’ve met, I see you still have that situational awareness thing happening” commented Cameron which drew a smile from J-Central.

“And our roommate Billie.”

 Billie stood and … well - okay, standing isn’t quiet right: rose? When at no times is anything affixed to the floor can it be said that a person is standing? How about: oriented herself to mimic a standing posture. Anyway, Billie offered her hand and she and Cameron shook. Billie assumed a puzzled expression and quietly returned to sitting but kept watching the newcomer.

 Toni piped up “What’s with the shades? You too cool for school?

 Taking off the visor thereby letting the table see his eyes “Naw, it’s your dazzling personality – I need something to dampen the impact” he said.

“At least someone appreciates all that is ‘the Chaka’” recovered Toni.

“When did you start speaking in the third person” razzed Hank.

“Had to happen! There’s just too much of a good thing going on right here” was emphasized by Toni running her hands down her sides exaggerating her curves.

“Or maybe too little going on up here” being added by Jade rapping her knuckles against Toni’s head.

“Hey, hands off ‘The Chaka’”.

 Shroud gave Outlook a nudge saying: “See what you started.”

“My bad, many pardons” offered Cameron.

“Our teammates are running late, take a seat” offered Hank.

“I’ve already had dinner, but here” pulling it out from Storage he set a heaping plate onto the table “Shroud wouldn’t believe me.”

“What is it?” asked ‘The Chaka’.

 Shroud spoke up “He called it Pooh-teen, I have my doubts.”

“What’s not to like?” said Toni after a mouthful, which encouraged the rest to sample it and express enjoyment.

“Think Ayla would like it?” asked Jade having taken a few mouthfuls.

“Probably not high brow enough for his tastes, if it doesn’t have snails or a totally unpronounceable name - he can be so uncultured!” supplied Toni.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you all, I’ll leave you to your dinner” remarked Cameron with a smile and left the table.

 Jade had noticed Billie’s unusual behaviour but had waited to comment on it “What’s up Billie, cat got your tongue?”

“Did anybody else feel the earth move?” was the response from the stunned expressionless girl.

 Her ‘Team Kimba’ table-mates exchanged curious glances trying to gauge the comment just made, it burst when Toni fell out of her chair unable to withhold the “Bahwah, hah, ha” joined by Hank bending down to hide his face as his body bounced from laughter. Shroud covered her voice-box which didn’t mask the wheezing laugh coming from it. It was the smiling face of Jade that asked “Billie, you okay?”

~o~O~o~

 Having left Crystal Hall, Cameron stood outside looking around trying to decide his next move, concluding he needed to stay inconspicuous he headed towards the lake he had spotted earlier - there was a heavily wooded area along the shore that would serve his purpose.

 The evenings darkness had descended but Cameron was able to find a small natural clearing; he brought forth from Warehouse the prospectors tent he had purchased along with a sturdy cot and sleeping bag. His camping chair was really comfortable and after sitting down Cameron commenced making the phone call that had waited too long.

 Ring Ring

 Lynn was busy with something in her bedroom upstairs when the phones first set of rings beckoned. She was out her door and moving fast careening down the hallway bouncing off walls to help make course corrections. She called out a repeating broadcast of “I got it, I got it, I got it” as she rounded the top of the staircase and chased down them jumping two at a time, thumping like a wild elephant.

 Ring Ring

 Lynn’s long black hair was wild streamers behind her as she flew downstairs, deciding to jump the last four steps she landed into a crouch then sprinted across the remaining distance into the kitchen, the smooth flooring had her skid past the countertops corner almost bowling into her mother, but she grabbed onto the counter and used it to right her course dragging herself back to round the cabinetry and turn the final leg.

 Ring Ring

 Lynn hopped up onto the breakfast nook stool and quickly ran a hand past her ear to clear any loose hair as she picked up the receiver.

“Franklin Residence”

“What? No: Joe’s Pool Hall - who in the hall do you want?”

“Oh! Hi Cameron.”

“Your slipping, you always seem to know when I’m calling.”

“Can’t be right all the time.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Now… let me see: I had a most enlightening day today. Did you know that Were’s mark their mates with scents?”

“I might have heard something about that … from somewhere. Why?”

“Well; surprise - surprise! It turns out my girlfriend decided to jump the gun by a couple steps and mark me.”

“REALLY! I’m your girlfriend! ”

“Umm, Lynn: you might be missing the point here.”

“Wait till I tell Mom, she’s not going to believe this” Cameron could hear Lynn speaking in the background “Mom! It’s Cameron - he’s okay! And I’m his girlfriend!” Cameron at this point felt the stirrings of another headache.

“So … how’s it going ?” Asked Lynn coming back onto the phone

“Just peachy … never better. You?”

“I’ve been really nervous lately - I mean … I knew you’d be going through alot of stuff, and I was hoping you’d get through it okay and all, but you must have - cause you called.

“Yes - I’m okay. Whatever my expectations of Whateley had been, it’s not what I had hoped for, so far anyway.”

“ And you couldn’t have called sooner?”

“Sorry, but we really do need to talk about your marking me: We can’t be married!”

“I should think not: I’m too young for marriage. Dad said I couldn’t even think about it till I’m 18”

“And I’m nowhere close to being ready to commit to a relationship.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Okay, we’re in agreement. So why are the Were’s here saying I’m marked and it means we’re married.”

“Ohh! That’s simple: I marked you.”

“Lynn ... I need to ask: do you even know what todays date is?”

“Is it Thursday?”

“Maybe for you … but I’m still back on Tuesday” he answered but muttered as an aside “let alone what month.”

“Are those time zones too tough to figure out ?”

“No! Keeping up with a ‘Precog’ is whats tough, could you maybe back things up a little and do some explaining?”

“About marking you?”

“That would be nice, yes”

“Well: it’s like this. When I became a girl is also when the precognition kicked in, it was so overwhelming! All I ever saw was darkness and despair, then one day I saw a touch of light and well: it was you. Despite all the hurt and pain you were going through - you stayed a bright spot. When we met I was so happy - and you were this kind, generous, humble person and I was drawn to you … cause … I like you.”

“Lynn: I like you too” Cameron had to pause with the squeeing coming from the other end “But isn’t marking a huge step ?”

“You were going to a school full of hot exemplar chicks, I had to do something to protect you.”

“But we talked about that! I’m not anywhere close to being ready to date.”

“I know, but I … couldn’t risk it.”

“But you’re willing to risk people thinking we’re married?”

“Did anyone explain what it means for a Were to mark someone?”

“Only what it signifies.”

“Most Were don’t mark anymore, it allows a female Were to increase the tribes population by having multiple partners. Because a Were who commits to marking is bonded - for life, she has chosen her life-mate.”

“But Lynn. You didn’t even know if I would accept you.”

“As I said ‘I took a risk’ - I had too. Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad: no, not truly mad. Upset and confused yes! Why did you have to ‘risk’ it?”

“Did you ever hear the Were legend about ‘The Panther and the Golden Eyed Man’?”

End Part 2

It's a Matter of Death and Life: part three

Bv Camospam, editing by WendyK

Sequel to: A Matter of Fact

Cameron opened his eyes and took in the early morning light, the suns first rays streamed through tall windows basking the room in brilliant colours. Outside the windows stood trees whose trunks framed a rugged mountain with snow dappled slopes leading to a sharp peak.
Still with his head resting on the pillow he saw a white dress haphazardly strewn across a chair while another chair had a red uniform neatly folded upon it. A lithe arm was draped over his ribs with its hand intertwined with his own, the ring on the dainty finger caught the sunbeams the reflected light twinkled like stars on the ceiling.

He felt himself being pulled into a gentle squeeze and the delightful press of lips on his neck: “Good morning love” was whispered into his ear like a caress.

“Good morning Mrs. Burke” he whispered in response while pressing the intertwined hands against his heart.

Cameron opened his eyes and took in the small space his tent occupied, everything was damp from last nights rain and the air held a chill - a sure sign of autumn’s progression. The sun was not up yet which helped confirm it hadn’t been real, so he lay back into his cot pulling the sleeping bag close and began to deconstruct the vivid dream.

Saturday September 27, 2007, Whateley Academy

Arriving at Maintenance a few minutes early, he’d greeted the students who worked paying into their tuition, but stood over with the rest of the detentionees awaiting the days punishment.

So far, each shift had been the same story: down into the sewers under Jinn’s direction - clear some nastiness and make repairs. According to Jinn they’d fixed some of the worst sewer problems.

Cameron wasn’t under any delusion, detention was not intended to be fun or interesting - but working with J-Team was at least always entertaining. He hadn’t thought it possible but actually hoped he’d be assigned more of the same tasks: unpleasant as it was.

The day’s crew was divided up and as anticipated Jinn and Cameron were teamed up, along with another kid named Dump Truck who had earned himself some detention. Dump Truck was big and liked to throw his weight around, Cameron had seen enough of his type to peg him as a bully - getting some comeuppance.

Dump Truck was in the dumps when he found out his task, and was less than pleased to have to work under Shroud’s supervision. At least he had the smarts to not verbally complain - body language was another thing.

The trio got their equipment and waders together and the they began the descent into Whateley’s bowels, Jinn lead them through the maze of tunnels, past twists and turns that had become confusing a ways back and without much to identify one place from another. After passing bye many access doors they eventually stopped.

Dump Truck sneered at Jinn when she began to explain how to work safely, and identified what risks and dangers being in the sewers entailed, the bully wouldn’t outright challenge the ‘ghost’ but had been making an effort to press Jinn’s buttons, Cameron hoped the goof didn’t start something since the bully likely wouldn’t be able to finish it.

Jinn detailed that the section of pipe they would be working at was some of the oldest sewers at Whateley and in the worst condition. Cameron was sent to start at one end and come towards Jinn and Dump Truck, Cameron understood the hidden message that he was to recondition the sewer as Jinn kept Dump Truck busy and he appreciated the thoughtfulness given to protect his secret.

The sewer pipe was in horrible shape for a long distance, and it took Cameron a lot of effort and materials to restore the surfaces. But being busy meant the morning moved along quickly, but at roughly an hour before noon they could hear a distorted reverberating sound through the underground passageway from a blaring siren.

The three stopped what they were doing and everyone stood still to try and hear better.

A distorted voice was barely heard as it echoed in the confined space as a broadcast was made over the PA system: “Attention - Attention, all students head to muster stations, evacuate all buildings, go to muster stations until given further direction!”

Dump Truck dropped everything except his flashlight and started rushing back to their original entry point.

Jinn called to him: “Hey DT! You’re going the wrong way. Nearest exit is this way.”

The large boy stopped and begrudgingly returned saying: “I knew that.”

Being handed back his tools they all moved towards the access door. Letting Dump Truck take point Jinn walked beside Cameron.

“Can you see what’s happening up top?”

Cameron leaned against the tunnel wall then began a sweep of the area to discern what was happening by cycling his sight, Jinn stayed next to him. Cameron described how students were pouring out of cottages and beginning to amass into groups.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“I’m seeing lots of heat, looks like an underground fire.”

“No … Bunny! She was working in her lab this morning.”

“They actually let someone use Bunny as a code-name?”

“That’s her real name! Why: what’s wrong with it?”

“I just thought there was some kind of restriction on what you could call yourself.”

“Her code name is Bugs.”

“Bugs - Bunny… and there’s no copyright infringement?”

“Like ‘Outlook’ is going to install fear into anyone” insulted Dump Truck who had stepped closer.

Jinn spun on him “Anyone who decides to name himself after the first thing to drive past them is hardly in a place to criticize code names.”

“Hey! It signifies power and toughness and getting the job done!” defended DT.

“And you probable never considered that people might shorten it to Dumpy?” chided Shroud.

“You wouldn’t!” he reeled back in horror.

Cutting off Jinn, Cameron said: “As scintillating as this is, we better keep moving.” At which they continued their march down the pipe. After a short distance he asked: “Can you point to where Bunny would be?”

“It’s easy to get turned around in the tunnels. But I’d say that way” pointed Jinn to just a little off from the direction they were heading.

Focusing in that direction Cameron did a visual sweep.

Dump Truck's frustration built with the two who had stopped again, hindering his progress. He looked back at them and yelled: “Coming or what?” his voice bouncing off the walls.

“Just give Outlook a minute, he’s trying to find out what’s going on.”

Outlook began a full three-sixty scan. Once finished he looked at Jinn.

“Do you want the good news or bad news?”

“I’ll take the good news - you can keep the bad.”

“Sorry, doesn’t work like that.”

“Be that way! What's the good news then?”

“We are currently safe in the sewers.”

“That doesn’t sound like very good - good news.”

“Your right: at least I tried.”

“So the bad?”

“It’s bad! The area you said Bunny was at, it’s on fire.” He waited for Jade to digest that news before continuing “Everything over there is on fire: areas that look like an auto garage and machine shop look to be the worst.”

“So we should backtrack and get out how we got in.” sounded out the ‘ghost’.

“We can’t. The tunnels have bulkheads that have dropped, It seems they’re designed to prevent the spread of fire for containment. But with them down it means the access tunnels are blocked off.”

“Then we go further back and find a place to get out.” reasoned Jinn.

“Jinn; you could make it. But before we could get to an escape hatch or manhole the pipe diameters will have decreased so that Dump Truck couldn’t fit through, and it would be a real tight squeeze for me too.”

“If we stay here, will we be safe?”

“For a little while maybe, but think about it: they will use water to put the fire out - that water will flow into the sewer … “

“We’re in the sewer, we’ll get flooded!”

“Right. So we need to move quickly to get ahead of that.”

Jinn could fly so she wasn’t restricted by walking in the ankle deep water, Cameron rushed as best as possible, They then explained the situation while on the run to Dump Truck who also seemed to pick up his pace.

The three passed two access doors but didn’t bother with them since the tunnels beyond were sealed, Cameron called out the temperature every so often as they neared the fire, it was no longer cool in the tunnel - the heat from the fire was penetrating into the sewer.

As they came upon the next access door, Cameron needed to catch his breath and Dump Truck too - though he wouldn’t admit he was feeling the heat. Cameron looked around and described what he saw: this access door was between two bulkheads - this was the section of tunnel where the entrance to what Jinn called the Devisor Labs was located.

“Did everyone make it out?” asked a worried Jinn.

After a thorough scan Cameron dejectedly said: “No.”

“How many?” demanded Jinn.

“I found eleven: sealed up in the Lab.”

“We have to help them?” pleaded Jinn.

“No. we don’t!” shouted Dump Truck “It’s every man for himself.”

“They could be your friends.” reasoned Cameron.

“I don’t have friends.” denied DT.

“But they need our help.” Jinn pleaded and tugged on Cameron to come with her.

“Luck of the draw.” smugly retorted ‘Dumpy’.

“I don’t believe in luck,” added Cameron: “We decide our own futures and fates. I’m going to at least try and help them.”

“Count me in.” voiced Jinn.

“I’m staying in here.” confessed DT, displeased with not getting his way.

Cameron had to repair the access door before it would open, once open the hallway was clear with only a little smoke near the ceiling. Between the sewer door and the entrance to the Lab was an emergency locker loaded full of gear. Cameron donned a fireman jacket, face-mask, and helmet, while Jinn grabbed an axe.

The door to the devisor Lab was slightly ajar. By using the axe the two managed to pry it open further and squeeze through. They walked into mayhem.

The Lab was torn asunder. It was apparent that fires had been present - but orange and green goop was dripping off everything. The scorch marks ran up walls and expended fire extinguishers lay scattered around the floor, and a few places looked to have had explosions leaving tables and shelves rendered useless and twisted from the blasts.

Soot lay thick over surfaces held in place by the remaining wet that had coated everything from the now disengaged sprinklers, it blackened the room. The air was breathable but stung Camerons lungs since some smoke still lingered, and it’s hue obscured the lights.

Jinn ran over to the space between the work areas and yelled “Bunny” as loud as her voice box would allow.

From out of one of the lab areas a blonde head showed itself, the face beneath was stained with soot and streaked with tear tracks, the girl stepped into the open shouting in disbelief: “Jinn?”

“Bunny!” shrieked the animated bone sack and ran to her, there was hugs, jumping, and screaming. Amid the scene others stood and they formed a circle around the rejoicing girls.

Cameron recognized a few of the students, but it was the stocky guy that came over to Cameron and asked: “Search and Rescue?”

“Yes and yes.” replied Outlook.

“I’m Jericho, we had some fires break out in here but managed to extinguish them, but we have three in need of medical help.”

“Nice to meet you Jericho, I’m Outlook. Can you cobble together some stretchers for the injured that can’t walk?”

“I’m a devisor, I could ‘cobble’ together a Moon launch - if it would help.”

“Just stretchers and bandages for right now. I don't think a rocket would be of much use to us.”

Cameron righted a table and set out glasses of water and brought some high calorie snacks from Storage then called everyone over: “We have an escape route through the sewers.” of course that elicited responses of ‘eeew’ and ‘ick’.

“You don’t have to come with us, but with the bulkheads down it could take a long time before anybody else gets to you, and the fire isn’t out yet.” it was discussed among themselves but the consensus was that getting out now was much preferred. “If anyone has open cuts try to cover them up, only take what you can carry. If you have flashlights bring them.”

It was impressive to see the ingenuity of these kids, one had a spray on bandage that closed up wounds, others built litters to carry the immobile, still others had or hastily built handheld lighting.

In minutes the group of devisors and gadgeteers had prepared for their escape.

“It will be single file folks, spread the lights out, don’t try to run just walk slowly” directed Cameron as the group approached the sewer entrance.

Dump Truck had stayed at the access door, and even lent a hand to get people through the door, he greeted a few - so maybe he did have friends.

Jericho was the last of the devisors to enter the sewer access and he helped Jinn and Cameron close the access door.

“Tight quarters” observed Jericho as they took up the rear of the procession.

“The advantage of being short” commented Cameron.

“I had hoped to wear my RAFE suit, it has great lights on it” admitted the Devisor.

“I wouldn’t say anything powered would be advisable down here.” admonished Cameron.

“And I just had to wear my best pair of shoes.” tsked the wardrobe challenged youth.

“Could be worse - at least they aren't sandals.” humoured Cameron.

“Those chest waders you have on are quite styling.” admired Jericho.

“You know what they say: A bad day fishing is better than a good day at work.”

“Caught anything?”

“You met the loud mouthed bass.”

“Dump Truck?”

“Shrouds taken to calling him Dumpy.”

“Ohhh! That’s gotta hurt.”

“Hold that thought.” requested Cameron as he sent word for everyone to hush.

The sound of rushing water could be heard splashing in the sewer pipe, Cameron asked Jinn to fly ahead and alert everyone that the water level would be rising - and she should scout an escape spot.

Cameron fashioned some floatation rafts and had them passed up for putting the injured onto.

Outlets that discharged water into the sewer pouring in now, what had only been up to their shins was now approaching knees. The water itself was warm but did help to keep the place cool, however they still felt the heat radiating from around them.

After another hundred feet, the water level had risen to their waists.

When Jinn returned, she said there was a manhole access six hundred feet further, she had gone up and it was safe above: if they hurried they could get out before the water was much higher. They had to pass two more access doors before reaching the manhole.

The pace the group could muster was slow but steady, Jericho pointed out that the first of the access doors was glowing from the heat behind it.

When the line of escapees moved past the second access door, Cameron stopped to do a scan. Jinn floated overhead and Jericho waited with him.

“Have you guys noticed how the water level is dropping?”

“I was wondering about that.” mentioned Jericho.

“It should be gushing in by now.” surmised Cameron “I was just checking - the fire is getting hotter, something's wrong.”

‘What do you want to do?”

“Jericho can you take over and get everyone out - the manhole is just ahead. Jinn: we need to go through that door.” pointed Cameron to the tunnel access.

“Are you sure?” questioned Jinn.

“You can handle the heat, I have an idea on how to deal with it” Cameron desperately needed the 'ghost girls’ help if his plan had any chance of success “Jinn: there are still people in there.”

With a goodbye wave at Jericho since he was taking up the rear guard position and the last to walk down the sewer. Cameron and Jinn stood next to the door, Cameron made adjustments to his energy absorption, and once satisfied with the changes it was possible to see the heat waves coming off the door and flow into Cameron.

Jinn noticed the transfer and asked “What are you doing?”

“I’m absorbing the heat and converting it into energy” answered Cameron “I think I’m ready - cause I no longer feel hot.”

After cooling the door they opened it resulting in a gush of smoke pouring into the sewer, stepping through they quickly resealed the door.

“It looks like smoke has spread thru a lot of passages, but the fire seems contained to two main areas.” Reported Cameron.

“Describe them, maybe I can figure out where we are.” supplied Jinn

"One looks like a garage - there’s all types of cars, the other is like a machine shop there looks to be a bunch of fabrication tools. It’s the hottest so I’d say that’s where the fire started.”

