The same period that had witnessed a mutual trust growing between the Guardians and the rest of mankind also led to another interesting development. As time went by, it appeared some within society who had previously worked hard to conceal their supernatural abilities were encouraged to reveal themselves to a more accepting world.
An unlucky few were more reticent, exposing themselves quite by accident, and in circumstances that changed their lives forever.
*
On a brisk but sunny afternoon back in May, Samuel J. Allard, a thirty-two-year- old native of the Bronx had been enjoying a rare day off. To celebrate, he’d decided to do something quite daring and treat himself with a trip into Manhattan. And like many people with major attractions on their doorstep, he was going somewhere he had never actually been before: the Empire State Building.
His profession was his life. Since college he had gained experience on almost every department at Bronx Zoo, displaying an incredible affinity with the animals there. No matter how big or small; how dangerous or placid; how grumpy or playful they could be, each and every beast, critter and insect reveled in his company.
While it was true Sam had a “way” about him and was a highly qualified keeper, his skill was no doubt enhanced by the extrasensory talents he possessed. Highly empathic, Sam had discovered as a youngster he could not only pick up and influence the moods of people, but especially of animals, and quickly acquired a menagerie of pets by the time he was nine. He also had an aptitude for controlling the weather that was almost as strong. When combined with his weaker telekinetic ability, he was afforded the luxury of being able to enjoy his favorite pastimes of nature rambling and extreme hiking at times and in places others would find dangerous.
As he grew older, Sam found he preferred the temperament of wildlife much more than humans and would often isolate himself from other people, as their mood swings would give him the most awful headaches.
So it was with a great deal of trepidation that he braced himself for that day’s journey. His New Year’s resolution had been to get out and mix a bit more and there was nowhere better to do that than at one of the modern wonders of the world—thankfully spared the attention of the two meteorite strikes that had hit New York in January.
He had been quietly impressed with the art deco design and, after queuing to buy his ticket and visitors guide, made his way straight to the eighty-sixth floor observation deck. Its three hundred and sixty degree panoramic views occupied his interest for almost half an hour, the only downside being the migraine brought on by the sour frame of mind percolating from some of the other spectators.
One in particular—a young man who had arrived in an agitated state twenty minutes after Sam—worried him deeply. Not only was his constant fidgeting and mumbling a bothersome distraction, but his sub-vocal bleating kept advertizing details of a recent dismissal from his place of employment brought on by excessive lateness. Such tardiness seemed evident in other aspects of his life too, for his most powerful thoughts dwelt on the fact that he had caught his girlfriend in bed with someone else the previous week!
Vacillating constantly about ending it all, Sam had been relieved when the guy hurriedly departed after a short orbit of the deck; his booze-fuelled, suicidal tendencies having been sufficiently curbed by savoring the terrifying height firsthand.
Nevertheless, the incident unsettled Sam. To ease his nerves, he decided it might be best to visit the smaller, enclosed observation cage up on the hundred and second floor. There would be less of a crowd there and he would have a chance to clear his head and get some great shots with his camcorder.
Arriving some five minutes later, he was surprised to find a uniformed guard by the door, explaining to a handful of bystanders that the public were only just being allowed in again following maintenance tests to the broadcast tower. Checking his guide, Sam discovered the viewing area on this level was fully enclosed to prevent jumpers. Apart from the main entrance, there was only one other exit, and that led directly from the platform to the antenna array itself.
Though sunny, the air was chill and Sam was delighted to find that—apart from security and the two technicians who were still packing away their gear—he was one of only six other souls present.
As he commenced recording the spectacular vista below and beyond the city, Sam tried to peek around the workmen to see what lay on the other side of the gate. Alas, his headache returned, without warning and with a vengeance. Wincing and massaging his temples, he heard what sounded like two people speaking at once.
Noticing he was in difficulty, one of the engineers asked, “You okay, buddy?” and started walking over, presumably to see what was wrong.
Initially, Sam thought his helper’s colleague must be speaking too, because he distinctly heard: Yeah! Fucking bitch! Let’s see how she gets her head around this!
The secondary presence was so strong that Sam staggered, only to be caught by unseen hands. Taking charge of his camcorder, the Good Samaritan said, “Hey, pal. Are you on meds or sick or something?”
The workman’s colleague began strolling across too. “Everything okay there, Don?”
