Cairns, Australia – May 10, 2043
A frustrated sigh escaped Victoria’s lips as the speaker came to the end of his speech and made the necessary introductions.
Vladimir Arihkin, Lord Conciliator of the Guardians, reached across and placed his hand over hers to give it a slight squeeze. Telepathically, he teased: Ah, the joys of being a public icon! Now stop dawdling and get up there.
Applying an inappropriate amount of telekinetic force to her backside, he propelled a grinning Lord Inquisitor from her seat and off toward the dais.
To those looking on, Victoria appeared to be embracing the occasion with gusto. No one heard her giggle, nor did they pick up on her thinly veiled threat to do all sorts of despicable things to her colleague the first chance she got.
On reaching her assigned position, all one hundred students and their expectant families disappeared amid the glare of a starburst explosion of light erupting from the battery of press and TV cameras filling the back of the hall.
Blinking rapidly, Victoria used the interruption to gather her thoughts, and an expectant hush fell over the assembly. Once her sight had cleared, she was able to glance down upon the first ever class to graduate from the Global Marshals Service Induction Course. Inclining her head, she began, “A proverb once said, ‘Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.’ And here before us today, we see evidence of that fact. . .”
She anticipated the mood perfectly, and held herself in check while a smattering of applause welcomed her opening remark.
“. . .Some might say this is just the beginning. The start of something new! However, let’s not forget the fact that, for this event to be able to take place, a great many hurdles had to be overcome. The Psychic Law and Order Bill went a long way to preparing the ground for your arrival. That statute provided a wonderful set of guidelines through which your rights and privileges as metapsychic citizens were protected. It also afforded you something else that otherwise would not—indeed, could not—have been extended. A choice!
“Many of you have capabilities sufficient to join the ranks of the Guardians. A worthy goal, as I’m sure you’ll all agree. . .”
Light handclapping and a number of intermittent flashes from the surrounding cameras interrupted the flow of her monologue.
“. . .However, in the past, had you not opted to follow our calling, you would have faced a life of uncertainty. A life of doubt and perhaps anxiety as your abilities burgeoned amid a climate of fear and suspicion. Well, no more!”
Indicating the gathered VIPs behind her—which included a number of representatives from some of the world’s top law enforcement and correctional agencies—she added, “Because of that legislation, you are now free to choose a different way to give something back. A way that allows you to harness your wonderful gifts, and put them to use in a manner that not only feels right to you, but also allows you to serve in your neighborhoods as one of their most valuable assets.”
Victoria let her words hang to emphasize a well made point.
She continued, “I suppose we could say, the sapling that was the Psychic Law and Order Bill was planted in fertile soil. It sprouted. It flourished and spread its boughs, growing into the mighty edifice now shedding acorns of its own.”
Sweeping her hand across the one hundred graduates, she asked the audience, “Do you think these acorns will be as fruitful?”
The resultant ovation was thunderous and sustained, and Victoria was forced to wait patiently for a few minutes before the approbation died down.
Eventually, she was able to declare, “I’m glad to hear it! Because I agree.
“As I mentioned, just to make it this far, our candidates had to overcome a great many hurdles. Obstacles involving rigorous background checks; a whole battery of psychological, physical, and psychic reviews; an exhaustive three month training program where they’ve been pushed to the limit, learning about all the laws, procedures and skills they will need to fulfill their roles. And don’t forget, they will have to act as ambassadors for the psychic community as well. Think of them as living conduits, connecting the multitude of existing legal bodies with the Guardians. You’ll be in good hands, though, for each and every single officer here today, has received the specialized and unique schooling required to qualify them to save life and property. To prevent, investigate, and detect crime. To bring offenders to justice and ensure the security of our communities are upheld in one of the most rapidly progressive eras in history.
“Are you glad they’ve made the grade?”
This time, the audience’s praise threatened to drown out her closing comments. Reverting to the declaratory mode, Victoria artificially amplified her voice so it could be clearly heard over the din: “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests! It gives me great pleasure to present to you, the Class of 2043. Say ‘hello’ to the trailblazers of the new Global Marshals Service. May the seeds they sow reap a rich harvest!”