“Fabrication Labs, and the Gearhead’s garage.” announced Jinn: “Whats the plan?”

“Fire is a release of energy and dependant upon three things: air, heat, and fuel. I can stop the fire by removing one of those three things. You don’t need to breath do you ?”

“No lungs. What do you need me to do?”

“When I focus at the molecular level I lose touch with what’s happening around me, I need someone to protect me.”

The tunnel they had entered was another of the isolated sections. Bulkheads had dropped and the corridor was filled with smoke: dropping to the ground Shroud slid along the floor where she could still see, as Cameron walked.

Jinn rose up to his face, pointing to a corner and pulled Cameron along.

Kneeling down, Outlook saw what Jinn wanted. A firemen was laying on the floor, his air-pack mask was off and he was trying to breath through a small filter. Cameron filled the air bottle and held the mask to his face. The man greedily gulped at the air and panted heavily. He was far too warm - so Cameron doused him with water from out of his Reservoir and ‘it’ cooled him down.

“Oye, Laddy: McTavish was surely a goner, if’n ye hadn’a come when ya did.” He said between bursts of breath.

Cameron was shocked: “McTavish! What are you doing down here?”

“An I should be asking ye tat question.” snarked the Security man “Another time perhaps. Gads - what manner be tis bag-o-bones?”

“McTavish, meet Jinn … she’s a ghost, since she’s already dead she’s the best help you could ever want.”

“I’m needin ta ask Lass - how is it ya died?”

“House fire.” replied Jinn trying to act all innocent. For which Cameron gave her a nudge and whispered “That’s not very nice.”

“I’s not be’in instilled wit confidence here.” said the man as he adjusted his breathing apparatus “Have ye no air-bottle boy?”

“I’ve got my own air, and I’m deflecting the heat.”

“Wit ta smoke, ye canna see ta nose on yer face.”

“Got that covered too,” added Cameron.

“Ten ole McTavish ill be stickin close to ya.”

“Access is this way,” called Jinn, directing them down the tunnel.

“Day shut off ta ventilation - it was fannin ta fire” shouted McTavish.

The light from Camerons eyes did little to illuminate where the’d entered, so Jinn called out “Which way?”

“It’s hottest to our right, and flames are burning straight ahead.”

“Then I’d say the garage is that way” pointed Jinn straight down the tunnel “and Fabrication is to our right.”

“McTavish: which do you recommend? Head to the fires core - or knock down the edge?”

The question became moot when an explosion rocked the corridor, sending a concussive force at them.

“If’n dat be ta garage, I’d say it were a fuel drum wit blew. Best head fer dat first.”

The heat was intense as they gathered outside the massive sealed door that was the entrance to the garage, it was hot enough to burn exposed flesh so Cameron lead them back a few steps then began to dissolve some of the concrete wall thereby making an alternate entrance.

Jinn was the first to enter, motioned the rest to follow by tugging on the lifeline they had tied between themselves. They crawled along the floor, sweat poured down Ian’s face from the heat, still: McTavish was calling out progress reports into his radio.

The garage was immense, apportioned into individual stalls that each contained cars in varying stages of repair, five of the vehicles along the wall nearest to the hot spot were on fire, metal having liquified and was pooling on the floor. Drums of oil were burning in the corner with wisps of flames licking up the spilled combustibles filling the room with black smoke.

Cameron stood focusing upon the flames: amidst the smoke the heat waves could be watched as they drew into the youth making ripples in the air. The flames died down as he approached the ignited oil, the flames retracted as if bowing before the boy and then puffed out of existence and the roar abated. Walking past each burning bay the flames looked to rush angrily at the boy - only to disappear in a whoosh as the fire inside would die. Moving along the stalls in turn each burning car relented and soon the room turned dark as flames no longer lit the space.

Cameron next started a vortex which swirled as it collected the smoke into the glowing blue sphere between his hands, his team seeing the improved conditions also stood and assessed the situation around them - they hurried to give help to the scattered bodies laying on the floor.

A hole in the wall was allowing more smoke to enter the workspace, it was pouring heat in and threatened to reignite the fuels, Cameron manufactured a cover and getting help: he, Jinn, and McTavish’s blocked the intrusion and sealed the hole.

Walking back along the bays Cameron pulled out all the heat from the metal husks which was all that remained of the cars, lastly he took away any remaining heat from the oil containers.

Doing a quick survey of the garage area, he called over to McTavish: “I count eight on the floor, four more holed up in the office, is there an outside door to let medics in?”

“Must be an over’ed door sum where? Ow else did day git ta cars down er.”

“Right, found it! There’s a ramp over here. Let them know its safe to use and start sending in help. I’ll make an opening for them.” called out Outlook.

On his way back Cameron checked over the injured students, helping where he could to ease breathing, block pain from burns and stabilize their conditions, he left a note pinned to those he’d helped to give the medic’s some info on their status.

When the first of the rescuers entered Cameron gathered up his team to return into the tunnel, once again charging up McTavish’s air-pack, noting that Jinn was at about 40% of her signature. All agreed to proceed and they headed back into the corridor placing a temporary barrier over the opening Cameron had made to keep the garage area safe.

Backtracking to the intersection, the group turned to approach the hottest area, smoke was still thick and they crawled along. Looking at his team Cameron noticed that McTavish was struggling, swooning from the intense heat - dowsing the man once more with a shower of cold water Cameron pressed his face against Ian’s mask.

“This is as far as you can go. Give me the radio - go back to the garage.”

“I’ll not be abandon’in ye.”

“You’re not! But discretion is the better part of valour, You can’t take the heat.”

“Yer right: I ka’not go tany further - jest make sure ye come outta tis alive boy!”

“That’s the plan.”

McTavish left the two, his movements laboured and slow as he struggled to return.

Jinn asked: “How are you holding up?”

“No problem with converting the heat, let’s just say it’s a strange way to charge a battery.”

The two moved along the tunnel using the far wall as a guide through the thick smoke, but the passage came to an abrupt end as a solid metal door barred any further movement as it completely blocked the tunnel.

“It’s a bulkhead, it dropped down to isolate the tunnel.”

“Can we get past it?”

“Nope, this direction is sealed off - is there another entrance?”

“Not one I know of.”

“Then I’m going to have to make an opening in it. Brace yourself!”

The teens pressed themselves as far as they could against the tunnels wall, Cameron set about dematerializing a small port into the heavy barrier. He’d barely started when the weakened section blew out; the blasts flare caught Shrouds cloak on fire and started to burn up her left side, revealing the metal bone skeleton.

Jinn took off her cloak and stomped on it, putting out the flames. “That was some of my best work” she complained.

Cameron took the cloth into storage, sympathizing: “It looked great.”

Looking through the hole Cameron sized up what was ahead, then increased the openings size so he could crawl through, with Jinn following closely. The entrance door into the lab area had blown clear off it supports and the two peered into the devastated metal shop.

Fabrication Lab was ablaze, anything that would burn was, off on the one side was some kind of kiln, it looked like it was a smelter, but it was easily the single hottest thing in the room.

Being close enough while standing at the door, Cameron reached out and pulled the heat into his battery, he watched his energy level climb as the intense fire dropped a few notches - but didn’t die.

The fire wasn’t willing to return to its cage and wouldn’t be extinguished either, it had all the fuel and air it could want, looking at what fed the beast: Cameron saw a ruptured gas line and manipulated the molecules to plug it off - thereby preventing any more fuel to engorge the flames.

The fire relented as the boy further dropped the temperature, peeling away heat and soaking it up, the white hot furnace visibly cooled as the inferno within ebbed. It no longer roared and the burst seams began to close as it cooled.

Turning to his partner, Outlook was aghast to see Jinn sprawled beside him on the floor, rivulets of molten metal dripping off her form.

“Don’t go to pieces on me now.”

“I’m falling apart, just like Napoleon.”

“Whats that got to do …”

“Bone-apart - Napoleon Bonaparte.”

“Cute, how long have you waited to use that line?”

“That’s telling.” was the last she could say before her voice box melted.

“You’ve gotten me here. I’ll try to cool the place down.” He acknowledged to her.

The metal skeleton gave a mock salute, and collapsed into a pile as the energy signature faded. Cameron picked up the pieces sending them into Warehouse.

Cameron collected the smoke within a whirlwind drawing it into a blue nexus, then began cooling surfaces within the room.

He found a man leaning up against a wall, he had no clothes on but was covered in metal skin, he was unconscious but still alive - even if some of his ‘skin’ had boiled. Looking behind the man Cameron discovered an office, within it lay several unconscious students that the man had dragged to whatever sanctuary the room granted.

Checking that others could now enter, he called on the radio to ask for help. At first only a couple firemen entered through the small opening he and Jinn had used, and once inside he pointed them to the office, their attention focused upon the wounded, and began administering first aid to the victims.

Eventually, a crash came from down the tunnel as a bulkhead was breached allowing entry of more responders. Cameron had been staying back at a distance to not interfere - but did give what help he could; all of the survivors had severe burns with blackened and blistered bodies along with smoke damaged lungs. Doyle would undoubtedly be very busy.

Letting the trained emergency folks do their jobs, Cameron skirted around the orchestrated mayhem and returned to the auto-shop, walking up the garage ramp into daylight. He doffed the fireman jacket giving it a clean before setting it down - then shucked the waders. Off to a side he spotted Jericho helping out a nurse - they shared a wave, he then spied McTavish sitting with nearly a half dozen empty water bottles scattered around him - Cameron approached him. Ian still had the gaze of someone who had run a marathon and was sitting catching his breath.

“Laddy - take a load off.” Gestured the man patting the ground beside him.

“How are you?”

“Ta medic said I’ve sweated buckets, it were hotter en blazes in dare.”

“I don’t know at what temperature Adamantium melts at, but Shroud had to … give up the ghost.”

“Did we lose her?”

“No, but she couldn’t keep holding onto her skeleton any longer.”

“Ow did ye do it boy? It weren’t fit fer mad dogs er Scotsmen down dare.”

“I converted the heat into energy, it only felt warm to me - it was also easy to gather.”

“I’fn ye say so. Did it look like everyone survived ?”

“I didn’t see any fatalities, but burns are very painful, some might be touch and go. I hope everyone makes it.”

“Ye an me boat.”

“I’m supposed to be at Maintenance, I’ll head back there.”

“Aye Lad, if’n m’head t’were n't a spinnen - I’d tak ye dare.”

“It’s okay McTavish, see you later.”

“Gid on ya Lad, Gid on ya!”

Arriving back at Maintenance, Cameron checked in with Mr. Duncan and reported that He, Jinn and Dump Truck had made it out of the sewers safely., after which he returned his gear repairing the damage to it. There was still time remaining on the clock - even if most everyone else had dispersed, a quick look said they’d gone back to their cottages where food was being distributed.

In the shop he found Stan and Morie looking at a wall map and seemingly perplexed. Seeing the boy they asked “How did it go?”

“Fires out, we all got out safe. All the action will be shifting to Doyle now.”

Satisfied with the brief report, the two men returned to their previous discussion.

“The undergrounds sprinklers should have prevented a fire from spreading, each Lab has a separate fire suppression system, it should never have gotten out of control.”

“Do you guys know why the water stopped?” asked Cameron: “In the sewers, it had been pouring in but it stopped.”

“The school’s run out of water” explained Morie “The Reservoir ran dry.”

Stan continued the narrative “No water means no toilets and no food. We’ll have to evacuate the school.”

Morie took up the ball next “Students will need transportation to Dunwich, maybe even Berlin for accommodation tonight or longer - that is if we can get this fixed!”

“What happened to the water?” puzzled Outlook.

“The fire emptied our storage, and the wells haven’t been able to keep up with demand of late, its been a losing battle for awhile now” admitted Stan.

Giving the problem consideration Cameron then questioned: “How much water is needed to keep the school running?”

“3 million gallons would get us through the weekend plus a day or two more.” informed Morie.

“What about the lake? Could we use that to fill the reservoir with?” wondered the youth.

“We haven’t the means to move it. We’d need more pumps than Whateley has on hand - even then it wouldn’t be potable water.” replied Morie

“What is needed to make it potable?” asked Cameron of the now curious maintenance duo.

“Filtration and disinfection.” contributed Stan.

“And permission from the EPA.” added Mr. Duncan stepping into the discussion.

“If we had permission, could move and treat water, is there any other obstacle?” counted out Cameron

“The distribution pumps: when air got into them, cavitation likely ruined the impellers, wouldn’t be surprised that the pumps are screwed.”

“Three impossible things … heck - sounds like a Tuesday to me” jested Morie. “What's our plan?”

“If I may: Mr. Duncan - can you make a call to Admin and keep then up to date on what’s happening, best to have a contingence ready in case we don’t succeed, then contact the EPA and see about getting permission to use lake water.” the supervisor nodded agreeably. “Morie - can you go to the reservoir and check on the pumps, then get the disinfection equipment ready?” Morie accepted the assignment. “Stan: would you take me to the lake, we’ll see about getting water up to the reservoir.”

Mr Duncan asked “Anything else?”

“I could use some more hands, can we try and find Generator? And do you know of anyone who can control water on campus - that would be a great help” requested Cameron.

Stan drove Cameron to the lake on one of the buggies maintenance used on Campus, he stood on the lake shore sampling the water and got an explanation as to what constituted potable water, Stan quickly explained the parameters involved.

Stan received a call on the radio saying they’d gotten a go-ahead from the EPA, and to proceed with the plan.

Cameron stepped into the lake, wading in up to his chest, the water was cool and took his breath away at first but it felt refreshing. He opened himself up and developed an energy field around himself, once he was surrounded by a blue haze, he then allowed water to flow into his dimensional void that held liquids, he kept his focus on only letting pure water through.

Walking back onto shore Stan wrapped a blanket around him and asked “What was that about?”

“Best way I could think of to move water.”

Stan was puzzled but let it go, mentioning that Jade was found as well as a girl called Riptide - they had agreed to help. Cameron asked if they all could meet up at the Reservoir. Driving like a crazed man Stan got them to the schools Reservoir on the other side of campus in a hurry, pulling up - Generator saw Outlook and ran up giving the boy an enthusiastic hug.

“Your okay! And soaked - what? You needed to cool off?”

“Long walk - short pier.”

Grabbing a girl who was standing close by - Jade pulled her over “Outlook: this is Riptide, she lives at Poe too.”

“Riptide: Thank you for coming. Can you please explain to me how you control water?”

“Basically I move water to make waves.”

“Perfect!”

Cameron set Riptide and Morie up to add the disinfecting chemicals, he had Stan and Jade look at the pumps, while he began to empty his personal Reservoir into the schools Reservoir.

The wave action Riptide created allowed the chemicals to mix into the dispensed water, at intervals Morie tested the results as the reservoir was gradually being filled, he made adjustments a few times - adding more Chlorine until he said it was a suitable dosage.

It went fairly quickly, but the chemicals and Riptide needed some time to make waves and mix the contents. With the storage tank full and the water checked to prove it was ready to go - Cameron asked what the story with the pumps was.

Generator took Cameron aside and explained what she’d found when she’d sent J-team into the equipment. One pump had seized when it had no water, two others had internal damage and couldn’t pump. The fourth was an antique from a bygone age and hadn’t worked for years.

“How many pumps will be needed to supply the school?”

Stan and Morie looked at each other, they debated the answer but came to the conclusion that two would work.

“Would anything happen if water just started to flow again?”

Stan shouted out “Don’t! You’ll blow the pipes up with water hammer. It’s got to be re-filled gently and then build up the pressure.”

Cameron looked to Riptide: “Can you move water gently to fill the pipes?”

“Well - yeah, it’ll be slow like letting a bathtub drain.” she mused.

“Good. Jade: could you get Jinn to inspect the pumps once I’m done? Make sure I haven’t melded the parts together. I just need a few minutes.”

Standing beside the first of the pumps, Cameron amassed the metal needed to repair the pumps impeller, it had been worn down dreadfully with holes and entire pieces broken off, checking the bearings he also tweaked them.

Asking Stan and Morie to rotate the pumps shaft he checked his work, Jinn went inside and inspected the pumps surfaces and clearances.

Jade reported: “Looks good.”

Moving to the next pump he did the same, and it too came away with a thumbs up.

Riptide reported that she had filled the pipes, and suggested she head out to ensure the water behaved itself when the pumps started.

Stan took her down to the Quad and radio’d in that they were in position.

Morie started the first rebuilt pump and slowly let it build up pressure, Stan called to wait for a minute as Riptide needed to do something with a pipe.

After short while they called back saying to continue.

Morie fired up the other pump and watched carefully as the monitoring gauges showed the systems climb. Morie let out a breath of relief when it reached a certain mark and seemed to hold, he then began adjusting other devices and controls.

“The guys might not be the most expressive fellas in the world, but it looks like it’s working.” commented Generator.

“Glad to hear it.” sighed Cameron as the exhaustion hit and he needed to sit “I’m going to bed.” reported Cameron as he excused himself - stepping out of the control room and headed towards campus.

~o~O~o~

Cameron more stumbled than walked to his campsite, arriving at the woods edge he stopped. Sitting on the log that overlooked the lake sat a girl, her head was bowed and Cameron was certain he heard her crying. As he approached the sound of sobbing was irrefutable.

Cameron wasn’t sure if he should sneak away and leave her be - or offer help … he remembered Grace’s compassion. Materializing a box of tissues he tapped the girls shoulder with the box and presented it to her.

“Sometimes a tissue is the most important thing in the world.” he offered.

Looking at the gift, she took one and used it to dab the tears that ran down her cheeks. Turning towards the boy he saw the girls puffy eyelids and streaked mascara “Thank you” she said while taking another tissue.

“It isn’t my place to pry, but I think your heart is where mine was a short time ago.”

“What do you mean?” she sniffled.

“Not long ago, I woke up one morning and found out that all my family was dead.”

“That’s horrible.” she lamented.

“I wasn’t in a good place emotionally, friends did their best to comfort me - and I got some professional help too.”

“Did you get over it?” was asked seeking hope.

“It takes time, and I do still get sad. My psychiatrist said there are steps to cope with losing a loved one.”

“I think you're talking about a recovering alcoholic.”

“No, a person really does go through different emotional states when coming to grips with grief. Finding out my family was dead - it was like I died inside too.”

“When Aung died, I couldn’t believe it - couldn’t accept it” she admitted.

“Then you have this whole deluge of emotions and doubts hit: Why did I live? Why did this happen? What do I do now?”

“Aung was training me, she was my coach and mentor … we became very close.”

“She was preparing you to take her place?”

“I was being groomed to become her.”

“Okay - that I don’t understand. Could you explain it a little?”

“She held a high position long ago, and was starting to build back up to resume her title - we would meld and …” she stopped as her emotions broke down.

“I haven’t any clue about what you just said” admitted Cameron, and mused for a moment before speaking further: “But I do remember when I was a little kid: my grandparents had such a close relationship. It was funny to watch when one of them would start saying something then the other one would finish it. I wondered at the time if the had read each others script and stolen their lines, but I eventually figured out that they just knew each other so well that they understood the others feelings and thoughts.” Digging through his own emotions he continued: “Someday - someday it would be nice to be that important to … that in love with somebody, that we became that intertwined as our lives played out.”

“I respected and admired Aung.”

“You wouldn’t say you loved her?”

“I don’t know what I felt.”

“But you’re grieving her: that means you cared.” he comforted “I needed to let my family go, accept that they were gone - I still love them but they weren’t there to receive or return it. I really miss them.”

“She’s gone and I’m not ready or fit to take her place.”

“Was it that you would assume her place or that she would assimilate you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“You had said you would become her. Did that leave room for you to still have your freewill?”

“I imagine it would be a co-ownership, I would still be relevant.”

“When you were being trained: was allowance for what you wanted given consideration?”

“I don’t know what your getting at?”

“Did you have a say in what was going to happen to you - is it what you really wanted? Or had you just gone along with the sales-pitch and all the trappings?”

“It was my destiny.”

“Quoting ‘destiny’ is just a way of pulling the rug out from underneath a reasonable argument.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Fair is letting each person decide for themselves who and what they will become and believe - no-one should demand sacrificing a life. That’s stepping into the realm of slavery or forcing somebody to become an automaton.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Perhaps not.” he relented “But I do feel that you’re upset because you don’t know what to do now. Which way to turn.”

“I feel lost.”

“That is grief talking, it’s perfectly normal.”

“Then I don’t know what normal feels like!”

“Normal is wanting to be happy, to feel loved and be loved. By losing someone our compass has gone askew - it takes time but we do get our bearings back.”

“All I want to do is curl up into a ball and tell the world to go away.’

“I’ve been there.” Cameron confided, “Believe it or not - there are people who care enough to shine a little light into that dark place.”