Smiling through gritted teeth, Sam replied, “No problem, no problem. Honestly. I’ve just got a mule trying to kick its way out through my skull is all. It’ll be one humdinger of a ball-buster by the feel of it.”
Everyone was looking toward him now, their added concern flooding his consciousness, threatening to drive him to his knees.
He heard the other voice again: Screw this; I’m going for it while everyone’s distracted. This’ll teach the two-timing whore.
Too late Sam realized Mr. Suicide was back—and at that moment—was sprinting toward the still open gate. Fighting down a bout of nausea, Sam pointed and gasped, “No, not me, you idiots . . . Him!”
The cold reality of what was about to happen struck everyone at the same time. Aghast, they watched as a disheveled individual in his mid-twenties sped through the service exit and simply ran off the ledge.
An amplified wash of conflicting feelings hit Sam like an electric shock, galvanizing him into action. He surged to his feet and shuffled forward until he could see over the lip. Holding on tight to the meshing with one hand, he fought down a sudden attack of vertigo, extended his opposite arm and reached out with his telekinesis.
The man appeared to wallow for a fraction of a second in midair, before starting to squirm. Then he began descending again, albeit more slowly.
Sam recognized his weakest ability wouldn’t be able to hold the wriggling deadweight in check. On the verge of panic, he desperately sought a solution. And found it.
Before stunned onlookers knew what was happening, a swirling column of air had formed above Sam’s palm, distorting the atmosphere with the speed of its manifestation. The vortex intensified, darkening as it shrank until it had condensed into a howling mass of wind and energy about eight feet in height.
He gestured and the whirlwind swooped on the still struggling jumper—who was now screaming in terror about thirty yard down from Sam’s current position—scooped him up and unceremoniously spat him out on the ground, back on the observation deck.
The security guard immediately jumped on the stranger to pin him down, yelling loudly into his radio for assistance. He was joined by the larger of the maintenance technicians, who sat on the poor guy’s back, immobilizing him entirely until other staff armed with restraints, arrived a few minutes later.
By far the greatest reaction, however, was reserved for Sam himself, whose actions had not only been witnessed by the other people present—not including Mr. Suicide—but captured on his own video recorder as well.
The engineer still in possession of it asked, “Hey, are you one of those Guardian Angel dudes?”
Quite a clamor broke out after that, and Sam had to shout to make himself heard over the noise. “No. No I’m not. I’m a nobody. I work at Bronx Zoo for Christ sake.”
Initial disbelief slowly turned to amazement as the realization set in that he was telling the truth. No black robed figures appeared; no mysterious ships arrived to hover menacingly in the skies overhead; no inspiring words of wisdom and reassurance were uttered. Instead, the poor hero suffered the ignominy of being led away by police attending the suicide attempt and having his camera seized as evidence.
Mobile phone footage recorded by several of the other sightseers was in the hands of the press or on YouTube within the hour. By dawn the next day, Sam was not only well and truly outed, but a household name and a celebrity.
A virtual prisoner in his own home from the mob of photographers and press camped outside, Sam had been forced to call his boss and take some of the holiday entitlement still owed to him, reluctantly explaining in detail what had happened.
Still, this was one cloud of woe that had a silver lining. His story was brought to the attention of the Lord Conciliator’s office a few days after it appeared on headlines across the world, and a representative was dispatched forthwith to render assistance. Sam gratefully accepted the offer to attend the training academy and spent a relaxing two weeks in the company of those who were sympathetic to his situation. During his stay, a psychic assay was completed to emphasize how different his life could be . . . if he so wished:
A raw talent, Sam’s empathic, screening, and meteorological capabilities had been measured as Master Class, while his TK registered within the C2, “moderate” range. Although he regretfully declined an invitation to undergo full training, he did accede to a brief course from the Evaluators, who helped to shut his mind off from the unwanted emanations of those around him. As an additional bonus, they also helped him strengthen his already existing abilities.
Sam returned home a changed man and, for the first time in years, was able to go outside without the fear of crippling headaches.
That being said, he wasn’t truly happy until he was back at work with the animals he loved! And his managers were delighted to keep him, for his mere presence generated a huge amount of additional revenue. For months after the event, thousands of sightseers—including a multitude of news and social media outlets—came flocking to see the man who had chosen the zoo over the Guardians.
Sam’s example opened an international door. By the end of June, other gifted citizens—moved by his experience—began declaring who they really were and joined the party.
Sadly, not all of them did so as willingly.