Unbelievably, the crowd’s response ramped so high, it almost lifted the roof.
Bowing to the graduates, Victoria stepped away, gave a brief wave, and began returning to her seat. Not bad for a beginner. Although I’m glad my part is done! Imagine having to do this repeatedly.
Chief Instructor, Grand Master Rhee Oliviano, started making her way to the platform. Passing Victoria, she winked and mind-whispered: Careful! If you make too much of an impact first time out, they’ll want you to preside at every graduation. And they’ll expect you to better your previous performance on every occasion.
Good point! Victoria acknowledged: Don’t ever invite me again. If you do, I swear I’ll turn up drunk and dressed in a tutu.
Grand Master Oliviano masked her intentions from the audience by halting her advance, turning to face the Lord Inquisitor directly, and joining in the applause with them. Arching her eyebrows, she replied: It’s a definite booking then! Do you realize how many people would pay to see that?
Vladimir made no bones about the fact he had eavesdropped on their conversation. Before Victoria was able to think of a comeback, he chipped in: Well, I’m game if you are. I’m from Russia, don’t forget. Ballet is in our blood and I look damned good for my age in tights! Will I get a discount for block bookings?
*
Simon Cooper switched off the television and sat in silence for a while, silently reflecting on what he’d just witnessed.
The Global Marshals ceremony had been televised live and beamed around the world, so everyone from the participating countries involved in the project could join in the celebrations.
Thankfully, Yeung and Esther had left straight after the broadcast. They would be busy for some time, preparing—among other things—a final briefing package and training schedule for the one Apostle and three sleeper agents who had miraculously found themselves added to the register for the forthcoming exodus to Kalliste at the end of the month. Simon and Esther were also on that same list, but had been exempted any last minute schooling because of their special statuses and their involvement in other schemes.
One such scheme involved the Marshals Service itself. Yeung was keen to explore the possibility of getting someone inside, especially in light of recent information from their hottest source, Jose Calderon.
Calderon, under the misapprehension that Angelika was walking on thin ice and close to losing her job, had begun feeding her a steady stream of useful tidbits to pass onto her boss. In fact, the latest snippet concerned the possible vulnerability of one of the four new Marshals who had been posted to Kalliste on assignment.
Because of that tasty morsel, work was currently in progress to prepare a specially encoded micro-Docillator, which Yeung intended to have implanted into the Marshal at the soonest opportunity.
Thankfully, the procedure didn’t require Simon’s input.
He didn’t mind, and was glad of the break. Recent events had troubled him, as they’d reminded him of an invitation he’d been obliged to accept a long time ago:
. . .Listen, everyone, listen!
These humans require our help. They need to be nurtured, guided. Are you so blinded by ignorance that you can’t perceive their potential? Yes, they are fleshly. Nonetheless, they contain a spark of the divine flame within them. When it matures—thousands upon thousands of their cycles from now into the future—will they not bring glory to the Source in their own unique way. . .
The scope of that undertaking had daunted Simon.
It was to be such a huge undertaking. Too great a task, for too few of us!
Snorting, he admitted, and yet, here we are! All these thousands of years later and Sachael-Za-Ad’hem’s vision of the future is coming to fruition. But of course, it would. His sight was virtually infallible, and he was among the most skilled of our kind at wielding such power. And to be honest, we were still upset at our failure. Both Sachael-Za-Ad’hem and Sariel-Jeh’oel were convenient targets to vent our bitter disappointment on. Their eagerness to begin reparations immediately was bound to stir up contention.
He smiled to himself as he came to a startling realization. We were just afraid of them being right, while the shock of our ostracism was so fresh . . . Stubborn fools!
The divine echo certainly is maturing within humans. And at an alarming rate too! They’ve already begun to surpass our glory in some ways, especially those freaks of his. And what about the potency of the children I ran into on the Moon? So young, so intoxicating, and already possessed of a dominion that would command the respect of our lower brethren! Who would have imagined?
Could that be why they exiles have failed to reply? Have they been keeping a sneaky eye on things and become so daunted by what they’ve observed that they fear to act?