“And you just happen to be one of those!” she said giving him a glare.

“No. I just happened to be a guy out walking in the woods, and couldn’t ignore a person in pain.”

The redhead took a long hard look at Cameron, in amazement she spoke “Magic bounces off you, my glamour isn’t effecting you!”

“Now your just trying to confuse me.”

“I have a glamour that forces people to - be kind and friendly… it hasn’t touched you.”

“Imagine your talking to someone that doesn’t know the first thing about magic’y stuff - forget that. I’ll just go with: Huh?”

“There is a magical spell on me that diminishes peoples anger and aggression towards me, it makes most docile and submissive around me.” after a further examination of Cameron she asked “I’m going to cast a harmless spell at you - to see what happens.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’m any too happy about.”

“It’ll just be a gust of wind, come-on - don’t be a chicken.”

“Being chicken … “ he didn’t get to finish as she did something with her hands - then had a shocked look on her face.

“It disappeared, before it even could form - it dissipated.”

“Does making magic involve the use of energy?”

“Essence: it’s call essence.”

“I absorb energy.” he supplied “I suspect essence is a type of energy.”

“Essence is everywhere, it runs in currents called leylines.”

“Everything is energy.”

“That means … you were being nice to me - not because of my glamour, but because your nice.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there was a compliment in there somewhere: Thank you.”

“I never know if people are friendly because their being compelled to - or desire something from me.” turning on him again she demanded: “What do you want from me?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop crying.”

“No ulterior motive?”

“Nothing I want or need.”

After being scrutinized for a while she replied “I believe you. My name is Fey.”

“Outlook” he paused, “I was going to ask if Faye was your real or code-name, but it’s gotten too crazy to keep straight anyhow.”

Fey handed Cameron back the box of tissues, leaned over and kissed his cheek “That was for being a gentleman.”

Cameron blushed at the compliment.

Fey then stood and turned to face him, reaching out with her hands she held his head then bent down and kissed his forehead. “That was for giving me something to think about.”

She hesitated a moment, then ever so gently put her hand under his chin and softly tipped his head back, bending near she kissed his lips.

The delicate touch was like a flower petal being brushed against his skin, the brief contact left a hint of honey as he drew in a slight breath. His lips begged for another taste and an unfamiliar hunger wanted that to happen again.

“What was that for?” he asked - amazed he could make a sound.

“Silly” she said and then tapped his nose with her forefinger “That: was my audition for the role of leading lady.”

Faye danced across the opening by the lake and dashed into the trees. Cameron watched the red hair disappear into the woods.

“Women” he said with a shake of his head “who knew.”

It was only early evening but Cameron was beyond exhaustion, he set up his tent and after giving himself a good cleaning - heated up a bowl of soup for dinner then the boy lay down on his cot and didn’t move for hours.

Sunday, September 25

Cameron checked the time on his SI phone and was amused to find he’d slept for 11 hours, and gave a chuckle: he’d gone to bed feeling tired enough to sleep for a week.

Outlook called up from Warehouse Jinn’s skeleton and commenced conducting repairs to the metal bones, he decided to make a couple alterations that he hoped Jade would approve of: he gave the skull a second face, so that while one was friendly - the other was a skull with deep set lights to add a menacing effect, fixed to the bones were now an assortment of tools like a pry bar and hammer, then to help with the dead theme he made retractable skeletal hands and feet, and finished off by refurbishing Shrouds cloak.

After taking down camp he went to Kane Hall to sign into the day book as he had been dictated to. Then stopping off at Poe, he left Shroud’s body in a gift wrapped box: shaped like a coffin. With still time to kill he walked around campus doing his circuit emptying dumpsters before meandering to Crystal Hall to sit and people watch - while enjoying a hearty breakfast from out of Storage.

Cameron arrived at Maintenance right on schedule, and stood in the line-up awaiting orders. Stan was the senior man on duty and doled out work to the eager student workers, and the equally dreading ‘convicts’ for the days detention. Stan directed Outlook to stay back with him.

After loading up a service cart with tools, he told Cameron “We have a house call to make first-thing today, buckle up!” Cameron was convinced the man was practicing for pole position at the Indy 500 as he raced over the paths.

The little cart nearly ran down a bunch of morning joggers with Stan shaking his fist honking the horn and yelling “Ya bunch of hooligans” while grinning madly before confiding “They love it when we say that” Cameron was bewildered from the near miss, and what he was certain must have been a girl with green hair running in the group.

Stan parked them in front of a four story building which Cameron had determined from his wanderings to be Hawthorne Cottage.

Before entering Stan cautioned: “When we get into the room; don’t stare. Mr Geintz is bout the nicest guy going. He don’t deserve disrespect.”

“Is he - deformed?”

“Watch your mouth! Hawthorne Cottage houses the kids with GSD, they ain’t monsters nor freaks, an they don’t take kindly to those who treat them with pity. They just got the raw end of the meta-gene. So mind your manners!”

“Yes sir.”

The Hawthorne residents seemed to have a heightened curiosity, because once the two from Maintenance entered all heads turned to watch the intruders, Stan was meet with acceptance - Cameron received cold stares set within stern faces. It was beyond his control: the nervous smile etched his face yet again, resulting in scowls from the rooms occupants.

Thankfully they used an elevator to access the basement, the big toolbox Stan had loaded Cameron down with was too heavy to carry far. Just a short distance down the hallway - they entered a huge room, and taking up the majority of space within was a large aquarium.

A number of youth were at work cleaning the tank, the water was a vile green as they scooped out big globs of gunk. When Cameron grunted with the weight of the tools all activity stopped and the stares commenced once more.

Stan moved up near to a machine and began checking it over - asking for tools as he accessed the workings. When he wanted a flashlight Cameron removed his visor and got closer. Then the tension in the room seemed to lessen with a degree of acceptance being granted and the cleaning resumed.

Once Stan had troubleshot the pump he determined the motor was fried, and they’d need a replacement. He moaned: “Always on a Sunday!”

Cameron asked, “Can I take a look?”

Stan humoured him and pointed to the component that had failed saying, “Be my guest.” It took the boy a few moments; but managed to give it a full overhaul, then put a burst of energy into it to check if it worked.

“Thought I’d disconnected the power.” stated Stan.

“You did. I just needed to ensure it was working alright.”

“Same thing as you did yesterday at the Reservoir?”

“This pump is much smaller, less complex, and not as much damage - so it’ll run now.”

“How do you do that?”

“Best description is that I’m a type of manipulator… scratch that - that doesn’t sound very nice. I repair stuff by moving molecules.”

After putting things back together, the still skeptical man turned the machine on - with it humming to life and the rush of water could be heard.

“Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this.”

“You don’t want people to know?”

“I don’t want to be taken advantage of.”

“Only one of you - but theres a billion problems?”

“Bingo! Does anything else need to get checked?”

“Best be inspecting the pipes, ensure there aren’t any blockages."

Stan began feeling the pipes to see if water was moving - Cameron was watching the flow as he stepped up close to the tanks wall. Movement within caught his attention and after adjusting his vision a huge eye was fixated upon him.

The large mass within the tank moved with a jolt - it created a wave. Resulting in a wall of water washed over the tanks lip and the cascade fell on top of Cameron, drenching him.

One of the cleaners; a large hairy hulking guy, shouted at him “What did you do?”

“I didn’t, I …” tried to respond the dripping boy.

The very tall boy that looked like a blonde bigfoot came at Cameron, raising his arm to hit him. Cameron’s reflex reaction was to freeze him. The room hit pause: all activity stopping as everyone else looked at the unmoving flesh statue posed to strike the new kid. The only movement was Cameron who breathed, then shivered and distanced himself from ‘Shaggy’.

After shaking the water off his arms Cameron ran his hands over his head and flung the water droplets off his hands.

“Hello Outlook. Can you hear me?”

Surprised; Cameron looked about trying to figure out who spoke, as it sounded to have come from right beside him.

“Who?” Cameron shifted his sight to investigate and spied an energy tether coming from the tank into the Sasquatch. The body was still suspended mid-motion but his energy signature now had an overlay.

“I’m Louis Geintz, and - I’m the guy in the tank.”

Looking at the tank, the figure inside raised a tentacle and waved at him … it was the source of the tether.

“Do I address the tank or this body?” asked Cameron gesturing to the frozen youth.

“It seems you’re unable to see or hear my psychic manifestation - so I am using Montana as a conduit.”

“You’re a psychic?” asked the boy who then checked the energy signature and was shocked at the strength it emanated.

“Yes, but you have no psychic presence that I can detect.”

“Would you say I’m invisible?”

“I only saw you physically, that’s a first, so it startled me - sorry about the soaking.”

“No worries, and I apologize for invading your space.”

“Now I know how come I couldn’t find you.”

“You’ve been looking for me?”

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you: but I don’t think now is the opportune time."

Looking around the room at the shocked faces Cameron had to agree. “I could come back tonight, seven o’clock?”

“I’ll see about finding someone who can act as an intermediary.”

“Before you … hang-up: how do you feel?”

“Same way everyone else does.”

“Sorry - no, how are you feeling?”

“Well, I’m congested, tend to sneeze a lot, and have itchy eyes and a runny - nose. Why?”

“It looks like you have allergies.”

When Mr. Geintz withdrew from Montana, Cameron detected a ball of energy, and determined that to have been Mr Geintz’ projection, it positioned itself in front of the angry student and prevented him from attacking Cameron.

~o~O~o~

It took Stan and Cameron an hour or two to install the modifications Cameron had designed and built for Louis’ enclosure. After having tested a couple environmental conditions he discovered ‘FUBAR’ reacted favourably to the thermocline between fresh and salt water, the pumping system he’d constructed made a salt water zone at the tanks bottom and fresh water on top, then through swirling the streams made the majority of the tank into a climactic region best suited for the man’s physiology.

~o~O~o~

Stan drove them around to monitor the school’s water wells, Cameron looked down each and estimated the water flows - three of the seven had little to no water coming in. Assessing the situation it looked to Cameron that all the tunnel construction had redirected the natural underground water course.

Cameron volunteered to scout the area and marked new locations that had groundwater present, indicating one site that would tap into an underground stream.

The remainder of Cameron’s detention was spent assisting Stan at the Reservoir and then cleaning up the shop before he could leave.

Sunday Evening: Whateley Academy, The Quad

Cameron stood in the Quad bidding his time before heading to Hawthorne, walking aimlessly he was nearly crashed into by a fast moving Dinosaur with tall dorsal spikes who was running down the pathway, at the last possible moment he dodged around Outlook and appeared oblivious to the almost collision. Just a couple steps behind the impatient lizard came Jericho.

Cameron gasped at what the guy was wearing, even with his visor on and his sight not layered catching all the nuances - his clothes were … striking, and not in a good way; rather like being hit repeatedly over the head until you cried ‘Uncle’.

“Hey Outlook!” welcomed Jericho “We were just heading for dinner, Razorback smells BBQ ribs, you should join us.”

“Mr. Geintz asked me to come for a talk, but thanks for the invite. Can I get a rain-check?” Cameron noticed the eager dinosaur bouncing from foot-to-foot in anticipation, acting like a kid in bad need of the bathroom, “Before you go: are you wearing a lime green, orange, and pink plaid kilt?”

“Ain’t it a thing of beauty?”

“We need to talk. See you later,” he called to Jericho who was being dragged away behind Razorback.

Stepping into Hawthorne Cottage’s foyer, he caught the house parent’s attention; with Mrs Savage letting him know that Louis was expecting him and to head on down.

Knocking on the door it was opened by someone unknown to Cameron - but from the signature she was a psychic.

“Hi: I’m Mindbird. You must be Outlook, Foob asked me to speak for him tonight - come on in.”

“Hi, is Mr Geintz going to take you over like he did Montana?” asked Cameron as he checked out the room, it looked like they had been engaged in a chess game prior to his arrival.

“No, I’ll just relay what he says. He’s right thou: you’re standing right here - and I can’t sense you at all.”

Looking at Mr Geintz’ tank, the water was much clearer than earlier, it still had a slight green hue, but it seemed to be a huge improvement. The details of the occupant could be discerned fully and Cameron was amazed that so great an alteration to a human could be survived.

“Foob wants to say he’s feeling better.” remarked Mindbird “He’s inviting us to sit.”

“He’s welcome” said Cameron with a small bow, “May I ask if our conversation will be confidential?” as he took one of the chairs at the chess table.

“Foob is asking me if I would repeat and also swear to an oath: to ensure my discretion.” Mindbird then faced Cameron and spoke: “I give my solemn word that what is said between us shall not be repeated or revealed, it will be kept secret between us. Foob’s words by my mouth - I too swear it” added Mindbird.

“I accept your word” agreed Cameron “What had Mr Geintz wished to talk about?”

“He was in the morgue when you ‘awakened’.” said Mindbird with a degree of surprise at the message she conveyed.

“It was you? I thought somebody was there.”

“It was - It scared him deeply … and he fled.”

“I don’t blame him, I was scared too.”

“So you know you were resurrected?”

“I clued in, it’s a rather troubling experience; one I’m still trying to come to grips with.”

“Not an everyday occurrence to be sure.” was relayed “Are you real? He’s never not felt a persons presence before. There are some who can’t be read - but never not sensing their existence.”

“Flesh and blood. Ophelia checked me over - I’m well and truly alive.”

“He wants to know if you intend to bring harm to the kids at this school?”

“I’m guessing this is a unique experience for a psychic, not having insight into someone - not reading their mind and knowing exactly what they think and feel. I can only give you my word and let you see my actions to show my intentions, just like I must give the benefit of the doubt that Mindbird will keep her word.”

“That wasn’t an answer.” rebuffed Mindbird

“True, but how else might I answer the question? If I accidentally step on someones toes - I have brought harm to them, it happened unintentionally. I have no desire to hurt anyone - but circumstances are beyond my control.”

“Who resurrected you?” was asked “I’m asking - not Foob” added Mindbird.

“Whom did Mr Geintz encounter?”

“He saw a spirit: it stood over you” turning to the tank “Are you certain?” The psychic girl sat back in her chair with a ‘whew’, looking at Cameron she said “Foob says he watched as the spirit removed the bodybag, and healed your wounds, then an immense light flashed and you started breathing. The spirit turned to Food and nodded at him. That so shocked him he lost his projection.”

“Am I to understand that he’s never seen a spirit before?”

“No” answered Mindbird but then paused,“it’s just that it acknowledged him - when ever we visit the astral plane the spirits ignore us - avoid us completely. They only ever interact with humans when inhabiting a host.”

“That’s interesting to know.’

Mindbird was busy speaking to Mr Geintz, but then posed the question “Are you an Avatar?”

“Am I possessed? No! Definitely not.”

“Then what are you? Why a resurrection?”

“I’m human, and my assignment wasn’t finished.”

“What’s your assignment?”

“Some might call me an observer, but I could also be described as a catalyst.”

“Can you explain that?”

“When making dough, baking soda is added to make a reaction. That is the role of a catalyst.”

“Have you come to toy with us, like we’re a game.”

“Certainly no game.” assured Outlook, “But perhaps I could illustrate by using your chess board?”

Mindbird passed along Louis’ permission.

“Chess is an ancient game, its purpose was to teach strategy - was it not?” Looking at Mindbird she nodded in agreement.

“Interestingly the pieces are fashioned after societies structure; you have the ‘King’, the key figure who signifies a lost campaign, he can only move one square at a time - reflecting the importance of his position. Government is held together through him.”

“The Queen however, is also a figure of government that can move about the board with little restraint; it shows another facet of government, how it must react fast at times by word or action.”

“The Bishops obviously represent religion who always ingratiates itself next to government; hence its station on either side of the King and Queen. Yet it moves diagonally; it signifies that it is untrustworthy - deceitful, you never truly know what motives it really has.”

“Next is the Rook, shaped like a castle it signifies the physical kingdom: commerce, trade, food. It moves in a straight line, being held to direct paths to bring surety and security.”

“Then there are the Pawns: the common people, pictured as being of little account so easily forfeited. Each of them can only make small moves being held under the thumb of those ruling over them: The rich - powerful - entitled, the pieces behind pushing the pawns forward to the whims and winds.”

Mindbird interrupted “What about the Knight?”

“That is the question isn’t it.” pondered Cameron as he picked up that chess piece looking at it, “Throughout history knights have entered battle under the banner of kings, cities or estates, and religion - it too creating its holy warriors. The image is that they epitomized noble traits like: justice, honour, and truth.” He put the piece down.

“In the earliest iteration of the game, the Knight was sculpted as a Were. They had been prized warriors in battle: fearless, tough and cunning. But when the fortunes of war changed new combatants where fashioned - the meta-gene was formulated and these enhanced humans bolstered the depleted ranks of war.”

“When their lords and masters decreed annihilation of the Were, their place on the board was vacant, but then filled by the new replacements. So the question is: where does the heart of the knight lie?” finished Cameron.

“Which side are you on?” questioned Mindbird pointing to the opposing pieces set on the board.

Putting both his arms onto the centre of the chess board Cameron spread them outward sweeping all the pieces off. Placing his opened hand flat onto the cleared board he stood and said, “That’s my side!”

End Part 3

It’s A Matter of Death and Life: part 4

A non-canon Whateley Universe story

By Camospam, editing by Wendy K

Whateley Academy, Kirby Hall: Monday Oct 15, 2007

Louis Geintz had just wrapped up his famous Psychic ethics discourse, It’s a topic every student in his class would at some point need to face, and likely agonize over, because undoubtedly they’ll each need to decide whether to ‘cross the line’ or not.

A psychic has an especially challenging approach when using their powers. While an exemplar might have limitations to their strength, if they exercise their ability; say by starting out lifting a Volkswagen - however, by pushing themselves they could build up to hefting a bus. Conversely, a psychic needs to practice not pushing the limits, to not explore what’s possible. Instead, it’s all about finesse and discretion.

A truly skilled psychic is one that does no damage - to not leave footprints saying they'd been there, depending - of course, upon the decision of having ethics: if one sought to be good or bad.

If a psychic cared nothing about ethics, or perhaps better stated: had no moral inhibitions over harming other people … herein lay what always bothered Foob most. A simple punch can be easily healed from, so too a broken leg or arm although serious injuries, but a psychic blow! It has the potential to destroy a persons life and ruin their mind completely. It was possible to even kill with a thought. This is why he put such effort into teaching the value of ethical behaviour.

He hoped his students would always pick the high road because of his teachings.

The students left class with subdued vigour, the message was heavy, but at least its importance wasn’t easily discarded. Staying behind to speak with him were a few of his astral neighbourhood watch volunteers: The Dream Team, the students who took turns observing the goings on in the spirit realm.

He had tasked them with a special assignment: to observe if an inordinate amount of spirits had gathered at Whateley. Ever since his conversation with Outlook he’d been worried there might just be more happening in the realms than he’d believed.

His students would gawk in awe at him whenever he recounted his experience that night in Doyle’s basement, what he’d seen (leaving out names): how a spirit entity had stood close to him - it acknowledged him … that simply never happened! Spirits always avoided contact with psychics, they only ever condescended to speak with humans when one was bonded to an Avatar, even then conversation was vague or superficial.

It never occurred to Louis before, as it was one of his students that drew his attention to the disproportionately large number of Avatar students attending Whateley. He’d tried checking school records for the actual percentage, and was dismayed by the response to his inquiry: ‘That is classified information’ plus having to explain to Ms. Hartford why he wanted to know such a thing. He didn’t disclose exactly why he’d asked, but told her it was to be better prepared for teaching and advising students hosting another mind.

His personal count pegged the number of Avatars as having increased ten fold over the last five years, a disturbing trend.

After debriefing the Dream Team over what they’d found during their ‘patrols’, a pattern was beginning to form, but precisely what the big picture was - Louis hadn’t figured that out yet.

Tunnels under Whateley Academy

Solange walked into the secret room that the Alpha’s kept in the tunnels, reserved for some of it’s more clandestine meetings, there hadn’t been much need for this room lately - not since ‘The Don’ had fallen from grace, but still it afforded privacy when the situation demanded … discretion.

Entering the dimly lit meeting space Tansy saw seated at the table the Alpha Alpha: Wyatt Cody. Across from him was Imperious the leader of the New Olympians, or Zeus reincarnated, if Jason Stratholm was to be believed. The two looked to have just finished an argument when Tansy entered, her empathic reading from off both of them said it was something they didn’t want to share with her, and the timing of her arrival had ended the argument on pins and needles.

Jason stood and gave Tansy a casual greeting in passing as he left the room.

“Did I interrupt something?” asked Tansy.

“We had finished, you actually broke up an awkward moment.”

“I thought you would want this right away,” informed Tansy placing an envelope on the table and pushing it over to Wyatt.

“Were there any problems?”