*
Emma Boucher, a twenty-eight-year-old native of Smithville, Ontario, was a feisty six year veteran working for the Niagara Emergency Medical Services.
A natural beauty with long flowing auburn hair, her five feet eight inch frame came in at a solid one hundred and twenty-three pounds. And well it should. She was a powerhouse athlete, who competed in three or four triathlons every year. Though Emma loved sports with a vengeance, she lived for her job. To her, it was a vocation where determination, focus and devotion had gone on to earn her a sterling reputation amongst the emergency medical provider community.
Her skills and qualifications—some of the best in the business—were enhanced by the wonderful metapsychic abilities she possessed. Abilities she had always used for the benefit of others since childhood: healing; remote viewing; teleportation; and an incredible affinity for water. All came naturally to Emma and she had unsurprisingly channeled the benefits of those talents into her true calling.
Such aptitude helped Emma save countless lives over the years. She could reach people much more quickly, and deal with critical injuries far more efficiently than any of her comrades who, unaware of her gifts, looked on her as a lucky charm.
Few could match her toughness and dedication, as proved by her speedy promotion to Advanced Care Paramedic at Greater Niagara General Hospital. Her career plan to make it all the way to the top of her profession was in overdrive and nothing was going to stop her. . .
Or so she though!
Looking back on that bright June morning, now almost two months in the past, still brought a wry smile to her face. She had always been so careful, so determined not to make the same mistake as the guy—a zookeeper—down in New York made by outing himself so publicly. And then one incident had changed everything forever.
She’d been returning to the ambulance with her new partner, Rick Coulter, and breathing a sigh of relief regarding their last job; a reported heart attack. Having arrived on-scene within minutes of the call, they’d determined the middle aged, overweight victim, was in fact having a very painful bout of indigestion. A misconception that was sadly all too common nowadays.
Ten minutes hooked up to a portable cardiac diagnostic monitor and plenty of reassurance later, and their customer was left with only a severe case of embarrassment to contend with.
It was as they strolled back to their rig that the spare radio they always carried when outside the vehicle squawked into life. “All units, all units. Be advised. We have a child in the water. I repeat, we have an unconscious child in the water one hundred yards upriver from Horseshoe Falls. Call-signs available?”
Listening in as several police and EMS crews began to respond, Emma glanced toward her colleague and offered an observation. “That’s under a mile away, Rick. We could be there in minutes!”
“Yes, we could. Although with the way the current is along that stretch, it might be best to go straight to Table Rock. The kid’s bound to go over.”
Acceding to his superior knowledge of the area, Emma grinned and threw herself into her seat. She only just had time to strap herself in and activate the lights and sirens before Rick fired up the engine and stamped his foot to the floor.
She then waited for a gap in all the chatter to inform the control centre. “Dispatch, this is Golf November One-Three responding. Now free from Days Inn job. That was nothing but a case of indigestion. I say again, indigestion not heart attack. Amend incident log to show correct coding. We are now mobile for Table Rock where we will update once we know more. Question . . . Do we have any details on the youngster or know its condition? And is Fire and Rescue able to assist in retrieval, over?”
“Golf November One-Three, Dispatch. Yes, yes. Fire service en-route, ladder oh-two attending. Child is Megan Smith, ten years. Parents state she slipped and banged her head prior to falling into the river, face down. There will be a high probability of ingestion, over.”
“Dispatch from Golf November One-Three, what is Megan wearing and where does the current look as if it’s taking her, over?”
“Golf November One-Three, Dispatch. Be advised. Megan is wearing a bright pink coat. She was last seen twenty yards out from shore heading toward Horseshoe Fa . . . Wait! All units be advised, child has gone over the falls. I repeat, Megan Smith has just been seen going over Horseshoe Falls. Closest police unit is now on Roberts Street, near Niagara Parkway, e.t.a. six minutes. Fire and Rescue are still five minutes out and the helicopter, Rover One is diverting, over.”
“Roger that, Dispatch. Golf November One-Three, we are now on Falls View Boulevard, e.t.a. about three minutes, over.”
“Roger that Golf November One-Three. Dispatch out.”
“Emma, it’ll take us longer than that!” Rick exclaimed, “even if I cut out Murray Street by using the parking lot at Tower Hotel. And we’ve still got to get down to the shore.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Just drop me, then. I’ll take a medi-bag and radio and go in on foot. You follow behind. Every second counts here.”