More recent words came to mind:
“Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Freaky bitch was right about one thing, Simon conceded. Grand results can be achieved from humble beginnings! I ought to keep trying. They can’t all still be sulking.
*
Anil Suresh didn’t need his arsenal of abilities to know that Marty Mays and Sharon Dyer were excited. It showed in the way that neither of them could sit still.
They had been watching the graduation ceremony with their families and friends at Sharon’s apartment in Fort Worth, Texas. As the Lord Inquisitor completed her rousing speech, Marty’s wife, Jinga, had offered a personal observation:
“In a way, it’s a shame the new service can only enlist those with ESP into their ranks. Just think of the skills they’re missing out on by having to overlook trained investigators like Uncle Mike . . . or Melanie, next door to us back home.”
Turning to Marty, she’d added, “She’s been a cop down at your old precinct for seven years now . . . and a darn good one by all accounts. And yet, all that experience would be wasted in the face of a psychic fugitive.”
By all accounts, everyone had thought her remarks quite insightful and carried on watching TV, reflecting on the unfairness of the real world. All except Sharon, that is, who pondered the weight of those words in greater depth.
So taken was Sharon by what she’d heard that when the get-together came to an end, she had taken Marty aside and discussed the seeds of an idea with him. He came on board immediately and ended up placing a call to Guardian Command on Earth.
The result? Here they were, just two hours later, seated in the Lord Marshal’s office on Moon Base, animatedly debating the ease with which they might be able to adapt one of the current projects, if Sharon’s proposal was well received.
“It’s a damned good suggestion, Sharon,” Anil admitted. “But do you really think you’ll be able to devise a suitable modifier that will work on a normal brain?”
“I don’t see why not,” she replied modestly, “especially if we ensure to keep things simple to begin with.”
“What do you mean by simple?”
“Well, if you’re okay with the concept, we don’t have to start by trying to boost non-operants into all bells ringing, mental ninjas, just yet! Baby steps will do. Remember, these guys will already be trained responders. Experienced detectives or ex-military types in many cases. The majority of them should have the focus required to operate a simple enhancer. Most humans have the capacity for telepathy hardwired into their psyches anyway. So, if we concentrate on boosting that latency, we need only incorporate basic hardware into the first-gen chips, along with tech that will ensure to flip most of opponents they’ll encounter.”
“Flip their opponents?” The term had thrown Anil completely.
“Yes, we already have the N-Gater technology under wraps. I’m talking of a milder version of that to mitigate, or reverse the powers of a psychic criminal.”
“Mitigate criminals?” Anil gasped, clearly surprised. “I thought you were talking about enhancing the capabilities of those Marshals who were normal?”
“We are . . . eventually,” Marty cut in. “But we don’t really want to be doing that straight away. Remember, we’re contemplating energizing a mundane human cerebrum beyond its archetypal limits. That’s going to take all sorts of planning and studies and fine-tuning, before we dare put anything inside the heads of those who volunteer. We don’t want to lobotomize our stooges, do we? So, to begin with, we need only concentrate on augmenting the dormant ability inherent in all humans—telepathy—while artificially negating the distinct advantages a gifted criminal might hold over them!”
“I see!” Anil replied. As the import of what they were actually deliberating sank in, he couldn’t help but start running through a catalogue of possible applications in his mind. “But that . . . that’s brilliant!”
“I thought you might like it.” Marty drawled, his Cheshire Cat grin filling the room, “That’s why we hauled our asses all this way in double-quick time.”
“And thank you for doing so,” Anil stressed. “I appreciate the gesture. But we’re still going to have to run a whole battery of tests on our guinea pigs. Boosting an atrophied or undeveloped area of the brain could have all sorts of unforeseen side effects in some people. Needless to say, once we’ve determined the procedure is safe, it will be a relatively straightforward matter to incorporate a . . . what can we call them? Nullifier into their badges. Or teleport wristbands. We can always progress to sub-dermal implants at a later stage.”
Quietly, Sharon emphasized, “If we start with the N-Gater models we developed for your Guardians, it will give us a massive jumpstart. It’ll be a simple matter to retrograde them with suitable targeting nodes, you see, and we could have the first prototypes ready before the end of the month. Is that okay?”