“The transaction took longer than expected, the exchange needed extra precautions.”

“You said it would be straight forward.”

“Normally it would have been; but there was added complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

“My contact demanded a higher price than usual, and greater security for the exchange. He was being extra cautious since I haven’t been a regular customer after parting company with The Don.”

“Was your source suspicious.”

“Of course he was suspicious, it’s not like going to the corner store to get a newspaper. I was asking for classified documents, I’d think him a fool if he didn’t take precautions.”

“What did you get?”

“It’s what you’ve asked for - the official incident report: part of an ongoing criminal investigation. It’s not an original - but is a copy taken before it was put into sealed storage. My contact needed … encouragement to commit a felony. His price was steep, Daddy is going to ask questions.”

“You’re saying this could have gone outside Whateley? Elaine could be charged with something!”

“Yes. Technically we are now accessories to a crime” informed Solange.

“It’s Elaine, I’d do anything for her” admitted Wyatt.

“I didn’t say NO when you asked for my help, Lanie’s my friend - how could I not assist?”

Wyatt opened the envelope and read the report boldly stamped ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ and when finished he huffed in distaste before slamming the document onto the table, “I thought you said this is an official report.”

“It is” mollified Tansy.

“All names have been redacted, we don’t know who the infiltrator was!”

“Does it matter? He’s gone now - Grizzly did a good job of that.”

“If one fails you can be certain another will be dispatched. What worries me is this open incident report … and no detention for Elaine, it feels wrong” mused Wyatt.

“What should we do about it?”

“Not much to be done. We bide our time and stick to the plan” summed up the senior, “But you have to wonder: How did it know to come to Whateley?”

“Are you saying we should have asked it questions first?” wondered the girl.

“Of course not. But we better keep alert! This last one lit up like a sunrise, the next one might be harder to spot” he advised.

“We can watch any new arrivals, see if another one tries to slip in” assured Tansy, receiving a nod in agreement from Wyatt.

“We need to keep to the timetable moving. Is everything ready for tonights meeting of the Atlantean League?” asked the Alpha.

“Word has been circulated, usual place - usual time” notified Tansy.

The gesture of dismissal from Wyatt indicated that they had finished their business.

“Thank you Mustang.”

“Your welcome Kodiak.”

Dunn Hall: Wednesday Evening, October 17, 2007

Cameron was a bundle of nerves as he stood in the hall. Again he pulled at the bottom of his jacket trying to assuage his fear that it sat funny on him, straightening it for the umpteenth time. Either his clothing was simply out of proportion - or his young and growing body just wasn’t ready to sport formal wear.

He’d had to lengthen all his clothes after each growth spurt, another overnight inch increase with accompanying aches and pains confirmed he was filling out. That thought took him back to the times when ‘her’ Mom would mark the kitchen door frame with both the kids heights. Beside each was added their ages, and James would stand tippy toe to say he was catching up to Cameron. They would get into a fight over it, and … Cameron was ready to call it a night and started to turn about when the room’s door swung open.

“Don’t just stand there! Come in!” enthused a lady with prominent horns and a spade ended tail as she reached across the doorway and pulled the discombobulated boy in.

He wasn’t absolutely certain what had just happened, since he found himself standing inside a room that was large, but not huge, populated by a plethora of students who were attempting to move - with varying degrees of success, in harmony with the music.

Nearly all the rooms tables had been cleared away with only a few chairs remaining - being set up along one perimeter of the dance floor. The space wasn’t decorated like a fancy ballroom, nor was it adorned with a disco ball hanging from the ceiling. At least Cameron’s worst fears hadn’t been realized.

Cameron needed to remind himself to breath so he finally exhaled. Dancing Lessons … he wasn’t completely settled onto the notion, but he’d promised Cecilia he’d at least try, and some company would be nice.

The dancing lessons poster on Crystal Hall’s notice board gave directions to and the times for the lessons held Monday and Wednesday nights, and Saturday afternoons. Even so: he hardly knew anyone at Whateley, and Mrs. Carson’s warning that he’d be unwelcome - even hated by other students was foremost in his mind.

The dance floor was occupied by a few couples receiving instruction from Miss Rogers about the proper positioning and footwork for a Foxtrot. At the moment Miss Rogers was giving pointers to a unique couple: the boy was quite tall and rather hairy, in fact he looked just like a werewolf from those old horror movies. Except when Cecilia moved his hand up from off his partners bottom and onto her back his toothy grin was exactly like that of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, even though he offered profuse apologizes.

Cameron sidestepped around the main flow of activity on the floor by keeping his back close to the wall. He headed towards a set of empty chairs and had almost succeeded in claiming one when his arm was latched onto, he found himself forcibly getting pulled across the room by the surprisingly strong lady with the devils tail and horns.

The woman retained a mischievous grin as she ‘escorted’ Cameron across the dance floor, his feet barely touching the ground as he was manhandled across the room. The lady had a scattering of black scales across her skin - which played havoc with Cameron’s sight as he blinked trying to adjust his vision. He was deposited beside a girl in a nice evening gown who was busy arranging items on a table, she hadn’t noticed the altercation coming towards her.

“Billie! I’ve found a partner for you” said his assailant.

The girl stood upright, straightening her dress, then turned to face them.

“You!” she said loudly in a sharp voice that made everyone turn to see what the commotion was about.

Cameron easily recognized the bizarre energy signature of Jade’s roommate; Billie Wilson aka Tennyo. Her dazzling signature was on displayed like a lit sparkler, burning brightly and sending off stray bursts which fizzled out as they flew away.

“Oh good, you know each other” delighted the lady as she maneuvered the two together and hastened them to face each other in preparation for dancing. They stood face to face and Cameron watched as Billie's nostrils flared while she breathed through her nose sporting a peeved expression.

“Hi Billie” offered Cameron as a wave of panic built within.

With effort she reined in her voice and asked “What did you do to me? I was a laughing stock.”

It took a while to piece together what the upset girl might be talking about “We met - and shook hands. I left a plate of poutine at the table - you didn’t like it?”

“When we touched - what did you do to me?” she demanded of him, forcefully tapping his sternum with an accusatory finger.

“I … shook your hand?” he slowly responded, his focus distracted by all the hair that just seemed to ignore gravity, “What kind of hairspray holds like that?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“It must take … like what? Two whole cans of the stuff to get it to stand up like that.”

“Forget the hair - answer the question!” she was getting frustrated and grabbed his jacket in her fists.

“I’m sorry Billie: I don’t understand what’s made you upset.”

“I saw stars - in mid-day! I felt the earth hurtling through space, It was like being on the bridge of a starship.”

“Ummm, would you say it was like how in Star Wars when they streak towards you, or in Star Trek when they pass by a window?” asked Cameron between glances at the fascinating hair.

“It was you!” accused an exasperated Billie, giving him a shake.

“I was just trying to grasp your metaphor: I don’t know what happened. Could you try describing it for me?” squeaked out the boy who had progressed to level 6 worry, as Billie renewed her firm grip on his jacket.

“I was standing on the earth but could see out into space, I felt the earth turning and I could sense great speed as if traveling through space” sounded out a perturbed Billie endeavouring to recall the sensation.

“It sounds … amazing. Had you been standing on a mountain top? Did you notice anything around you?” commented the now intrigued lad.

“ I … No - we! You and I, ‘We’ were standing in Crystal Hall, but it was like it wasn’t really there” spoke Billie in realization.

“I’m going to suggest something, and please don’t get angry,” reasoned Cameron as he noted her grip hadn’t relaxed. “Maybe if you try touching my hand - to see if it happens again?”

“Is this your idea of a come-on?” she snarled and fixed the boy in a stone cold stare that bore through his visor.

“No!” admitted Cameron, who; if he could - would have gotten some distance from the aggressive girl, “I am just trying to eliminate possibilities, figure out what happened.”

“No funny business?” demanded Billie as she pressed her face closer into Cameron’s personal space.

“Honest, I don’t know what happened” admitted Cameron, his actions coming close to outright panic now “Please. Can you put me down … I’m not fond of heights.”

During the whole interchange, the two had begun to float, they had risen to a height nearing three feet off the ground. In surprise, Billie looked around and was shocked to see them both free floating in the air with her still holding tightly onto his clothing, but she hadn’t intentionally been lifting him.

“You’re a flyer?” she asked as they began to descend.

“I sure hope not” replied Cameron, who once his feet touched down gave a big sigh of relief. “I prefer to be attached to terra-firma.” Then after adjusting his bunched up clothes, Cameron presented his hand: palm up, inviting Billie to touch it.

Billie tentatively put her hand into Cameron’s and slowly looked up, “I can see the moon, it looks all dimpled and rough.”

Cameron did a scan before speaking “Billie, the moon’s over there” he said while pointed in the opposite direction she was looking to, “I think you’re seeing the stipple ceiling with telescopic vision.”

“A who what’s it now?” was the girls befuddled reply.

“Try looking outside” advised Cameron gently bringing the girl nearer to one of the rooms windows.

“Whoa, that’s what I was talking about, there are so many stars!” exclaimed Billie.

“I’m going to take a wild guess here” offered Cameron “I have never flown before - and you haven’t had enhanced sight” the starstruck girl nodded in agreement, “I’d say our abilities are interacting somehow.”

“Are you a power mimic?”

“You’ll need to explain that power set for me.”

“A mimic can copy or steal somebody’s powers.”

“No, although I do absorb energy - so that might explain the levitating” surmised Outlook, “But as to why you’d be picking up some of my sight … are you a mimic?”

“Not any longer.”

Cameron was puzzled at that comment but didn’t press the issue, “Well: sorry then. I don’t know the why’s.”

“How many types of sight do you have?”

“Microscopic, Thermographic, X-ray, to name a few” answered Cameron, “Tell you what, if I try putting on a pair of gloves, let’s see if that is enough of a barrier to stop the transfer.” Cameron brought out a pair of leather gloves and put them on, thereafter he again held his hand out to Billie.

Billie cautiously took the offered hand and then looked around, almost disappointed she said, “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“No dizzying array of colours and patterns?”

“Oh! Did Jericho come for dancing lessons?”

They shared a laugh at that resulting in Billie withdrawing her hand from Cameron’s. After a moment of awkward silence the boy gave a slight bow and held out his gloved hand asking “Do you wanna dance?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

As it so happens, Billie turned out to be an accomplished ballroom dancer, for her part; she was pleasantly surprised with Cameron’s ability which she rated as a novice. He credited the training he’d received from figure skating - and not having two left feet helped greatly.

Learning the Foxtrot turned into a fun evening with the two gaining an easy camaraderie after their shaky start. They talked mostly about Jade and her J-Team antics interspersed between Miss Rogers and Miss Imp giving dancing advice, pointers and encouragement. At the end of the lesson everyone in the class broke into applause to say thank you.

Miss Roger called for everyones’ attention:

“I would like make an announcement: Whateley will be having this years Annual Fall Ball on November 30th.” Cecilia appraised her audience to gauge the level of excitement before continuing.

“In consultation with the teachers and trustee’s: We are hoping to inspire within the student body a greater interest in ballroom dancing. To that end we have decided upon a dance contest to encourage more participation in this class. So I am pleased to announce, that we are going to be holding the first ever Whateley Academy Dance Contest, to be held during the Fall Ball.” That bit of news sparked a little more interest and everyones focus was directed upon the lady to hear more details from Miss Rodgers.

“Some of you might be familiar with the TV show ‘Dancing with the Stars’, we are going to have a similar competition, each couple will perform at least one dance to be scored by a panel of celebrity judges.”

“What will I win?” was called out by a blond girl somewhere nearby in the group of students. The boorish comment made Billie wince as she mumbled the name Exquisite.

“Each team will be scored on originality, you will need to incorporate popular types of media: such as famous entertainment into your dance routine. Every couple can recruit one support person to assist them in preparation.”

“What will I win?” was again called out to everyones annoyance.

“The support person can help with costumes and coaching, and heaven forbid - in case of injury.”

“What do …”

“The winners will get a pass for an all expense paid evening in Berlin which will consist of dinner and a movie plus transport to and from Whateley.” Informed Cecilia with a degree of impatience at the interruptions and glared at the obnoxious girl. “Please get the entry forms and contest rules from Miss Imp.”

Billie excitedly rushed over to the lady with the horns and tail while beginning a lively discussion with some of the other students. Cameron moved away from the crowd and looked around the room glancing at the less than friendly faces, most appeared indifferent towards him while others had an underlying hostility.

He walked over to retrieve his discarded jacket, smiling shyly at the students he passed nearby - but getting little notice from them when offering hellos. He sighed inwardly and had to acknowledge the accuracy of Mrs Carson’s warning in her office, about how Whateley students would not be welcoming to him.

So be it, friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford right now, he had to keep his head down until school administration sorted out the mess his life was in.

He made his way to the exit, then standing on the doors threshold he looked back at the throng of excited youth, Cameron gave a goodbye wave which was unacknowledged and headed off wondering: what was wrong with everybody.

Settling in for the night Cameron crawled onto cot and into his sleeping bag, it took a few minutes for his bed to warm up and a long time before sleep claimed him - he tried to come to grips with feeling both happy and sad as he reflected on his day.

Maintenance Yard: Oct 18, 2007

Cameron woke early, and needed to warm up his new room - considering how cold it had gotten last night, the morning dew had turned to frost. Ever since that extraordinarily harsh freak storm had hit a week ago, the temperature was much colder at night, so cold in fact he’d needed to give up his campsite.

That storm had dropped the temperature fast and dumped a lot of snow, which meant he left tracks: tracks that could lead someone right to him. Also, keeping a tent warm was a big energy expenditure.

Cameron’s thoughts went back to the start of that freak storm: how that singular event had sprung drastic circumstances. He and all the other students had been released early from detention when the storms intensity grew, all students being cautioned to return to their dorms until the storm passed. On his way back to his lakeside campsite he came across some government recruiters - he’d noticed they always seemed to be lurking about the campus and he typically avoided them, it seems they too had been caught unawares and unprepared for the quick change of weather.

Two of the sneaky operatives were hidden in a camouflaged blind in some shrubs and had huddled under an emergency blanket to keep warm - it wasn’t helping. Cameron discretely warmed them by infusing heat into their circulatory systems and then offered to shelter them through the storm. They raised a concern about another agent, whom Cameron was able to find by scanning the surrounding undergrowth. The third agent was exhibiting early stages of hypothermia, once Cameron tended to his condition and got him on his feet, the youth then lead the three to his campsite.

Still a distance away, Cameron materialized his outfitters tent, it was just large enough to hold all of them, and he poured heat into the stove to warm the space in preparation of their arrival. By putting layers of insulating blankets overtop the outfitters tent, it retained the heat from the stove well enough to keep it comfortable inside and protected them as the storm raged.

To keep attention off his abilities, he set out four beds and blankets, then to forgo the inevitable situation; he brought out of Storage all the food and drink he estimated they might need.

His guest’s first question upon entering the tent was why he wasn’t housed in a dorm, and surprisingly enough they bought Cameron’s excuse that he was earning outdoor survival points - detailing that it was a mandatory expectation within Canada’s education curriculum: since every Canadian needed to know how to survive in arctic conditions.

It took some time before the three warmed up enough to make introductions, Mr Craig with the CIA, Mr Wurth of the FBI, and Lieutenant Saunders, she worked for the NSA. Cameron was reluctant to disclose his affiliation with the RCMP, stemming from Chief Delarose’s warning to not disclose that info to anyone, when he did tell them it turned out to be a revelation which each of them took offence to, seemingly concerned Cameron might be horning in on their ‘territory’ by trying to conscript Whateley students to join the RCMP.

It was only after repeated assurances from Cameron that he was only here to attend school that they relented. Then in an effort to show his earnestness and because nobodies cell phones would work, he volunteered to let each of them make use of his Special Investigations satellite phone to notify their respective handlers in the CIA, FBI, and NSA to apprise them of their condition. The agents then began a marathon of coercion: as Cameron was beset with attempts at recruitment, he tried kindly to defer their efforts, but it wasn’t until disclosing to them his posting under the Canadian diplomatic office before they desisted in trying to sign him up.

Over the course of the their time together Cameron needed to stoke the fire in the stove often, refill the lantern for light, and top up coffee cups, he even put on a big pot of homemade bison stew to warm up for dinner and baked a tray of baking powder biscuits. His new friends were appreciative of his help and hospitality, raving about how tasty the meal was, and in a show of mutual support promised not to make waves for him as he sorted out his life at Whateley.

The agents had wanted to play poker to help pass the time: however, when Cameron repeatedly disclosed what everybody's dealt hand of cards were, they were open to suggestions. It took some convincing and several attempts at demonstration before they eventually started a game of ‘Greed’: a dice game Cameron’s family loved to play, it didn’t take long before they were so deeply enthralled with the game that no-one paid attention to the time.

The tent was just large enough to accommodate the four, however the situation demanded they make the best of it, but after the storm broke and the agents left to return home, it was apparent to Cameron how exposed he was. It was then that Cameron began hunting for a new hideout, in order to deflect Whateley’s attention away from himself, and prevent them from handing him over to the MCO.
Returning to the now Cameron looked outside, he was uninspired by the vista, the maintenance yard was not one of Whateley’s scenic highlights. The view stung his heart with him being reminded of his detention; the endless barrage of menial tasks he was forced to perform.

The guys in Maintenance had at least begun to act friendly toward Cameron, but they still had to treat him the same as all the other detainee’s. He had resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting freed of detention until passing high school - only then could he present himself to the office, maybe then Mrs Carson would explain what it was he’d done wrong!

Although Cameron had really enjoyed his campsite, and missed the tranquil setting, it was also that he didn’t feel oppressed while staying there.

As odd as it sounded, camping felt more like home than anyplace else had since … he shook off that bit of sadness, an unpleasant reminder about his family.

Deep in thought he again looked out over the maintenance yard through the c-cans walls. He had found a shipping container in the yard used for additional storage which was only partially filled, so he fashioned a false wall taking up one third of the space within the c-can, creating a comfortable home for himself. He splurged by making his new hideout look just like a log cabin inside, complete with a wood burning fireplace - although he mostly just warmed a metal stove until it glowed to heat his new room.

To keep his location discrete, and since he had no need of windows, there were no outward signs he had taken up residence, he would dissipate part of the wall to enter and exit, and all the traffic in the yard during the day hid his tracks. Plus having access to the washroom and shower in the maintenance shop was a bonus.

Cameron left fly a dejected sigh over his reflection upon his life at Whateley, it could be summed up as consisted of: Beck Library during the day as he continued the on-line high school courses using the libraries wi-fi, Crystal Hall to people watch and dissect the powers present at meal times, then to Maintenance and fulfilling the detention punishment Mrs Carson had assigned him. Cameron wasn’t happy about the situation, but he was alive - that had to count for something, and he had at least prepared for the worst.

Hawthorne Cottage: October 20, 2007

It was a rainy day, which to a kid is a huge disappointment, especially when it’s a Saturday. Cameron arrived at Hawthorne a couple minutes to 9:00 as he’d been instructed to yesterday when finishing up at Maintenance yesterday. Mr Duncan said this cottage had asked for some extra help, meaning they wanted a detention slave for the day.

Cameron entered the cottage’s foyer, he’d removed his visor outside, recalling how the residents granted a minor degree of acceptance before when he and Stan had helped Mr Gientz. The housemother was scooting about like a hen gathering her chicks and only mildly restricted by her wheelchair. The residents of Hawthorne acted like any other kids looking to let loose, some playing games while others were engaged in conversation, and still more just wandering about seeking amusement wherever available.

Although Cameron entered without drawing attention – that vanished once a resident called out “Deadman walking” to alert all to the arrival of a detainee. Cameron waved with trepidation to the questioning eyes that now turned toward him. Most ignored the gesture and returned to what had been their previous interest. However, Cameron found himself the focal point of four of the youngest kids he’d seen at Whateley.

“Your eyes are weird” said the first to speak.

“Revy, you shouldn’t call people weird, it’s not polite” scolded the second.

“I didn’t call him weird ... just his eyes” complained the first.

“Well, it’s not like he can just take his eyes out now can he?” said the second “Can you?” was asked, turning to look at Cameron in wonder.

Cameron had the presence of mind to shake his head no.

“Eewww, that would be gross if he could” interjected the third.

“Almost as bad as the guy who snorts loogies” added Revy.

Cameron now stood in the midst of an argument about what was the most disgusting abilities these four had yet witnessed. He wasn’t sure what was expected of him - but had to smile at the inappropriateness of the kids fascination. The fourth member of these young-bloods: a shy boy, hadn’t said anything, but just continued to watch him.

Rescue came from the housemother who shoo’d the awe starved kids away. “The world can be an exciting and strange place,” she offered to explain the young one’s conduct.