“That’s still five hundred yards to the top of the cliff path.”
“I can run that in less than one and a half minutes, even with kit. You get the rig as close as you can, fast.”
Rick whistled through his teeth and nodded. Even though it was the middle of the morning he turned his headlights full on and took up an aggressive position in the center of the road. Emma burped the sirens to draw further attention to their presence, knowing only too well how many drivers and pedestrians would be lost in their own little worlds or listening to m-pads and not paying attention.
Using the lull in activity to her advantage, Emma extended her astral vision toward the river. The sky gained a strange violet translucence as her perceptions adjusted to the heightened plane. Gliding like a bird, she swooped over the Holiday Inn, across the manicured grounds of the casino, banked down before Table Rock viewing area, and finally, into the water itself. There!
A rose-colored flash bobbed to the surface, Megan appearing for just a second amid spray and churning water, before descending into dark turbulence again. Oblivious, people walked along the shoreline. Some started to point, helpless to do anything except panic.
We’re going to be too late, Emma thought. She’s been in the water for about a minute. If I don’t get there soon, even I’ll have trouble reviving her.
By now, the ambulance was approaching Murray Street.
Dammit! I’ve got no choice. “Rick, let me off here. You get the vehicle down to Table Rock and direct everyone in. Make sure there’s enough room for the helicopter, just in case.”
“Here!”Rick spluttered. “Are you crazy?”
“Just do it.” Emma responded, waving furiously in the direction she wanted him to take. “Trust me! I know what I’m doing.”
Shrugging, he slammed on the brakes to make the requested turn, slowing just enough to let Emma make her jump. Once her ass was out the doorway, he gunned the engine again.
Emma hit the ground running and cursed her luck when she realized there were too many people around to play it safe. A crowd of customers were queued, waiting for a coach near the entrance to the Holiday Inn. They looked on in astonishment as she sprinted past and vaulted the neatly trimmed hedgerows of Falls View Casino on the opposite side of the road. Attracted as much by the sound of the ambulance’s sirens, as the sight of a female paramedic breasting like a juggernaut through pristine saplings and pruned shrubbery, the people there stopped to stare as well.
Emma faced a stark choice. Not on my watch. So much for discretion!
Using the fountain in front of the casino to mask her actions as much as possible, Emma sucked in deeply and gathered potential. Focusing on a location she knew well—the view point at Table Rock House—she exhaled sharply and willed herself to that location.
A sensation of passing through an ice curtain washed over her . . . and she was there. Scattering a group of startled tourists like pigeons fleeing the over exuberant attentions of a child, she was forced to holler repeatedly to avoid an accident. “Sorry! Sorry, folks! Get outta my way. Coming through. Move!”
Dismissing a volley of comments with a flick of her hand, Emma pushed through the press and strained to see beneath the surface of the water. Projecting her vision for a second time, she caught a glimpse of telltale pink somewhere in the gloom, already over two hundred yards distant.
Shit, I missed her! Emma gathered energy and jumped again, her adrenalin really starting to flow now.
This time she manifested on the walkway spanning the length of Queen Victoria Park. Ignoring the beautiful bouquets of red, burgundy, and yellow flowers in the display beds and hanging from regularly spaced street lamps—and further shouts of alarm from sightseers—Emma raced to the ornate railings and peered into the swirling froth below. There she is!
Fortunately, the little girl had been caught in an eddy created by contending currents in the shallower water along the edge of the canyon. Her hood bobbled back and forth like a flag lain out to summon aid. Members of the public had spotted the child as well, along with an EMS helicopter that was beginning its descent toward a nearby location.
No time! Emma came to an instant decision.
Stepping up onto the stone buttress via the balustrade, Emma snatched a breath and launched herself off the wall. Bystanders screamed in horror.
Those screams turned to gasps of incredulity as Emma disappeared, only to reappear again a split second later more than fifty yards away, as if skimming the top of the river’s clashing wavelets.
Shocked by the bone-chilling cold that enveloped her, and distracted by a scalpel of misery that skewered her skull, Emma momentarily floundered before managing to break surface. She kicked strongly toward the motionless child, using the current to speed her along. Scooping Megan into her arms, Emma uttered a silent prayer and blinked through the water in her eyes back up toward the causeway. A sea of bewildered faces stared back down, frozen in disbelief, jaws agape in the manner of miniature cliff top caves.