Anil burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? That would be marvelous. But don’t rush. Get it right from the outset. Can you imagine how the law enforcement community will react to news like this?”
They all agreed . . . they could!
Strolling across to his personal cabinet, Anil removed a bottle of quality cabernet sauvignon and several glasses. Smiling, he said, “I keep this for special occasions. Something I believe is upon us right now.”
He returned to his guests and poured a generous amount of the dark ruby liquid into each glass. “Very well done, you two! I feel a great deal of good will come of this one, little idea. As a friend of mine might say . . .
“A toast. To acorns . . . may they grow big and strong!”
*
Five, four, three, two, one . . . Go!
The starship exited the gateway portal, its atoms coalescing as it settled once more into the familiar milieu of normal space. No sooner had it manifested, than it passed through the encircling circumference of the first hunter-seeker array. The crisscrossed sensors there formed a translucent web of energy that penetrated metal, alloys and artificial polymers alike.
Within the blink of an eye, a scan of all decks was completed. Two bogeys within the cargo hold had been tagged immediately and were now flashing like neon red beacons.
Still decelerating, the craft entered the gravity net of the secondary defensive ring. As it did so, eight blue-white shafts of concentrated light stabbed out. Instantly focusing upon the highlighted anomalies, the photonic octet locked on and intensified, vaporizing both targets.
How long did that take? Naomi asked.
Just over five seconds, Ben replied, his hands skimming across the controls of the portable console before him: That’s much more like it!
Hull integrity?
Ben quickly brought up the required information: Intact. At last! It looks as if we’ve solved the amplitude glitch. The beams are now reaching prime focus only one half of an inch from their objective.
Naomi studied the readouts herself. Hmmmh. Much better than last time.
But it still needs improving. Ben obviously liked to work from the same page.
Of course! The sneaky bastards won’t do us the favor of sitting in the middle of the cargo bay if they decide to pay us a visit. They’ll hide in a cooling duct, or in the walls, or something like that.
So we’re aiming for microns then?
That’ll do to start with! Naomi murmured, still absorbed by the computations.
She caught Ben’s frown of exasperation, and emphasized: Hey, remember who we’re dealing with. From the way those assholes have been testing the waters they’re obviously on a fishing expedition. If they dare poke their noses our way, I want to make sure they know from the outset the rules are different here. We’re the sharks, and in our ocean, they can expect to end up as nothing more than bloody chunks of chum.
Ben seemed a little put out: Naomi, I’d love to oblige. But the cost of all that gear?
She waved his objections away: Then don’t sweat it! One of the perks of being the Adjutant Marshal is that it carries even more weight than my High Grand Master Class status. We may only have eight targeting scanners and eight actual emitters to play with, but if you need our latest state-of-the-art quantum compressors, you’ve got them . . . and damned the expense! I could sign the requisition order today.
No kidding? Ben’s face lit up. How soon could you actually get them here?
If I ask Captain Melonavich to take my request through on the next test run, perhaps later tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning. Why? When could you have them incorporated into the firing sequencers?
For all eight emitters? Twenty-four Earth Standard Hours. Ben’s expression then became mischievous: Of course, it’ll be faster if I have a bit of help.
A bit of help! Naomi replied, slapping him heartily on the back: Anything that keeps me out of the office is more than welcome. Hell, if you insist we paint the whole thing pink and green with a toothbrush to improve efficiency, I’m your girl. . .
She caught her breath and giggled as Ben started drifting away from her side.
. . .Whoops, sorry! I forgot to hold you in place there.
Ben glanced at his surrounds, his aura betraying only mild anxiety. He’d gotten quite used to hanging in the vacuum of space while they worked.
The new N-Gater Array had been gravity-locked just beyond the wake boundary generated by an incoming wormhole. Comprised of two collars—a scanning ring and separate, larger targeting bracket—set ten miles apart, the array had been strategically positioned to allow for the completion of a thorough scan and the formulation of an acceptable firing solution prior to any of the travelers aboard an arriving vessel being able to recover their wits following the jump.
As such, its deployment was proving a most suitable use of limited resources.