“It’s best explored with eyes wide open,” Cameron gave in understanding, “I was told to report to you, Mr Duncan said you are having problems with a washroom?”

“The men’s room on the fourth floor, east wing - but all of them should be checked over, is Stan or Morie with you?”

“No ma’am, Mr Duncan felt I could handle this on my own. But if I need help; I might have to call maintenance. Could I bother you in that regard?”

“I’m mostly stuck on the main floor without use of my other chair, so you’ll need to come find me.”

“Yes Ma’am. Thank you.”

Cameron proceeded to the fourth floor and located the first washroom to discover it had numerous problems, not the least of which was several non-functioning toilets. He commenced doing a full restoration: repairing the plumbing, fixing the walls and floors, renewing the fixtures and sanitized the room from top to bottom. It was a big expenditure of energy so he paced himself but still needed to sit on the floor to rest once done. He was surprised to find he had an overseer: the fourth kid from the mornings cuteness cluster, the silent one.

Cameron took the initiative and introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Outlook.”

It took a minute before the boy responded in a small quiet voice, “Morgan.”

“Morgan, would you help me?”

“I’m not cleaning a washroom for you” he said, emphatically shaking his head no.

“No. That’s my job today. I was hoping you could stand watch and warn me of anyone coming while I’m working in the ladies room.”

“Are you called Outlook because of your eyes?”

“Do you know what an outlook is?”

“Isn’t that where guys watch for forest fires?”

“Your close: those are Lookouts. An outlook is your frame of mind - what’s in your heart”.

“So, your heart is on fire ... cause your eyes are bright?”

“Good enough. Are you okay lending me a hand?”

“Is it going to take long?”

“It could take a while. Will that be okay?”

“I gotta go potty.”

~o~O~o~

Morgan stuck to Cameron like glue, it slowed down how much he was able to do, so he hoped the housemother: Mrs Cantrel, wasn’t upset. At times, all four of the little munchkins would be zipping about him – not getting in the way so much as needing entertainment, and Cameron seemed to be the only game in town.

It was just shortly after lunchtime, and Cameron had only finished the fourth and third floor washrooms when Mrs Cantrel sent word that she had something arranged for the team of troublesome terrors. Cameron escorted them down to the main floor.

“So, this is where you kids have snuck off to, come along: I’ve arranged a movie for you over at Kirby Hall.”

The more outgoing three of the group made a rush, but Morgan dropped his head and stood unmoving.

“Morgan? Are you coming?” asked Mrs Cantrel.

Surprisingly, he spoke up and asked “Can I stay? Outlook might need me.”

The housemother had a shocked look and cast her suspicious eyes upon Cameron.

“Please Mrs Cantrel, can Morgan stay? He’s been a huge help” interjected Cameron.

“Alright, why don’t you two head into the kitchen, it could use some attention. And young man: I consider babysitting a suitable form of detention.”

Morgan grabbed Cameron’s hand and dragged him toward something new to do. The kitchen was by no means small, it had a dining area attached which seemed to get considerable use since many of Hawthorne’s residents couldn’t leave for meals - and some couldn’t be bothered and remained in the cottage on red flags days, instead of venturing to Crystal Hall and the likelihood of being mocked or scorned.

Getting dragged to one of the tables, Morgan asked if Cameron wanted to play a game, he instead offered a compromise: chocolate milk. The confused boy watched as Cameron brought out a couple glasses of the rich light brown drink, and set them onto the table, he also handed the boy a straw.

Morgan asked “What’s so special about choca milk?”

“Watch” answered Cameron as he used his own straw to blow bubbles into the drink. The young boy gave a delighted squee and only made a small mess as he commenced blowing bubbles into his own glass, but the smile he wore was worth it.

“Why didn’t you want to go with your friends?”

“It’ll be dark in a movie” he confided, “This place is scary, but it’ll never be dark with you around.” He looked with a pained expression at Cameron and whispered, “I’ve seen monsters.”

“I’ve noticed a couple monsters too” said Cameron to the boys wide eyed amazement, “What do you suppose we should do about it?”

“I don’t know” the little guy said with a shrug, “I’m not very brave.”

“I have a great idea; why don’t I show you how to make a weapon that is sure to have even the scariest of monsters disappear.”

It took a moment, but eventually the shy little thing said; “so kay.”

“And wouldn’t you just know it, we’re at the perfect place to make them.”

The two commandeered the kitchen, and Cameron began the lesson by showing Morgan the proper method to measure the secret ingredients. He brought each item out from Storage that wasn’t already available in the kitchen, and had his new apprentice mix them together: very carefully, into one of the large bowls they’d located in a cupboard.

They each gently rolled the concoction into little balls that Cameron insisted they each had to sample to ensure accuracy. Placing the small balls onto pans they put them into an oven and minutes later out came the product of their labours.

“What do you call these?” asked Morgan.

“Monster bait” replied Cameron.

“They smell really good.”

“Monsters can’t resist them. So where are we going to find the biggest - scariest monster?”

“She lives in the basement.”

“She?!” exclaimed a shocked Cameron “I guess it’s only fair that equal rights apply to monsters too” he surmised, “Lead the way.”

The two stood in the hallway outside the door to one of Hawthorne’s Resident Advisors: Caitlin Bardue, aka Eldritch. Cameron had met her before as she was one of Jericho and Razorbacks friends, but he didn’t know her well.

Morgan had described her as the most fear inducing monster ever! She looked like a metal statue covered in tattoos, with braided cables for hair, and sparks flew off her when she walked. She scowled and growled constantly, and the little kid was terrified of her.
Handing the plate of still warm monster bait to Morgan, Cameron approached the door and knocked.

“Who’s there?” was called out in a short abrupt burst, so loudly it echoed around the basements corridor.

“Avon calling” replied Cameron.

A grumbling muttered voice could be heard nearing the door saying, “I don’t know any Avons.” The door swung open with such force the hinges squawked in protest, the suddenness of the doors swing left a whoosh of vacuum, making the two gasp for breath. The now open door revealed the well muscled and imposing occupant, “This better be good” said Eldritch.

“We’re on a mission to win friends and influence people” quipped Outlook.

“Just how might you intend to do that?”

Cameron motioned Morgan forward, who held the plate in-front of himself as a protective shield between him and the rooms occupant, as Outlook cheerfully announced “Chocolate Chip Cookies.”

Eldritch was caught completely off-guard “Damn, you went straight to the big guns.”

“This is serious business” advised Cameron with a small smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

“You better come in then” invited Caitlin sneaking a cookie off the plate as Morgan moved past her. “Mmm, still hot from the oven. You guys aren’t messing around.”

Having gotten invited into a couple chairs, Caitlin asked the pair: while munching her third cookie, “What’s up?”

“Morgan here needs your help” supplied Cameron, “He has monsters under his bed.”

Morgan sat quiet as could be while taking small bites out of his own cookie - but his wide eyes were securely fastened onto the intimidating girl as he payed close attention to what was happening.

“That is a tricky one. I can rig up some traps for you; that’ll do it” offered Caitlin.

“You don’t understand: his room’s on the fourth floor.”

“What difference does ... Oh! I see. And you think I can help?”

“Being terrified is rough stuff on a kid, So I’m hoping to show him that monsters are usually just as scared as he is” confided Cameron, “You: are his foray into the bigger world of addressing fears.”

“That’s asking a lot!”

“Not really, you already know what he’s scared of, try telling him what you’re scared of.”

“That’s a bad idea!”

“I don’t think so, because from your body language, I’d say you’re afraid of our young friend here.”

“Well ... yeah, there’s that. I don’t want to hurt a little kid!”

“So, by keeping yourself distant, you’re protecting them from the big bad. Right?”

“That’s not a nice way of putting it.”

“But that’s the idea isn’t it?” deduced Cameron, “How about this for a proposition: I suggest we tell each other our deepest secret, that way - no-one has a reason to be scared of the other.”

“Now I’m sure it’s a bad idea!” rebuffed Caitlin.

“You might be right” admitted Cameron, “How does this sound. Why don’t we share our happiest memory instead?” bartered Cameron.

“I’ll do it,” came a small voice from Morgan who hadn’t piped in yet, he squirmed in his seat before starting. “Mom and I visited the park and I got to play hide and seek in the big trees with a bunch of kids, Mom let me feed bird seed to ducks in the pond. I got to play in a huge playground with swings and slides and monkey bars an … I got to spend the whole day with Mom, just me an her. She even took me for ice cream … she said she would always love me. That was the day she told me I was being sent here. I guess it was my best and worst day.” Looking up Morgan sniffed then asked “Did I get that right?”

Cameron nodded his head yes, then took the initiative, “My family was sitting around breakfast, I had made pancakes and Mom cooked the bacon – she always did it perfect so it was just turning crisp ... nothing better than perfect bacon.”

“You got that right” inserted Caitlin.

“We were camping, the day was looking to be beautiful, we laughed a lot and ... we were a family. I couldn’t have been happier” concluded Cameron.

Caitlin had her head held low and continued in that position a long time before she started to speak. “I rode my bike down to the creek, just me and my dog ‘Kip’. We splashed in the water and he chased the sticks I’d throw. We were sitting on the bank drying off in the sun, and I had my arm draped over him, and … he licked my face ... It was the first time I knew someone loved me.”

Cameron took a cookie and invited each to grab a side, they broke it into three and shared it between themselves.

When Cameron and Morgan were leaving, Morgan wrapped his arms around the intimidating girl, resulting in Caitlin ever so gently placing a hand on his head and ruffling the boys hair.

As the two climbed the stairs Outlook said to the young boy, “You’re one of the bravest people I know. You faced your fear today - and scared off a monster.”

Arriving back at the kitchen, Morgan and he cleaned up the mess they had made and Cameron did some straightening up. The three other munchkins returned and Cameron warmed the remaining cookies for the four to share.

Mrs Cantrel wheeled near to Cameron and asked, “Did you get a lot accomplished today?”

From across the room came the answer spoken by Caitlin as she leaned against the door frame, arms folded and looking tough: “He did more than you could ever know.” And with that she turned and walked away.

“Then consider yourself released for today. Will we see you tomorrow?” asked the housemother.

“You’ll have to make the request to Mr Duncan, he’s overseeing my detention” bowed Cameron in reply as he took his leave.

Looking at the time, he felt badly that it was now too late to attend today’s dancing lesson, he’d had a lot of fun the other night. But detention wouldn’t allow him to skip out and attend the Saturday afternoon event, at least until he was released from his bond anyway.

Mediwihila Village : October 21, 2007.

“Oberon: I have counted only sixty and two surviving Were with us, surely there is more?”

“Let us hope the latest patrol finds such and brings these to join us.”

“How did this come to be? Had there not been thousands of Were in the villages” complained Arictevis, a seasoned lieutenant whose fresh battle wound ran clear down the full left half his face.

“I fear the decree from the Seven Courts was all encompassing - the command to ‘kill all Were’ must have run beyond just the war camps: carried afield to all lands beneath their sway” surmised the battle captain Oberon.

“Why would the Courts turn upon us, had we not given our allegiance to the Sidhe queens, shed blood in their battles, sacrificed lives to appease their ends, has not this war become our own?”

“We are sworn - our word was given, our brothers joined into battle. Such was our vow - this is our binding. But now that the a-cursed foe forged a great dark blade, our own brethren get consumed by the enemy when facing it, our very flesh yields to the darkness and fights against us. This alone has changed the tide of war.”

“The rumour bears true! The enemy is us” moaned Arictevis.

“Sadly: as Were fall - he rises anew with a dark heart. Dark’s forces are turning the mighty Were into puppets dancing a monsters bidding.”

"The Sidhe! Certainly the pact of alliance beholds upon them still! Be they not our protectors?” Arictevis exclaimed.

“Aunghadhail herself signed the decree, ‘All Were must die, or the war is lost’. I heard the words myself from the crier’s mouth. The battle front was but a league north, yet the soldiers slew every Were within swords reach. My escape was possible only in fox form and still narrowly did I away” confirmed Oberon.

“Oberon! See! A patrols return, alas only three come with - hold! One is not of us” alerted Arictevis.

A figure was hidden under hood and cloak made featureless by a robes folds, carrying only a walking stick. Approaching the two leaders till well within ear he spake,“I bring no harm, warriors borne, instead I offer relief: mayhap’s in time release, to ye who are shorn.”

“We’ve no interest in riddles” chided Arictevis.

“I cannot speak plainly for the future comes in waves, not placid waters” replied the robe.

“Be you a mystic?” sought Oberon.

“Nay, I am only a voice, sent to present a choice” came from the robe.

“We are a people done, our choice is die tonight or on the morrow” decried Arictevis.

“Not so! True this war is assuredly at end. But when next the courts rise and grow, Were will once more play a role. With open sky and room for it - what is now small will become great as does a foal” spake the robe.

“You offer us escape from destiny?” queried Oberon the brave.

“Life is what you make of it. But a door is open to escape this wraith” at which he pointed to a shimmering portal. “Choose your path” offered the robe.

“What is the price?” Oberon questioned.

“Among your men a farsighted Pantheress shall rise bonding a golden eyed man. By them, Were shall know freedom like waters from a burst dam. Keep your senses at the ready, the earth itself shall become unsteady” answered the robe.

Another sleepless night held Eloise captive. It was three in the morning, and now the Mediwihila’s chief had finally succumbed to pacing the floor in the kitchen, wracking her brain, replaying - lord knows how many times this night alone: the legend of the Golden Eyed Man. She worried how many deviations had crept in over its retelling, handed down generation to generation. Was she perhaps unawares of some key to unraveling the mystery?

Being Chief of her people, Eloise was the one looked to - expecting she’d have all the answers … She wished she hadn’t been nominated for the position when her mother stepped down after a long tenure as Chief, but it had become tradition for a Panther to be leader: in keeping with legend.

Eloise sighed: it was her sister Teresa who was getting trained and expected take up the Chiefs mantle, she had the gift of foresight after all. Great expectations had been placed upon Teresa as the promised fulfiller of legend. To break the binding vow given by the Were’s to the old courts, setting the Were free!

Hopes and expectations rose within the people when Teresa began predicting future events. Her tribe, and soon others, proclaimed her as the one prophesied in the oft told and revered legend of the Panther and the Golden Eyed man. Few Were had survived the Sundering, but held within that story was the future every Were dreamed would come.

Eloise had still been but a cub when mother had counselled with the Were leaders, and a search was taken-up to find a golden eyed man. They found one such among the Eagle people, and a marriage was hastily arranged along with a celebration touting the legends fruition. But Theresa rejected the position of saviour, tried to convince the elders and anyone who’d listen - she wasn’t the one.

Eloise’s tears welled up as she remembered that morning long ago in their house: the arguments and shouting still stung. Teresa pleaded with Mom to stop the wedding, that they’d been wrong - she wasn’t who they wanted … needed her to be.

Teresa rejected the Eagle at the marriage ceremony and ran away that day, never to return. Not that she could return: Teresa Donner had been banished and forbidden to walk among the Were: forever labeled an Outcast.

Eloise as a young girl, had cried when she found out Teresa was no longer her sister. Love is not a tap you can just close. Years later, a traveling Were had crossed paths with Teresa and gave a report to Eloise on what had become of her sister. Despite her responsibilities as Chief: Eloise wished Terry happiness.

With a sigh, Eloise took a seat at the table as the weight of hindsight now rested on her shoulders. If looking behind felt like a burden, she wondered how her sister - and now also her niece, could possibly carry the knowledge of tomorrow.

Teresa had been right! She wasn’t the Panther the legend promised would come. It was actually Teresa’s daughter: The Were had cast out their future.

How do you repair a bridge burnt over twenty years ago?
How do you rebuild hope within a broken people?

The appearance of Cameron Burke at Whateley had been a lightening bolt from out of the blue. ‘Golden Eyes that light the way’ went a song about the legend. To also learn that Teresa had a daughter was just as great a shock. But discovering that Lynn has even stronger foresight…!

The legends pieces had finally begun to fall into place! So why did Eloise feel her world was falling apart?

Had Cameron been evicted from Whateley - or denied entrance, all could have been lost. It was a saving grace that she had been able to intercede and offer hospitality, but last night when she had tried calling yet again to arrange a visit, the boy said he wasn’t able to come to the village yet, ‘On probation’ he claimed.

She didn’t know what his attitude towards the Were might be. By declining the invitation: did the boy perhaps hate them as surely as Lynn must?

Sleep wasn’t possible knowing her efforts had failed: the legend had died.

‘Ring Ring’

Eloise looked with annoyance at the phone sitting beside her, didn’t people sleep anymore? Can’t it wait until morning?

‘Ring Ring’

Seeing as she was up anyway's, she lifted the receiver: “Eloise Donner here.”

“Hello Eloise. It’s Teresa calling: will you speak with an Outcast?” the introduction caused the Mediwihla tribes Chief to nearly fall off her chair.

“Terry … I, You. How … Yes I will share words with an Outcast” spoke the Chief gathering her senses together enough to hold to tradition.

“Lynn says you need to give Cameron space. He has much to accomplish before he can be of help to the people. Wait for him to approach the tribe, because forcing his hand will only result in driving him away.”

“It has been a long time since the counsel of a seer has been heard by the people.”

“Be ready to answer his call for help.”

“Is he the one the legend speaks of?”

“He is everything you could hope for, and nothing like you’d expect.”

“When will Lynn reveal herself to the people?”

“Good night Eloise, Sleep well.” Bade Terry just before the phone was disconnected.

Beck Library: Monday, October 22, 2007

Cameron sat at his usual alcove in the library, the partitioned workstations gave privacy to allow for studying - although at mid day he was the sole occupant save for the librarian: Miss Henderson.

The on-line courses allowed Cameron to progress at his own pace, the distance learning school had teachers available to answer questions and tutor him when needed, and once he’d finished a course he had arranged with Miss Henderson to act as proctor during his exams.

“What subject are you working on today?” Asked the librarian as she wheeled a cart loaded with books past his desk.

“English: I’ve been assigned to write an essay describing the difference between a translation and a transliteration” supplied Cameron as he adjusted his laptops screen from the fuzz he used into readable text for Miss Henderson to observe, “Do you know of a good example I could quote from?”

“The most translated book would be the Bible, but you’d have to speak with Reverend Englund as to the best versions. I know he keeps several copies in his offices at Dillon Chapel.”

“That could prove problematic, and religion is always contentious so it may not be ideal. How about an ethnic cookbook?”

“Excellent suggestion! I learned to make Sushi last year and used a cookbook written by a famous Japanese chef, it’s just the thing you need. Wait a moment and I’ll get it for you.”

Cameron noted the cart left beside him, it was full of a wide assortment of books, the only thing in common about them seemed to be that they were all in poor condition.

Miss Henderson returned with the cookbook in hand and handed it to him “If you want to sign it out, I’ll be over at my desk.”

“Thank you” replied Cameron with a warm smile taking the book from her, “Um. Miss Henderson, what are you doing with these books?” He asked pointing to the loaded cart.

“I’m gathering up a shipment of books to send to a bindery to make repairs, some of these are irreplaceable, but are showing their age” informed the Librarian.

“I could help you with that, I mean - you’ve been so accommodating, It’s the least I can do.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m more familiar with which books are most in need of help.”

“No, you don’t understand. I can repair them for you.”

The lady looked at the boy with a curious expression, but eventually looked down into her cart and withdrew an old tattered hardbound book and handed it over to Cameron. She then looked on as he quickly ran his thumb across the pages.

“Hmm! Atticus Finch; interesting character, reminds me of my guardian Mike - maybe it’s because he’s a lawyer too.”

“Ohh! You’ve read To Kill a Mockingbird?”

It took a second to digest the question “That’s what this book is, isn’t it?”

“Are you telling me you just read it now?”

“Did I say that?”

“It sure sounded like it!”

“Well … yes: I did just read it - while making some repairs” handing the refurbished book back to her.

“Cameron! Do you realize that this book is a first edition printing” she yelled as she inspected it.

“Sssshh!” he replied and pointed to the sign saying ‘Quiet Please’.

“Explain this!” was said with a hand on her hip, and the other holding the book towards him, “This book looks like it just came off the press!”

“You’re not happy?” inquired the boy.

The lady was stymied for a moment, “Of course I’m happy. It’s just … How?”

“The ‘How’ is - that all matter is energy, I restore stuff by renewing the molecular bonds and adding more material as needed.”

“And you can do this for all my books?” She said while giving the vast library a sweeping glance.

“How about a cart a day? Deal?”

“Absolutely!”

~o~O~o~

“Alright you lot, listen up: todays work assignments will be …” with that introduction Moire handed out work assignments to the less than enthused detention recipients. Cameron was to fill potholes in the school’s paved pathways - for the second day in a row. He collected the hand tools and a wheelbarrow and went into the yard to get some asphalt patching material.

As he was heading out with his load Jinn caught up with him.

“Hey Outlook! Can I ask you something?” she called as she floated over to him.

“What’s up?”

“Are you avoiding Billie?”

“Not on purpose, Our paths don’t cross often.”

“You trying to be funny again?” she tsk’ed, and gestured toward his full wheelbarrow of patching material for the paths.

“Not much to laugh about, so no.”

“Billie was really sad on Saturday after dance class, it took me all weekend to finally get her to open up and tell me what was wrong. She really wants to enter the dance contest.”

“She should; she’s very good.”

“You DOLT! She needs a partner.”

“Ah!” as the figurative light bulb lit above in the youth “And you think I’m a likely candidate?”

“Pfft! You’ve got no clue do you?”

“Apparently not.”

“Its because the Section 33 label scares everyone away.”

“Okay, I’ll bite: what’s a Section 33?” questioned Cameron then asked “It’s not because she’s unstable: is she?”

“Anyone who picks a fight with her risks expulsion.”

“Why isn’t everybody a Section 33?”

“That’s … that’s a good question. Anyway: She can be dangerous so the Section 33 is to prevent brainless wonders from doing something stupid like getting hurt, or worse.”

“I think my idea sounds rather reasonable.”

“Now’s not the time to debate that.”

“How’s Thursday after dinner?”

“What?”

“Would that be a good time to have a debate?”

“What about Billie?”

“Sure, she can come - but we’ll need a fourth, otherwise it won’t be even sides.”

“No! Grrr … Are you going to ask Billie to be your dance partner or what?”

“If I say no is the debate off the table?”

“Yes … no. I don’t know.”

“No fair having an argument with yourself!”

“It’s people like you what cause unrest.”

“Try a glass of warm milk.”

“For what?”

“To help you get to sleep.”

“I don’t have a problem falling asleep.”

“So Billie doesn’t snore then?”

“No. She’s quiet as a mouse.”

“Good. Then I should ask her to be my dance partner.”

Crystal Hall

From his vantage point: the table on the second terrace in Crystal Hall, Outlook scanned the mass of students below. So far he’d been able to establish what each type of energy signature matched to types of ability. Now he’d been working on sorting those individual power groups into levels. He was also toying with ideas on what would be the best method to neutralize the different abilities.

For dinner he’d had a big slice of lasagna and a fresh salad, it wasn’t on the buffet menu so he’d kept his distance to prevent curiosity from exposing his retrieving food from out of Storage. He looked over to Team Kimba’s table and most of them had already finished eating and dispersed: leaving only Jade, Toni, and Billie who was on her third helping of food - My! That girl could eat.

Cameron carefully made his way over to the table so as to not attract attention and asked the occupants “Mind if I sit for a minute?”

Toni replied “Take a load off.”

The nervous boy then asked “How is everyone tonight?”

“We have a sim in under an hour, we’re up against team Phoenix” responded Jade almost gleeful at the prospect.

“A sim is a staged fight … correct?” questioned Cameron.

“Do you live under a rock or sumpthin?” boggled Toni.

“I’ll take ‘lives under a rock’ for 200 Alex” mocked Cameron.

Jade chuckled, but Billie kept her head down remaining focused upon her plate.

“So you’ve not joined a combat team yet?” questioned The Chaka.

“I’ve no interest in fighting people, hurting someone isn’t what I want on my conscience” remarked Cameron.

“You’re not one of those ‘The meek shall inherit the earth’ freaks, are you?” scoffed Toni.

“I think you’ve confused weakness and meekness: Being meek means having the strength of conviction to do what’s right - despite the consequences. A weak person simply follows whatever everyone else does - because it’s easier to just go with the flow rather than have the courage to hold an opinion and take a stand.”

“But if you’re strong enough nobody will challenge you” chimed in Jade.

“There’s always someone stronger, faster, smarter. You just up-the-ante by becoming a hurdle for them to overcome.”

“So you’ll just let people walk all over you” summarized Toni.

“Only a bully resorts to forcing their will onto others. I feel sorry for those who cave in to whatever whims a tyrant demands - including debasing themselves to only satisfy a bully’s ego” informed Outlook.

“You think it’s okay to let the bad guys beat you up?” quizzed Jade.

“There are many ways to defeat someone, not all rely on being a brute - or diminishing your self respect by having to resort to the dead end thinking and emotional void of someone who can’t work out their problems in a civilized way.”

“I’d rather have everyone know not to mess with me: I’m likely the best martial artist ever!” boasted Chaka.

“Does that define who you are? A fighter! Tell me; who are you when you’re not fighting somebody?” asked Cameron.

“I’m Toni Chandler.”

“And what’s going to make Toni happy once she’s bested all others?”

“What are you getting at?”

“A weapon is useless when left sitting on a shelf - when the war is over, what good is it?”

“It acts as a deterrent.”

“Are you saying people should fear you?”

“Well … sure, being the Champ means nobody threatens you.”

“So where in the life of a ‘Champ’ does love and happiness fit in?”

“You don’t think a warrior is capable of having a happy life?”

“I would say a warrior tends to treat life like a battle, every aspect boils down to expecting a fight, peace is no longer an option since he has dedicated himself to the far end of the spectrum … it eventually consumes him. The fighting only really stops when he’s dead.”

“That’s a very narrow view” admonished Toni. Both Jade and Billie gave Cameron a quick glance while they smiled knowingly over the comment about how someone who could see nearly everything had a narrow view. However their lack of endorsement raised Toni’s ire; “What? You think he’s right?”

“I’m beginning to think violence only winds up getting you more violence” added Billie, the first she’d said since Cameron had sat down. “Everyone focuses on how to beat you, and it escalates from there. Look at how Bardue keeps throwing tougher and more destructive stuff at me.”

“He’s just trying to hone your skill” advised Chaka.

“Sharpening the edge of a sword?” commented Cameron.

“You think it’s bad to protect yourself?” doubted Toni.

“Self preservation is commendable, but where do the lines stop before you start encroaching upon others - that is a dangerous path to take” advised Cameron.

“Bullying! You’re saying someone could become a bully … if fighting is their focus?” interjected Jade into the conversation.

“All I’m saying is: maybe try finding something else to do with your life, before all you amount to is a tarnished trophy” advised Outlook.

“I’m done with this nonsense” retorted Toni, picking up her tray and leaving the table, not really so much in anger - but still dealing with a head of steam, knowing she has some deep thoughts to contemplate.

“I’ll stand up to anyone that wants to hurt me … or my friends” countered Jade “but I won’t pick a fight.”

“How about you Billie: do you have a warriors heart?”

It took a moment for the girl to check her heart “Fighting carries consequences, that much I’ve learned, but I don’t like the thought of hurting … or killing someone” admitted Billie.

“This coming from the most powerful person on campus?” wondered Cameron.

“I doubt that” said Tennyo in a display of modesty.

“Honestly: you are the most perplexing student here. I cannot determine what your abilities are since nobody else is anything like you” revealed Outlook.

“Thats my Onesan! One of a kind” smiled Jade.

“I’m nothing special” mumbled Billie, shrinking in on herself and not meeting the boy’s eyes across the table from her.

“With that I must disagree, there’s no-one else I’d rather enter the dance contest with” stated Cameron giving Billie a curious glance, waiting for a reply.

The poor girl nearly choked, “Seriously?”

“In all seriousness, would you be my dance partner? I’m not very good and can be accused of having poor rhythm and no talent, but I’ll do my best to make you look good.”

“How can you say no to that?” inserted Jade.

“I don’t know?” hemmed Billie.

“Billie!” nearly shouted Jade.

“Alright, partners” she offered her hand, and they shook in agreement “Now who could we possibly convince to help us?” she asked, tapping her chin all the while looking directly at her roommate and best friend.

Cameron smiled at the set-up but leaned toward the girl bouncing in anticipation, and asked anyway “Jade, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who might be interested?”

“I thought you’d never ask” she said with a blush in her cheeks, “I’ve got some fantastic ideas for costumes!” She bubbled. Jade’s mischievous grin was setting off all sorts of alarm bells.

The trio sat swapping their favourite songs to begin figuring out what might work as potential dances.

Hawthorne Cottage Saturday, November 3, 2007

The way Mr Duncan had explained it, Mrs Cantrel over at Hawthorne Cottage begged to have Cameron back for another day of detention duties. Whatever the reason for it, Outlook approached the cottage’s front door and braced himself for whatever would get thrown at him.

Mrs Cantrel meet him as he entered, and she seemed genuinely pleased to have him there, but - she had a shopping list of ‘to-do’s’ ready for Cameron. It contained a plethora of broken or damaged stuff, ranging from splintered handrails to leaking plumbing: a veritable A to Z compilation. It would seem his secret was out and now he’d be beset by demands to fix everything.

Running down the list he noticed that several complaints centred on the stairs, so that was where he began. He slowly made his way up one set then down another, replenishing the worn treads, stopping boards from squeaking, renewing the finish and smoothing out any imperfections in the woodwork.

When tackling the issues surrounding the hot water heating system throughout the building, he started at the boiler then began to rejuvenate the piping and improving the heat transfer in the radiators. Some of the dormitory rooms had complex environmental controls which interfered with his ability and meant he couldn’t just complete the work from the hallway. In-order to get access he had to knock on doors to gain entrance.

One room housed an interesting girl named Puppet who had acid for blood and had to live in a special biosphere. She was friendly enough, and as they spoke for a short time it was obvious she enjoyed company - but understandable why not many could visit her. Cameron put on as many layers of protection he could think of in order to safely be in her room. However, coming away from there Cameron saw how hard mutation had impacted some.

So far, he’d had little resistance from his interactions with the cottage’s tenants, a few even said hello without hesitation - but some did complain about his presence and whispered comments of being a ‘pretty’. From Cameron’s past experience of being a girl, getting called pretty was a compliment, now it felt like an insult, wasn’t handsome the acceptable term to call a guy?

He was almost done with the chores, but there was still a problem with the heating, and it seemed to be located at this last room. Looking inside it seemed to be the most wonky of environments, but there was no caution posted, so Cameron knocked on the door and entered when hearing a ‘come in’. He hadn’t even finished a step when he dropped like a stone onto the floor - unable to move.

Laying there, pressed hard against the floor. He heard laughter. He should have known something was up when there had been a congregation of kids standing in the hall watching him and snickering.

Cameron tried to assess what had happened: Gravity! Gravity was several times greater in here. Looking across the room, sitting at a desk was a little person, at least that’s what he remembered you should call a midget - or dwarf. The furniture in here was extra heavy duty as it was big and blocky, the chair legs looked to be made from four by fours. The guy at the desk turned to look at him and gave an exasperated sigh.

“Can’t you read? The sign on the door says danger!”

“No … sign …” gasped out Cameron.

“Oh for pity sakes” he exclaimed in frustration, “I’m too busy for this nonsense. Can’t you clowns find some other way to pester the newbie’s than to annoy me?” he called out to his cottage mates. “It’s going to take five minutes to drop gravity levels before this mess can be scraped off the floor!” he complained.

Pacing his breath he got out “This mess is named Outlook” panting hard he continued “I’d offer to shake your hand but…”

“Save it” stated the extremely compacted guy, “I could have done without the disruption.”

“Sorry.”

“Not as much as you’re going to be! Doyle’s going to have to check you over. Imagine decompression bends from deep sea diving” he tsk’ed, “My neighbours don’t seem to understand that this isn’t a game.”

“Just about there” stated Cameron breathing with a touch of relief.

“Waddaya mean?”

“I’ve nearly compensated for it” was relayed as Cameron began to shift himself about.

The squat figure began to take an interest and bent to get a better - closer look at the kid sprawled on his floor. “Hmm, Too skinny to be super strong, and doesn’t look like an exemplar - so not a build up of physical resistance.”

Cameron was at the point where he could push himself off the floor and get onto his knees. At this height he was a couple inches taller than the rooms occupant who was looking at him with unabated curiosity.

“I always thought of gravity as a friend” confided Cameron, “I had never tried absorbing its energy before, it’s taken awhile to figure it out.” Remaining on his knees as it seemed to relax his observer, “Outlook” was offered along with his hand.

The handshake was the strongest one he’d ever encountered, Buck was a featherweight in comparison, and Roche didn’t even qualify. He had to reset some dislocated bones after the crushing handshake.

“Dr. Heavy” was given as an introduction.

“Doctor? Wasn’t there something about not using titles in code names.”

“I really am a doctor” was supplied, “You’re not one of us are you?”

“Sorry, I don’t understand the context of ‘us’”.

“A Thornie, you don’t live in Hawthorne?”

“No, I don’t.”

That gave the youth pause, his body language spoke of being uncomfortable.

“I’ve been given detention, and was just trying to get the heat to work” provided Cameron as an explanation.

“With no tools?” Heavy said after assessing the kid, “What did you do?”

“To fix the heat, or get detention?”

“Detention!”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. My choice was do this or get delivered to the MCO by Mrs Carson.”

The look of shock on Heavy’s face was gratifying, and his acceptance was growing as he stood more relaxed.

“I take it you’re not fond of the MCO either?” questioned Cameron.

“Isn’t every mutant?”

“It’s beginning to sound like it.”

“What’s with the glasses?”

“People get freaked by my eyes.”

“Can I?” asked Dr. Heavy - indicating he wanted to be shown.

“As long as you promise not to run away screaming - or worse: start reciting Brass Monkey lyrics” added Cameron to the boys growing smile, Outlook removed the visor, which looked like reflective safety glasses, to reveal the golden glow emanating from his eyes.

“You know: you’ll fit in better around here if you don’t wear those; you could pass for a pretty otherwise, actually I’m surprised you’re not a Thornie.”

“Thanks … I think, I forget I have them on at times. Mind explaining a ‘pretty’?”

“A non-GSD mutant, there’s so many exemplar’s at Whateley - it makes anyone who isn’t gorgeous stand-out worse.”

“The bar for what’s normal is skewed by the extremes found here?”

“We came in hopes of finding acceptance …”

“Only to be shown how far from being pretty you’ve become.”

“Yeah!” he added as his head lowered and a frown formed.

“Let me guess: other students are sent to Hawthorne as punishment - like banishment, having to associate with the rejects.”

“It’s like a slap-down to us every time” was conceded.

“I’m so sorry - I didn’t know.”

“Its obvious by what you’ve been doing around here to help that you’re not just putting in time - you care. So, nothing to be sorry about” gifted the youth, “You can call me Lester.”

“I’m Cameron: if you keep it hush-hush” was granted, “Very nice to meet you Les. It isn’t often I meet someone famous.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know: 10 items or Less. Every grocery store has a check-out lane especially for you” was said with barely a straight face.

“Greatness has its privileges” came with a smile. “What’s wrong with the heat?” asked Les.

“Pretty simple when you think about it. The high gravity is stopping the flow of water, I’ll have to let maintenance know they need extra pumps to overcome it” informed Cameron, “at least the problem is solved - I’d better go and let Mrs Cantrel know.”

“I need to see her too, I’ll come with you.”

As they walked down the stairs Dr Heavy actually floated as it was easier for his short legs. And it was Les that got Mrs Cantrel’s attention while she was having a difficult time maneuvering her wheelchair around furnishings in the main floor common room.

“Mrs Cantrel, Outlook was hit by my rooms gravity. He should get checked at Doyle.”

“Are you hurt?” questioned the lady.

“It’s okay, I’ll have some bruises, but no injuries … I self heal.”

“You’re a regenerator?” she asked.

“No ma’am” the look of unease on the den mothers face indicated a need for further convincing, “Dr Tenant is aware of my ability to help healing.”

“As long as you are certain …”

“I’ll be fine, honest” he interjected.

“I should let your house parent know to keep an eye on you” she reasoned.

“Perhaps if you called maintenance to let them know, they may have to do a safety report. Oh! And tell them that the heat pumps need to be bigger to overcome the gravity in Heavy’s room” suggested Cameron.

Mrs Cantrel looked frustrated by her limited mobility in the wheelchair, Les caught it too and said, “I’m sorry Mrs Cantrel, I haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong with your chair.”

“Don’t blame yourself Lester, it’s a devise. My asking you to look at it was a long shot at best.“

“Still haven’t been able to locate the student who made your hover-chair?” quizzed Dr Heavy.

“No Lester, not yet … you know antigravity: tricky business, Gravimetric hasn’t returned my calls”.

“I’d like to help, but I’m a scientist not a mechanic.”

“Excuse me” interrupted Cameron, “perhaps if I could take a look at your chair, I might be able to repair it.”

“No. It’s a devise, only its builder can make it work” stated the dejected housemother.

“It couldn’t hurt to let him try, maybe I could be of help too” suggested Dr Heavy.

“Alright boys” relinquished the woman “Could you give me push to my apartment?”

The housemother found a safe position in her rooms and sipped a cup of tea, watching the two who began removing panels and commenced a conversation that sounded like techno-babble-rap as they delved into the inner workings of the devise. After periods of debate, components seemed to appear from no-where; then got refitted into the chairs recesses. After almost an hour the boys stood and shared congratulatory handshakes.

“Mrs Cantrel, you now have a working chair again, and we made a few small alterations, would you like to try it out?” offered Dr Heavy, to which she eagerly agreed.

Lester picked up Mrs Cantrel and then floated her into the rebuilt ‘hover-chair’. Turning it on, the chair rose as usual but without the previous hum it generated. Trying the controls the occupant made sounds of surprise and excitement.

“Boys: this is fantastic! It is so much more responsive … I won’t be bouncing off the walls anymore.”

“We deconstructed the devisor parts that had failed and rebuilt them” described Outlook.

“This is going to be revolutionary, I’ll be working for months designing antigravity systems” boasted Heavy.

“Thank you so much! It’s like being set free” rejoiced the housemother.

“Feels good doesn’t it” agreed Cameron reflecting on his time without use of legs.

“You’re good to go young man” smiled the lady, “Will you be back?”

“Ask for me at Maintenance” relayed the boy.

The Quad: Friday Morning, November 16, 2007

Cameron needed to take a breather after having dispensed so much energy - and effort.

Giving himself a moment to rest, Cameron mentally played back the dance routine that he, Billie and Jade had been working upon, how each step needed to be timed to match the music’s tempo. Last night while rehearsing over at the dance studio, they had sought to implemented a few changes and those hadn’t flowed seamlessly into the routine yet.

Also last night, Jade had described the costumes she was putting together … Cameron was glad Billie had put her foot down early on and kiboshed Jade’s ideas about dancing furries - it might look cute but those outfits would be heavy, hot to wear, and restrict movement. Not that Jade gave up without a fight, she flashed her ‘sad puppy dog eyes’ at them and if Billie hadn’t already built up an immunity to them … it made Cameron shudder.

Cameron relaxed against the bottom edge of the hexagonal obelisk he’d just fashioned. It had seemed such a waste to let all that stray energy wafting about this place just disperse and not make use of it. He’d constructed an energy collector which now stood almost eighteen feet high and consisted of six sides, each facet gathering a different type of ambient energy.

It was situated almost directly overtop of the schools power plant, which exuded much excess energy. This spot had been Cameron’s favourite resting place on campus, where he could just have a sit and soak in energy, but now the collector could gather it all the time, his plan was to come by every couple days and drain the battery as needed.

Cameron had fashioned his creation to pass as a sculpture, and had asked Mr. Duncan what the procedure might be to place an ‘artistic’ feature on the grounds. He’d first said ‘Cameron would have to go through Mrs Carson, who would then present it to the Trustee’s - who would set up a committee to debate about it, then a review panel would be called up to assure it had sufficient merit, then a study conducted before it could ever proceed … It was about then that Mr Duncan smiled at the boy over his desk and told him: “On the other hand: its easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” he finished with a wink.

Cameron checked his battery and it was replenishing what he’d expended, due to all the work he was tasked with rarely did the gauge get over half, and then the ‘Eureka moment’ hit, when you find that piece of the puzzle that fits everything together perfect, he could visualize the dance steps that would tie the routine nicely together.

From above came the call “Ahoy!” and then surprisingly beside him alighted a girl. She was slightly built but with fine features, and most strikingly she had long green hair exaggerated by the green exercise outfit she wore. The overload of green played tricks on his sight, but what really set Cameron off balance were the odd energy balls on tethers that circled around her.

“Blisterin barnacles, a salty pirate!” he replied as he stood, he’d seen this girl before in Crystal Hall but they’d never spoken.

“I’ll gut ya like a fish if that’s some kinda jab about my hair!“ she warned.

“Just trying to keep to the nautical theme you started with.”

“I was only giving you a heads up … blubber brain.”

“Arrr, she’s run me thru with her sharp tongue.”

“That’s what any scallywag deserves for laying claim to my booty!” was said as she leaned against the black hexagon beside them.