Nonetheless, it required multiple equations and repeated adjustments to get things right. Therefore, Ben and Naomi had found it much easier to work from within the confines of a force field, rather than skipping in and out of a shuttle umpteen times a day. By using this method, they had forged ahead, talking only half the anticipated time to get the grid fine-tuned and running within acceptable parameters.
Naomi continued: Of course I’ll lend a hand, Ben! It’ll mean we can have the system fully integrated and operational before our first arrivals next week. There’s no way I’d have been able to relax when I leave for my ceremony unless I knew this place was in safe hands.
Ben interrupted his calculations to look directly at Naomi: I’d forgotten you were leaving next week. Damn, time flies, eh? Are you getting nervous?
To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought. This place has kept me so busy that it’s distracted me from what the MitaCom program is actually doing. Don’t get me wrong, I do feel the changes. Especially when I get a power spike and the restraints kick in. But most of the time, I get these weird . . . echoes. It’s as if things just outside the range of my perception are trying to say hello.
Ah, I understand! Ben replied. Although you transcend and become über-powerful, you still retain an alpha attribute bias. Your ultrasenses must be ramping up exponentially?
Oh, they are, Ben, believe me. But I can cope with that. No! It’s my damned cognitive function that’s freaking me out at the moment. You know the way I can soak up the details of everything around me, compartmentalize it, and zap out what I need, when I need it? Well, Adam . . . er, I mean, the Overlord, warned me to keep a leash on it for a while. Because I’m so wired, he feels I might break through into some form of hyper-cognitized state. One in which I’m so finely attuned to my surroundings that it will border on precognition.
Wow! Ben replied: Some people have all the luck! I’d love to be a mover and shaker instead of a quiet little mouse, scuttling around in the background all the time.
Mouse! Naomi retorted: Quiet? That’s not what Shadow Master Sabena Japura told me yesterday! I’ll have you know, we bumped into each other at the spa, and from the way she kept going on about you . . . I think you must have a secret identity tucked away under your belt.
Ben’s cheeks reddened, only to mottle with an odd lilac tinge because of the UV filters blended through Naomi’s shielding.
She breezed ahead without mercy: How did she put it? Oh, yes, something about what an ‘inventive and imaginative’ lover you are and how you’ve obviously. . .
Okay, that’s enough! Ben insisted, curtly: Change the subject. You know I don’t like talking about my private life.
Exuding an air of mock innocence, Naomi protested: What? I’m not just any old stranger you know. I set the two of you up for goodness sake, and was just letting you know what your girlfriend thinks. To her, you are anything but a mouse.
She sniffed, smirked, and added: The bee’s knees actually. Or did she say stallion?
Outraged, Ben was about to protest when Naomi abruptly changed tack: Anyway, I thought you were delighted with the way things are going? She gave him a quick dig in the ribs: C’mon . . . spill the beans.
Although embarrassed, Ben couldn’t stop a huge grin from spreading across his face: Of course I am. He admitted: She’s wonderful! Smart, intelligent, and stimulating company.
Aaand? Naomi pressed.
And what? Ben countered, apparently stumped by Naomi’s insistence.
Naomi stared at him incredulously, until she realized he was serious: Oh for goodness sake. Men!
Grunting, she expounded a dose of womanly wisdom: As well as being an intellectual Einstein, Tesla and Hawking rolled into one, Sabena’s a knockout! Everyone thinks so. It might be a good idea to let her hear you acknowledge that fact? Knowing people think you’re attractive is one thing, but hearing the man of your dreams tell you how beautiful you are . . . well, that’s another thing entirely!
Oooh! Ben’s face colored again, a deeper shade this time.
Reveling in his discomfort, Naomi had to laugh to herself. He’ll learn. Slowly and painfully . . . but it’ll sink in eventually.
Outwardly, she teased him more gently: I’ve got a very special feeling about you two, you know. Very special indeed! Such a quiet, inconspicuous beginning. Where will this hot, torrid love affair lead, eh?
Naomi!
What? I told you, I’ve already got the dress picked out for your wedding.
NAOMI!
Do you know, Sabena confided she wants a large family? Eight or nine kids at least! Do you think you’ll make a good dad to that many children?