“I’ve never touched your illustrious booty!” replied Cameron with a mischievous smirk.

The green themed girl almost choked when she realized the double meaning of what she’d said. The look of embarrassment was bemusing “An you’ll be keeping it that way less'n ya want ta be sportin a hook!” she warned shaking a fist at his face.

“Forewarned is forearmed” humoured Cameron as he rotated his open right hand between them.

She looked at him with mild surprise before stating “That was actually a pretty clever comeback for a freshie.”

“I’m a root beer kinda guy.”

“What?”

“If I want a pop I’ll get root beer instead of a freshie.”

The blank look he received was complimented by a well imagined “Huh?”

“Pop … a soda: carbonated beverage?” furthering that thought, “Back home we have a type of ‘pop’ called Freshie.”

“You are a sad strange little kid.”

“Hey! I’m almost as tall as you. Not counting the hair.”

“Couldn’t leave the hair alone, could you?”

“Consider it envy.”

“Okay then” she stopped seemingly satisfied for a second, but then “wait a minute, green with envy! You’re walking on eggshells pal.”

“Green eggs?”

“Oh - you are just too funny” she rebuked with sarcasm.

“Well, I have been accused of having a heightened sensitivity about my size.”

“To make up, maybe I should throw another shrimp on the barby.”

“Alert the media; banter isn’t dead.”

“Abisinthe” she offered with an extended hand.

“Outlook” he replied shaking the given hand, “You felt the need to climb this?” he asked giving his creation a prideful pat.

“I was scouting a Parkour route for a run I’m to lead, this could be a great obstacle.”

“Hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“You made this?”

“Yep.”

“What’s it do?”

“Its art, it doesn’t have to do anything.”

“I don’t get it” she said flatly, “It looks like a six sided climbing wall.”

“Art should challenge a person to look at life from different perspectives.”

“That’s why it has six sides?”

“You do get it.”

“Not really, but I’m sure it’ll be fun to climb.”

“I guess I should take that as a compliment. Art can mean different things to different people. It was supposed to spark your imagination! But I hadn’t thought anybody would want to climb it.”

“Why not? I imagined climbing it” Abisinthe moved over to the wall and ran her hand over it, “Every side has a different texture - its like a whole new challenge to get up each face.”

“Now that you mention it …”

“Right! And if there was a couple handholds here and there it would be a great place to practice on.”

“If you show me where, I can try adding some extra bumps and such.”

Abisinthe literally jumped at the chance, and began scaling the wall in-front of them: when she had to pause and seemed stymied on how to proceed, Cameron made an alteration to the surface.

The girl cast a suspicious eye upon him, her look hinting that she was uncertain about this guy. Somehow he managed to make handholds form at will, one-second: nothing … next a good place to grip so she could continue her ascent. This was done to each facet. Climbing down to the ground beside Outlook, the green themed girl looked back in wonder.

“Talk about weird. How’d you do that?”

“How is it that you have all these little things floating around you?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Same for me.”

“So: what’s it made of?” she asked, looking at his ‘masterpiece’.

“It’s an amalgamation of metals and polymers.”

“And it changes colour because?”

“What do you mean?”

“See! Here where I touch it, it goes from black to almost white.”

“That’s interesting: I hadn’t imagined that with direct pressure on it - it would do that. It’s sensitive to energy, so the colour will eventually change - but it’s acting like a mood ring.”

“A what now?”

“Mood ring? A little stone that would change colour when a persons temperature changed - or so I’m told; I never could get Mom’s to work.”

“Cool!”

“Yah, it’ll change then too.”

The girl rolled her eyes in disbelief, then looked at the scrawny kid tilting her head before asking, “You an alien or sum thing?”

“This is the Fourth planet from the sun, isn’t it?”

“Third!”

“Shoot: that means I was off by this much” holding up his right hand as if measuring a distance while looking far off to the left into the sky.

“Better sign up to take astrophysics. Seriously; where are you from?”

“Canada.”

“I knew it! You are an alien.”

“Foreigner, if you please.”

“Hot Blooded.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Foreigner’s greatest hit: Hot Blooded.”

“And here I thought you were hyped at the prospect of meeting a ‘little green man’, it explains your …”

“Ohhh! You are just ‘cruisin for a bruisin’.”

“Speaking of which: Looks like a bruiser out on a cruiser, heading our way” indicated Cameron at the big student coming towards them on the path.

“Jerk alert! Its Centurion.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Look up ‘troglodyte’ in the dictionary.”

“Understood. Your call: what do you want to do?”

“We have a grudge match tomorrow. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s planning on beating me up. Put me in the hospital again so I’d have to forfeit.”

“Might I suggest some vertical separation” mentioned Cameron pointing with a single finger up the wall.

“What about you?”

“Go. If he’s got a hard head, I can be a hard target.” At which Abisinthe climbed out of reach.

The large boy approached nearer - walking with a swagger, taking on a menacing grin when stepping up close, evidently pleased that his presence had provoked Abisinthe.

Building upon his perceived success he spouted: “When are you going to take the hint and leave. The MCO doesn’t belong at this school! Or anyplace else for that matter.”

His sneer was evil and malicious, seemingly taking delight in harassing others by pushing them around. Then too, the brief assessment he made of Cameron was dismissive, so he focused back upon the out of reach girl.

Absinthe had a firm grip over halfway up the wall on a side facing away from the bully affording some protection, she checked to ensure her position was secure before hollering at the brute “You didn’t even know I worked for the MCO when you put me in the hospital!” she accused of him.

“Just made the results more satisfying” he goaded.

“You’re going to regret those words in the arena!” snarked the girl.

“I’m sure you’ll try - and fail” was said in complete disregarding to any potential threat presented to him.“Don’t forget to pack your bags. And have your Will prepared! You won’t be in any kind of shape after the match to do it.”

Cameron was dismayed at the severity of the verbal exchange, these were threats to life and limb, the body posturing was tense and ready to explode, the risk of this exchange coming to violence was extreme. He stepped up between the adversaries “Back away - both of you! Save your fight for this grudge match of yours.”

The tall lump of a menacing boy took a quick glance down his nose at the small in comparison Cameron. He gave a snort of derision, then brought his full attention down from off Abisinthe onto the boy, “As if you could make me do anything. Runt!” he bent forward in an effort to intimidate.

“I’m calling a ‘time out’” informed Outlook in a voice loud enough for both to hear.

Centurion didn’t move: not a twitch or a blink, just stood frozen in place.

Abisinthe looked on in surprise as Cameron walked away from the big goof, and with a sweeping motion indicated for Abisinthe to come down, he then lead her away from the scene. She followed his gentle suggestion and began to walk beside him, looking back occasionally at the unmoving lump.“Is he?”

“Having a couple minutes of quiet time, he isn’t harmed.”

“You didn’t know, did you?” asked Abisinthe, carrying a degree of worry from the revelation during the exchange.

“That Whateley would enrol troglodytes? I’ve encountered them before … he’s certainly a prime specimen.”

“About the MCO?”

“The MCO doesn’t give me warm fuzzies, but you’ve never hurt me. As long as that remains the case, I carry no resentment.”

“That’s fair, and more honest than I’ve come to expect.”

“You don’t by chance turn into a bear do you?”

“Nooo. Why do you ask?”

“Trying to tie up some loose ends is all” remarked Cameron as they parted company.

Arena 99: Sunday, November 18, 2007

Cameron was aghast at the unfolding scenario.

The premise of this match was simple enough: a game of capture the flag, or press the button as the case may be. But … this! He was in shock.

He’d asked during the morning detention assignments if he could do work at Arena 99, where Abisinthe said the grudge match would be today. He was curious what these matches were all about.

Morie figured it was a good idea to put him to work since some of the seats had fallen into disrepair, and eagerly granted the request. The boy had been cleaning up the stands and fixing broken seats until his attention had been drawn down onto the arena floor.

The participants, no - the combatants: this wasn’t any game! It was a battle - pure and simple. It was waged complete with weapons … and explosions. Cameron was certain that was a real sword in Centurion’s hand! This was a no holds barred death match. They wanted to hurt each other … badly: Under the pretence of a friendly competition.

The stunned boy needed to calm himself and remember: it wasn’t his place to interfere, not his war. Neither was he here to police or draw attention to himself … but maybe - just maybe he could right a wrong. He took off his visor and focused his sight upon the central protagonists engaged in battle.

Cameron was unnoticed for the minutes he sat and watched the battle below. He would have liked to be able to hear what was being said, as he could tell they had been conversing. The scene had built to a climax as the stage was set for a showdown between Abistinthe and Centurion; since most others in the match had been restrained or removed from the action. Suddenly the auditorium was filled by the conversation happening within the arena proper.

“So this is going to be three against one?” said Centurion sizing up the situation.

“I thought you liked fighting three against one. I mean, you and your two buddies jumped me from behind and ganged up on me three to one when you put me in the hospital” accused Abisinthe.

“And we should have hurt you more, you’re too stupid to take the hint and leave Whateley … ” stated Centurion.

Outlook was satisfied with the results and returned to his detention duties, letting the chips fall where they may.

Poe Cottage

Billie Wilson meet Cameron at the entrance to Poe Cottage and introduced the housemother: Mrs Horton, Cameron had to suppose she needed to check him over and ensure he wasn’t a troublemaker. Jade joined them after which Cameron was taken down to the cottages basement into a really big dance hall that they could use to practise in.

The three focused on preparing two dances, as the contest application suggested. Trying to settle on just two possible dances had been difficult, as they each had imagined what would be best. The hardest part had been paring all the crazy ideas down to something they all could agree upon, and still have fun.

Billie seemed tireless, and Jade was a constant source of suggestions, corrections - and laughs. She would cast J-team members into clothes to illustrate her idea’s and provide tips for improving the performance.

The three, or was is five … at any rate, they had been at it for a couple hours and Cameron was running out of gas, so they decided a break was in order. Toni had also joined them in the big room, she and another girl had been practicing with quarter staffs in a corner. Hank and Ayla had also come downstairs but had been talking tactics with their attention alternating between Toni and Billie.

Cameron had spotted something interesting moved off to the side, and was taking a look at it, then asked Jade: “Is this a Karaoke machine?”

Jade piped up “Yup, Ayla bought it: his old girlfriend is a siren and I think he was trying to be nice.”

“Do you suppose I could try it out?”

“Let’s ask Ayles“

A normal person would casually walk over to have a conversation, but we’re talking Jade here! She cast Jinn and she zipped over to where the two boys were talking, interrupted them and blurted out the question! Surprisingly this appears to be almost expected behaviour and from the head nod he had no issue.

Jade helped set the machine up, and Cameron scrolled through the songs until finding one he liked. Taking the mic in hand, he hit play. The melody was slow and a hush fell over the room.

Cameron started to sing the touching and emotional lyrics to Micheal Buble’s song ‘Home’.

A girl walked past the door carrying a load of laundry, pausing a second then took-off like a bolt.

Cameron made minor changes to the lyrics, which made the song reflect how much he missed his Mom.

As the song ended, Cameron bowed his head - lost in thought about his family. Toni forced him out of his introspective moment by standing in-front of him and out-right accusing him “You are an evil little twerp, aren’t you!”

Jade couldn’t help but hear the comment and on impulse defended her friend “Hey!”

“Well, you’re no towering amazon yourself” rebuffed Cameron.

“Do you realize everyone in this room now feels like they have to call their families.” Chaka explained “Have you seen what long distance charges cost.”

Looking up Cameron noticed that the room had filled from beyond the few Team Kimba members to at least twenty people, many in the room had tears rolling down their faces, but seeing Ayla sitting on the floor against the wall, his head tucked to his knees; slammed home the fact that he wasn’t the only one missing family.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought … “

“If I had a nickel for every time somebody didn’t think! I’d … I’d have enough change to make a phone call” softened the girl in retrospect seeing the hurt displayed on Camerons face.

Two of the Poe residents stepped forward and Cameron was introduced to Vox and Go-Go. Vox commended him on his singing and asked when he was going to join the siren program. Cameron replied that he would have to think about that.

Vox asked if she could sing, and Cameron gave her the microphone. She choose a song called Blackbird, and the effect of her voice sent chills down his spine.

Cameron silently moved beside Ayla and sat next to him, saying: “I’m sorry: I didn’t consider that someone else could feel as hurt as I do.”

“They say you can’t sing the blues until you’ve experienced sorrow in life. It sounds like you qualify.”

“Thanks. Did you lose your family too?” wondered Cameron.

“I was kicked out when I manifested as a mutant.”

“Ouch! So you can’t talk to your Mom … and my singing opened a bad wound, Sorry.”

“With a name like Goodkind, you’d think we would be both good and kind.”

“Goodkind?” puzzled Cameron.

Ayla prepared himself for the inevitable anger the family name illiceted.

“Do you know a Bruce Goodkind? He sent me a letter of apology which was really heartfelt.”

Ayla was taken aback, certainly not the reaction he’d come to expect, but it did intrigue him deeply.

“You’ve had dealings with my father?”

“Okay, that kinda explains things. You’re Dad’s letter mentioned him having personal experience with a situation like mine.”

“In what way?”

Cameron with his sight had noticed that while Ayla looked like a girl, ‘he’ wasn’t. Revealing secrets is not done lightly, but he’d hurt Ayla, and the look on the mixed up boys face said this was something that needed to be done.

“I was injured and needed a surgery, I became a boy” admitted Cameron.

The double lifted eyebrows gave away Ayla’s emotions.

“Your Dads company made the poisons which altered me.”

“Which ones?”

“Mutant tamer bullets.”

“You lived? I’d heard they killed anyone shot with them.”

“Almost! But it damaged my DNA, everything was moving toward a big legal battle when your father gave me an apology … I guess you influenced his motivation.”

“Any chance I could read it?”

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Cameron withdrew the letter from Cupboard, and pulled out the paper which was three times the length of his pocket, handing it over to Ayla.

“How do you do that?” was asked by Ayla, taking the mysteriously manifested page handed to him.

“Another time” advised Cameron.

Ayla started reading and right off was struggling with his emotions, not only had he recognizing his fathers handwriting, but from the letters frank and candid manner. Cameron could tell just where he was in the text of the letter by how he reacted.

As Ayla finished reading, he sat back and fought a battle to stay in control, he folded the page up and handed it back “My father doesn’t show that side of himself very often. Thank you for sharing it.” Ayla quietly admitted to Cameron.

“Your welcome.”

Cameron and Ayla sat on the floor, each digesting information that had come to light. Vox had sung a few songs during the two’s conversation, but both of them had been preoccupied to notice.

Ayla broke the silence “You going to sing again?”

“I was thinking about it, no more sad stuff thou.”

“Know any Brass Monkey songs?”

“They sound like a bag of cats being hit by a stick.”

“They’re my favourite band!”

“You must be joking? All your friends say you have great taste!”

Moving off the floor and up to have a turn at the karaoke machine, Cameron picked a song he figured everyone would enjoy. Van Halen’s Dance the Night Away is such a happy ditty, he hoped everyone would forgive his previous song.

It was a delight to see nearly everyone who had come to join the impromptu party in Poe’s basement begin dancing, Vox came and harmonized on the vocals with him to make it sound extraordinary.

At songs end, Cameron thanked Vox, but they were interrupted by the clamour for ‘one more’. Checking the playlist Cameron smiled and brought Vox over to see his choice with her saying: ‘nice’.

On cue, the hard driving guitar rift for Boston’s Feelin Satisfied started.

Vox wholeheartedly gave supporting vocals, swaying and clapping to get the room engaged. Toni and Billie came up in-front and began dancing like a couple of groupies, they also encouraged everyone to clap along. The room was filled with dancing and merriment, when it ended Cameron truly did come away 'feeling satisfied'.

Dreamspace

The all encompassing shadow of night had just recently settled upon the little encampment, the small fire set within a circle of stones sent flickers of light which cast dancing shadows across the trampled long grass. A teepee set a distance away reflected part of the fires glow, acting as a beacon across the plains.

Weathered logs placed around the fire pit became seating for the invited guests: Kodiak had arrived first and sat with a huff of displeasure at being called to a gathering he wasn’t presiding over. When Grizzly arrived, she sat beside the gruff bear spirit but didn’t share his displeasure. Also in attendance was Mustang: the horse spirit bonded to Tansy Walcut, and Wihinape the cougar spirit bonded to Danny Franks.

Ptesanwi was making the effort to be a good host by offering ceremonial tea, but it was a futile gesture. None accepted the demeaning formality the hospitality represented among the simple minded humans.

“We’re not humans, easily swayed by folklore and traditions” chuffed Kodiak.

“True enough, but these traditions keep the low born in place, and are a useful tool to gain their trust” rebuffed the Ptesanwi.

“Why do you find it necessary to have us gather in such primitive conditions?”

“Would you have us in some forsaken cave perhaps? Here at least we can see the stars” commented Grizzly as she looked up at the clear night sky.

“It’s only an illusion, and in bad taste since we can’t return to the skys - I find it insulting, almost as much as your demand I come and prostrate myself before you”. spoke the angered and frustrated male bear spirit.

“We need to report on progress, and an accounting about the infiltrator has been requested” advised Ptesanwi.

“It was dealt with!” scowled Kodiak.

“Is that the message you want presented to the Council of Three?” inquired Ptesanwi.

“The Three have an interest?” remarked a surprised Grizzly.

“Indeed! It seems word has circulated about a spy having surfaced, the Three want to be certain it has been … dealt with adequately” informed the Lakota priestess.

Mustang jumped into the conversation, announcing “Grizzly removed the blight!”

“Explain!” required Ptesanwi, indicating Grizzly should give a narrative of the encounter.

“I spotted a new student arriving at the school, when I checked his aura - it was one of the gifted. I drove my meat-sack to intercept and we killed the vermin. I made certain it was dead: I held it’s un-beating heart in my paw! There was no life left within it.”

“Nicely done” commended the shaman.

“It knew to come to Whateley, another will be undoubtedly be dispatched to take its place” cautioned Kodiak. “We might only have six months before a second can be brought into play - even so: that doesn’t give us enough time.”

“Then we must be vigilant and watchful for when another does come, too many resources have been tied to this plan for it to fail” advised the shaman.

“On that we can all agree” Wihinapi added.

“Then we proceed with haste in building the Atlantean League, our leadership among the gene-spliced must be irrefutable” was the conclusion spoken by the shaman.

“Their humanity is proving hard to overwrite” insisted Grizzly.

“Win their hearts, then mind and body follows” said Kodiak with a wink.

(Once a letch always a letch) mused Grizzly.

McFarlane Auditorium: November 30, 2017

No doubt about it: Whateley knew how to throw a party! The auditorium had been transformed from its stark utilitarian appearance into a brightly lit well appointed gathering place, warmly coloured curtains hung covering over bare walls, streamers and floral arrangements strategically placed gave it a grand ambience.

A whole separate room was needed for the refreshments, the kitchen had prepared a veritable bounty with chef’s standing near to their creations in their pure white clothes and tall poofy hats, while many students worked the room as servers identified by the kitchen white attire.

Attendee’s wore lovely flowing gowns, a display of every colour imaginable mingled on the floor interspersed between the black tuxedo’s worn by almost every male present, although a few: like Jericho, didn’t hold to the norm when fashion was concerned. Jericho sported a brilliant white tux with an orange ascot then to further add to the visual assault he wore a purple cumber-bun. Subtlety was not a word found in that boy’s vocabulary. Of course, Razorbacks bright blue tie with yellow polkadots was also a fashion statement - but few if any would call him on it.

The festivities had been going on for a good hour already, the dance floor had attracted a few couples but mostly everyone was satisfied to engage in conversations and sample the culinary delights. At the end of a song, Miss Rodgers moved onto the dance floor into the beam of a bright spotlight.

“Welcome everyone, welcome to Whateley Academies Annual Fall Soiree. It is delightful to see so many lovely young ladies in such beautiful gowns, I am certain the young men with us tonight are overwhelmed by the beauty on display this evening.”

“Tonight, we have a special treat. Members of the dance class will be participating in a dance contest” at mention of this, a table was brought forward and placed centrally beside the dance floor.

“To adjudicate this competition, It is my privilege to introduce our honoured judges. I present to you: The Fabulous Imp!” At the mention of her name, the lady with the horns and devils tail stepped up to the table “Miss Imp has been a life long fan of dancing, and is a self described ‘Dancing with the Stars’ junky.” The ankle length sequinned red dress she wore showed off her curves and the light which was shone onto her added a special dazzle to her appearance as she curtsied.

Moving down the table to present the next judge, Miss Rodgers gave a hand flourish: “Sensei Tatsuo Ito: Whateley’s own Martial Arts instructor, a ballroom dancer of note and winner of multiple dancing contests” The introduced Asian man stepped forward, he gave an polite bow in his black tuxedo and slightly raised his hand in acknowledgement of the greeting. “Ladies! Mr. Ito is looking forward to cutting a rug later tonight. The line starts behind me” added Miss Rodgers.

“And lastly” announced Miss Rodgers as she moved to the last spot at the judges table “It gives me great pleasure to introduce a former semi-professional ballroom dancer, a dear friend, and Hawthorne cottages pride and joy: Mrs Deborah Cantrel” The crowd parted and moving forward in her hover-chair, the Hawthorn cottage housemother was wearing a gorgeous chiffon gown, her chair had similarly coloured ribbons set in loops and swings draped over it, also a splendid bouquet of flowers had been laid across her lap. She gave a rolling wave to the audience, and Cameron heard cheers and whistles coming from the Thornies present.

Addressing everyone in attendance Miss Rodger’s commenced “The rules of tonights contest will be thus: Each dance will be judged based upon merit, the demonstrated skill of the dancers shall be scored upon scale: one the lowest - and ten being highest. The judges will be looking at the interpretation of the music and how each dancer reflects the emotion and rhythm. As an added dimension: Each dance must be identifiable with notable media, be it from film or television.”

Turning to the judges each nodded in acceptance of the rules and their responsibilities. The audience took to applauded and followed Miss Rodger’s direction that all needed to move behind the lines marked on the floor. Once everyone was ready, she next said: “Be ready to be dazzled and amazed.”

It had been determined earlier by straws who would go first, and so after taking their station on the floor to be introduced, the first couple stood in the indicated spot as a spotlight lit revealing them to the eager crowd. Cameron recognized the werewolf looking guy - at almost seven feet tall Harry was kinda hard not to notice. They both wore similar costumes of denim overalls that had holes and patches sewn on, each had plaid checked shirts but while his was blue and white, hers was red and white.

They waited for the big screens to lower at either end of the hall, and when in place a paused scene flashed up from a cartoon Cameron held fond memories of.

In recognition Cameron mumbled “They wouldn’t” in disbelief.

To which Billie leaned over and asked “What’s up?”

The only fitting response was “Doc.”

The couple nodded to Miss Rodgers who called out “Hexette and Techwolf.”

On cue the screen started to move while the sound from the vignette filled the room:
“Let’s all Square Dance, Places all, Bow to your corner, Bow to your own” at which the couple commenced to square dance in imitation of the sequence taken from the classic Bug’s Bunny cartoon ‘Hillbilly Hare’. The audience was flabbergast at first until the absolute hilarity of what was being performed hit them, soon the audience was clapping along with the music encouraging the two in their antics.

As the song ended the two dancers lay spread out on the floor, Harry was flat out on his back panting with arms and legs sprawled every which way, Suzanne was on her stomach her head resting on her hands and as a finally; spit out the straw she had held between her lips, indicating ‘that’s all folks’.

The crowd roared with applause and shouts of delight where given, The Imp had tears tracking down her face, she too had stood up and been clapping, as a sign of pure joy she yelled out “Marvellous, Wonderful” to them as they walked up arm in arm to the judges stand.

Cecilia moved up to near the judges and asked them to display the scoring cards as she read them aloud to everyone “Judge Cantrel gives them a 6” the audience was polite but a little subdued by the score. “Judge Ito gives a 7” the clapping was more appreciative. “And Judge Imp gives a 9” to which the hall clamoured it’s acceptance. “A total score of 22 for Hexette and Techwolf”.

Miss Rodger moved away from centre floor to allow the next couple to take their place, once she was on the sidelines she announced “ We give you Halcyon and Shasta”.

The bright light illuminated a couple in a passionate embrace which set an ‘ooohhh’ from the audiences collective voice gathered around them.

The music started to blare at too high a volume and was badly distorted, the two dancers stood apart and began to gyrate in harmony to the music. Onto their clothes had been sewn lights that pulsed with the beat. A few in the crowd had started trying to elicit interest by moving to the music and encourage participation from the audience as a whole, but it didn’t catch on. The audiences attention and emotion wasn’t interested, as most just stood and well … stood.

As a finally the couple took the ever anticipated pose of defiance standing back to back and wiped off their brows then flung the sweat at those on the sidelines.

A few loyal friends exaggerated their appreciation, yelling and shouting ‘Oh Yah’s’. If anything, polite applause could be heard from the rest.

Waiting in the wings Cameron whispered to Billie “That was rather uninspired.”

To which she replied “It looked like every Hollywood dance sequence for the last ten years.”

Jade; standing beside Billie chimed in “That was as much fun as pulling teeth” to which the three chuckled.

Cameron changed his voice and did ventriloquism as Marcus had taught him - saying like Yosemite Sam “What in Tar-Nation, more Square Dancing!” Billie was shocked but Jade just roared in laughter and the members of Team Kimba who were nearby and heard the comment joined in.

Miss Rodger’s thanked the dancers and moved up to the judges, asking Sensei Ito for his score: a 5, then Miss Imp: a 6, and Mrs Cantrel: a 5, for a total of 16.

Halcyon gave the judges a glare as she walked past.

Cueing up for the next contestants, Miss Rodgers announced “Let’s welcome Exquisite and Gravmax” and moved off to give the floor to the next couple. They waited on the floor at the ready, both wearing leotards, she was in white and he in black, again the screens lowered into place at either end of the dance floor, these came to life when a picture was cast onto them.

The image on the screen was an Ansel Adams black and white landscape photograph. The music started, which was Dancing With Tears in My Eyes. Cameron recognized the Ultravox song since it was one his parents would listen to.

The pair of dancers interpretation of the song had merit, even if it was ballet. Exquisite was actually pretty good - obviously having gotten some training, but Gravmax was little more than a lump - he would shuffle about and take a form, having her swirl around him - then they’d do it again elsewhere on the floor. The Ansel Adams photographs would change every so often.

There was little noise in the room during the performance. Twice during the performance Gravmax lifted Exquisite up and would twirl her around, the last time he twirled her - he mis-timed the set-down resulting in her falling onto the floor. Toni sought to place a bet on which would have the bigger bruise: her ego or her butt.

Exquisite finished with a pirouette then did a curtsey to accompany Gravmax’s bow. Miss Rodgers congratulated them, and had them stand beside her for the scoring.

Billie spoke softly saying; “I liked the pictures.”

Cameron added “Nice composition.”

Jade said: “Only the dancing deserves to be tossed into the compost, the rest was pretty good” those nearby who heard snickered, and Jade was given a nudge by Hank and told to keep it real. Billie was thrilled that most of her teammates had come to give support.

Mrs Cantrel provided some comments: “The music and pictures gave an emotional depth. Exquisite your dancing is elegant but could have benefited from some more feeling, I thought having Gravmax act like one of the landscape features in the photographs added a fine touch to illustrate the dance of life going on around him.”

Sensei Ito ‘Hurrmpt’ at that - but kept his thoughts to himself.

“Judges; your scores! Mrs Cantrel - a 7, The Imp; a 7, and Sensei Ito; a 5. For a total of 19. Thank you all.” At which she walked over to the sidelines in preparation for the next dancers.

This was it: Billie and Cameron had drawn fourth, the well wishers sent them out and they took position at an end of the dance floor, having to wait for the screens to retract and the spotlight to adjust.

It felt like a slice of forever as they stood an arms length apart waiting, Billie’s hand rested on Cameron’s shoulder, and that is what the audience saw when the spotlight focused on them. It was a moment of pure terror before Miss Rodgers announced; “Tennyo and Outlook.”

The costumes Jade had fashioned were very becoming, emerald green on dark black. Billie had a blouse with alternating stripes of the colours and thin green streamers running off each black sleeve magnifying her arms movements, she had a green skirt that went down to her thighs with slits on the outer edges, and black leggings with ankle bracelets of reflective green fabric. Camerons attire was a black shirt with offset green diamonds front and back up on the shoulders, at his waist was a wide green sash and a fob on the left side, his black pants had two green lines dissecting like snakes running down each leg on the out seam.

They smiled at each other, then clapped in unison as the signal to start the music - and took each others hand as they set about doing a gliding ring around the dance floors permitter looking like ice skaters building up speed over the surface, each step taken was a tap on the floor matching the drum beat to Great Big Sea’s song Sea of No Cares.

Their movement really looked like they were on ice skates, since both of them just slide overtop the wooden dance floor by no more than an inch, every step now that touched down was done in the manner and posture of River Dance. Their speed was fast and as a result they covered the whole floor area to have it appear like a figure skating routine. The two would leap and do several rotations before continuing to tap to the musics rhythm with arms and backs held stiffly while the feet worked out rapid stepping.

The audience had started out slow to garner how this looked and felt, and thou the song was unfamiliar it had a catchy beat and the rhythm was infectious. Soon enough the audience began jumping in place and twirling when Billie and Cameron acted like tops spinning to match the songs tempo, it was most encouraging when people commenced joyfully clapping.

Billie had been excited to learn figure skating moves and was fearless in doing complex combinations like double lutz’s and salchow’s. The hardest part had been getting the momentum to look right with somebody who could fly.

The mix between the stiff style of Celtic dance, and the fluidity of figure skating had been hard to blend, but each foot tap resulted in an additional thump to exaggerate the musical score, forward momentum coming from a foot’s push-off was just like the toe kick on skates. Although the bodies stayed in character, both of them grinned wildly in the spotlight.

At songs end the two dropped to a knee - facing opposite directions but with arms linked at the elbows as they looked at the audience, they slowly spun around seeing the whole crowd before stopping and bowing their heads.

Miss Rodgers applauded as she approached, and called out “Let’s hear it for Tennyo and Outlook” there was clapping in appreciation and enjoyment for the two’s performance. Standing they bowed in acknowledgement and thanks.

Turning to face the judges, Cameron bent to catch his breath - however Billie didn’t even look slightly winded. Sensei Ito was given the floor “Before I judge you, I need to ask how you could float like that? Tennyo is known for ignoring the laws of gravity - what about you young man?”

Unwrapping the sash around his middle Cameron revealed a belt, explaining “This is a levitation aid of my creation, it supported my weight and kept me off the ground.”

The judges conferred to the side with Mrs Cantrel motioning to her chair resulting in agreeable nods before they turned and addressed the dancers, with Tatsuo Ito taking the lead “The creativity of combining two styles of dance was most intriguing, I am told that figure skating is a popular sport with competitions held at the Olympics, on that recommendation I must admit it meets the media criteria. The technicality of River Dance is a joy to watch - your interspersing it with high flying spins gave it a new dimension and visuality. Well done.”

“Judges you’re scores” asked Miss Rodgers “Judge Ito: a 7, Miss Imp: an 8, Mrs Cantrel: a 7, for a total of 22.”

As they approached the sidelines, Jade ran out onto the dance floor and gave a grand hug to Billie, a lesser enthused hug for Cameron but still a warm and heartfelt squeeze. Surrounded by Billie’s friends they each gave encouragement to their teammate, Ayla who had on occasion been present at rehearsals in Poe cottages basement gave what could almost be called a gushing “good job” if not for the stoic delivery.

Cameron was tapped on the back and he turned to see Jericho in his white tux “You going to share the design of that belt?” he asked with a sly smile.

“The power demand is through the roof” Cameron warned.

“Given enough power, I’d hope it’d go through the roof” Jericho joked “You still haven’t come to my lab to see my RAFE suit.”

“I will, there just doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.”

“By the way - nice moves out there you two.”

Both Billie and Cameron were overwhelmed with congratulatory comments, so much so that the nearby audience started shushing them all as the next couple had taken position and was being announced.

On the dance floor: Lady Liberty and Hatamoto began their routine. Cameron was too worked up to focus on anything - but the rumble from Billie’s stomach spoke of a pressing need, Jade and he lead the hungry girl over to the food tables. On the way into the other room Billie apologized saying she had been too nervous to eat. The chef’s saw Tennyo coming and began preparing a large plate for her, and offered hearty praise while handing her the food.

Billie was busy with the task at hand, leaving Cameron to say thank you to the well wishers that approached them. Jade had gotten all of them glasses of punch and the emotional high was slowly abating when the song ended. Miss Rodgers voice called for all competitors to the dance floor, Billie was torn between the remaining morsels on her plate and the announced request.

Jade was surprising good at opening a path in a crowd, and Billie handed her plate to Toni in passing. Taking position standing in a row with the other performers on the dance floor facing the judges, as Miss Rodgers continued giving an encouraging speech about the joy and benefits of dancing, then made an open invitation for any and all students to join the class.

Miss Rodgers checked on her students, then began calling out each couples names having them step forward as their score was announced:
“Hexette and Techwolf; 22”
“Halcyon and Shasta; 16”
“Exquisite and Gravmax; 19”
“Tennyo and Outlook; 22”
“Lady Liberty and Hatamoto; 20”

“It appears we have a tie!” announced Miss Rodgers, turning away from the judges she continued “May we impinge further upon your evenings festivities to conduct a tie-breaker round of dances?”

By means of applause those in attendance gave their assent, Miss Rodgers then asked for an intermission to allow her dancers to make preparations and freed up the dance floor. Heading off to the change rooms Cameron heard music and people started dancing.

The atmosphere in the mens change room had been pretty intense prior to the contest, apparently any competition necessitated jockeying for dominance and trash talking to throw others off their game, anything to hinder preparations and get an edge. Now, it was more jovial, as the majority were stepping out of costumes and into tonights formal attire, all except Harry and Cameron that is.

Harry had already been dressed in his suit rather than stay in the coveralls used for his first dance, he had his jacket off and was unbuttoning his shirt when Cameron walked past to his locker “You did amazing with your dance” commended Cameron.

“Thanks” responded the big guy “Your’s was incredible.”

“Tennyo makes anybody look good” conceded Cameron.

“No. You kept up with her, that’s not easy to do.”

“Thanks” remarked the boy as he took the hanger with his second costume off the lockers hook.

Fortunately all Cameron needed was a second of privacy to materialize his outfit onto himself, once a washroom stall was open, the door had barely closed behind him when he walked out ready to go.

The draw for the tie-breaker had Billie and Cameron up first.

Jade was even more nervous than the dancers and was busy primping her costumes. Billie wore a navy blue dress that had an oriental cut, on one side a slit went down to her knee, the other rested higher up on her thigh , it hugged her curves but stretched to permit movement, she also wore a blue coloured pair of short leggings underneath the skirt that matched the dress, and to finish off the look: a pair of shoes often worn by asian women.

Cameron stood next to her in his rumpled black suit and hat - cane in hand. Each couple had been warned to prepare a second routine, but this had been an after thought at best, and his nerves showed.

Miss Rodgers introduced them and the main lights dimmed with only a spotlight shining on the dance floors middle.

Cameron walked out from the sidelines, imitating Charlie Chaplan as best he could, at the centre he doffed his hat to the judges, he was distracted during his bow and picking up something off the floor, blowing on it he shined it on his sleeve then somewhat satisfied put it into his pocket.

Billie for her part was on the dance floor walking near the sideline, she had a tan overcoat wrapped around herself and fedora hat on. She stopped and the coat and hat jumped off her as it was filled out by Jinn. Billie ran being chased by the coat and hat toward Cameron who was preoccupied petting an imaginary dog, when she bumped into Cameron the music started.

In The Mood by Glenn Miller is the ultimate swing standard.

From there, it was a wild display of Billie doing martial arts moves like punches and kicks using Cameron as a pivot as she fended off the attacking coat.

Cameron had watched so many old time comedies frame by frame and was trying his best to emulate Stan Laurel and Buster Keaton by acting like he was completely unawares of what was happening here, all the while making it feel like they were swing dancing.

Cameron would be tipping his hat and offering apologies to the poor unfortunates who had for some reason been laid out prone and senseless around them, while Billie continued to swing off - around - under - and over him, only to have Cameron dragged back in another direction by Billie as she overcame another faux assault.

At a point in the music they stood back to back with no more fighters advancing - Jinn laid the coat and hat out empty on the floor off to the side. Cameron turned and tapped Billies shoulder, she reared up to hit him but instead stopped since he had his hat and cane in one hand and his other was open in invitation, at that they danced together in unison.

Tennyo and Cameron stood before the judges table, along with the mysterious trench coat and fedora hovering behind them.

Judge Ito spoke first: “Never had I imagined it possible for a Jackie Chan and Charlie Chaplain movie to be fused together!” He was supported by nods of agreement by the other judges “Tennyo: you showed remarkable control in your forms, a top notch display. I will speak with you further at our next class.”

Taking up the mantle next was Imp “Outlook; I could see elements of Chaplins ‘Tramp’ character in your performance, as well as the influences of Misters Keaton and Laurel, I thought you played the hapless bystander to a T, Well done young man - Well done.”

It was Mrs Cantrel’s turn, and she looked torn “Tennyo, Outlook. You did a fine job! Really. And it was delightful to watch, you both tried so hard to make it entertaining. But I must uphold the conditions of this contest: by bringing a third person into your dance you have broken the rules, as such I must move that you be disqualified.”

A collective groan was heard from all around, Cameron heard Billie fighting back an outburst of anguish and stay the tears welling up, he reached over her shoulder to give her a hug, the sleeves of the coat draped sorrowfully over either of them and the hat was tilted down in shame.

Putting on his own hat and resting both hands on his cane, Cameron spoke in as steady a voice he could manage “We forfeit! And offer our sincerest apologies.”

Miss Rodger came forward to speak “By means of forfeiture; Tonights winners are Hexette and Techwolf.”

Tennyo, Cameron, and Jinn led the crowd in applause as the winning couple came up to the judges table to accept their prize, the trio also gave the first congratulatory handshakes.

Attention focused onto the winners as the three walked over to Team Kimba who broke their huddle to offer condolences.

“We can fight this!” informed Ayla “Jinn isn’t a real person, so the rules don’t apply.”

“That would expose Jade, and winning isn’t worth hurting a friend” reasoned Cameron “Besides: you’re forgetting the entire reason behind this - or any shindig.”

“Oh! And what’s that?” inquired Toni standing between Billie and Jinn giving each a supportive squeeze, her question directed at the boy who had started moving away from the tight knit group of friends.

“I got to dance with a pretty girl!” he responded before the crowd and distance separated them.

Whateley Maintenance Yard: December 19, 2007

Winter break meant most of Whateley’s students had headed home, the place was deserted … almost, a few souls still remained - be it kids that didn’t have a home, or simply couldn’t go back.

And then there was Cameron; he’d had to refuse a couple offers of spending time with friends. Mike Williamson had invited Cameron to come to Prince George, Lynn asked on behalf of the Franklins if he would visit them, and Eloise Donner inquired about his plans: He’d had to turn them all down and he was sour over it.

Cameron was still on detention and as such wasn’t allowed to leave the school … He hated this place, he hated that he’d been forced to become a slave at this school.

He looked back upon his time here, wondering why he ever thought attending this school was a good idea, sure - he’d come anticipating an education … he’d gotten one alright; and it embittered him.

Cameron was taking a break from studying at Beck Library, he’d gone around to all the dumpsters and emptied them, he was waiting for Coop to show up in the garbage truck with his delivery of groceries, no doubt the snow had made the roads treacherous and why the man was late.

Cameron kept himself busy by shovelling snow off the pathways, likely the job he’d be assigned later anyway, The garbage truck finally made it, and Cameron hopped up onto the running board.

“Sorry I’m late, the roads don’t-cha-know” offered Coop while lowering the trucks window.

“Looks like almost a foot of snow has come down” sympathized Cameron.

“Yah, it’ll be touch-an-go getting back to town” stressed the man.

“Anything I can do?” wondered Cameron.

“Nah, Betsy here is a tough ol’ gal, she’s never let me down” he said while patting the steering wheel “Here: best be taking these supplies, I won’t be back till next year - so I hope it’s enough to last you … Oh! The mayor sent a little something extra, some of his wife’s famous rhubarb muffins.”

“I love rhubarb. Thanks Coop!” commented Cameron as he stepped down and backed away with his prize in hand.

Cameron waved goodbye as the truck rev’ed up and started moving away.

From behind somebody grabbed his parcel and shouted “Don’t Move!”

Shocked that someone would steal his stuff Cameron cried out "What. Hey! That’s mine” and he turned to confront the thief, resulting in an arm latching onto his shoulder forcefully. Cameron heard the “Uugh!” He looked behind to see a person fall into the snow.

It was a lady security guard, she had his package in one arm, but the other was held straight out and rigid. Fear racked the boy: her arm was disintegrating! It was falling apart like grains of sand.

He altered his sight to the molecular and saw how she was composed entirely of nanites, they were loosing cohesion as they died - the effect was aggressively moving up the arm, it was almost to her torso now.

Cameron dissipated part if the women’s shoulder to stop the spread, and that was all he remembered - apart from the massive hurt on the back of his head where a nightstick struck him.

The End

P.S.: What’s the Matter With You coming soon.