Finding herself more fatigued than she realized, Emma had to gulp down air several times to clear her head and summon the required vitality to teleport safely. She needed to carry another person with her and wasn’t going to risk an aborted jump. Not now, not when the end was in sight.
On this occasion, the frosty veil of translocation was littered by needle-sharp icicles. She cried out in pain and realized too late, fear and exhaustion had caused her to overcompensate. As she materialized in the middle of a growing riot of distressed onlookers, Emma discovered she had somehow managed to transport the weight of over a thousand gallons of river water along with the Megan and herself. How in the . . . ?
Relaxing the grip of her mind, they both flopped down like stranded fish onto the edge of a lawned area amid a miniature cloudburst.
The world was in a spin, but Emma couldn’t afford to rest. Dragging herself up onto her knees, she crawled to where Megan had landed and turned her over into the recovery position. Ensuring the child had nothing more serious externally than merely superficial injuries, Emma summoned her elemental ability.
So rapt was her attention on the task at hand that Emma didn’t notice the team of four Guardians who appeared out of thin air only five yards away. Nor did she register just how many people were recording the drama on their scroll phones or camcorders. Neither did she see the CTV News helicopter that had decided to join the party—and which had managed to capture her incredible retrieval of the little girl from a watery grave.
Instead, Emma concentrated on the nature and volume of the liquid filling the little girl’s lungs. Willing it to leave caused the invasive fluid to commence flowing away from the child’s alveoli and into the bronchioles. From there, she ensured the bronchi, main stem, and then her trachea were cleared in quick succession.
All this took just over twenty seconds.
During that time, the Guardian Master leading the Alpha Response Team regarded Emma’s progress with professional courtesy and respect. Dispatching one of his squad to fetch the child’s parents, he kept his attention on the woman in front of him and indicated to his colleagues they should wait quietly for her to finish.
Seeing there was no cerebral or bronchial atrophy or scarring, Emma scooped Megan into her lap and sent forth a surge of healing energy that gently started the child’s heart and bathed it in a halo of nurturing power. As it reestablished its own natural rhythm, Emma also cocooned Megan’s brain in a neural sling to banish any terror she might have experienced during the fall and subsequent immersion.
Gradually, Emma coaxed the little one back to life and only then became aware of her surroundings. Dog-tired, she fell back onto the grass and peeped out through half-closed lids, taking in the milling throng, the city’s interagency news helicopter—now joined by Rover One—and the waiting Guardians. If that wasn’t bad enough, the absent team member chose that moment to return with Megan’s distraught parents. After smothering their bemused, but amazingly calm child in hugs and kisses, they listened to an embellished recount of the entire episode from bystanders and Guardians alike. Then they looked toward Emma herself with open heartfelt gratitude.
Ah, shit! That’s me outed then! I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.
A stern voice instantly cut into her mind: That’s enough of that nonsense, young lady!
As weary as she was, Emma raised her head to find the Guardian Master looking directly at her. He continued: You chose to save a life. A child’s life at that! Nothing you’ve done today was stupid. Nobody here thinks that.
She craned her neck from side to side and found a multitude of people staring at her in open awe and admiration . . . though most had an active mobile in hand.
The response leader spoke out loud in a softer tone, “Here, let me help you.” Stooping beside her, he placed his palm over her heart and Emma felt a flow of empowering heat strengthening her limbs and banishing the oppressive fatigue that threatened to plunge her into darkness.
A few moments later, he offered her his hand. “We could use someone like you. Now that you’ve dropped that shield you wear like a necklace all the time, I can sense your potential . . . It’s really quite amazing. I wish you’d consider switching professions.”
Struggling to her feet, Emma expressed her surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re a naturally strong shielder . . . amongst other things. It masked your aura from us.” He chuckled. “So you didn’t know, then?”
Shaking her head and gesturing toward the swelling crowd, Emma replied, “I wish I did! I’d have tried to hide from this lot. I may have to take you up on that offer as I don’t like being part of a media circus.”
The Guardian’s spontaneous laughter contained no hint of mockery. “Well, give it a chance and see how bad things get first. If you end up needing a change of scenery, just think of me and project a mental hail our way. We have your signature now, so if you do call, we’ll hear you and come running.”
And four weeks later, Emma did exactly that.
She tried to return to work as if nothing had happened, of course, but true to form, the media made that—or any form of privacy—virtually impossible in the days following the rescue, even going so far as to try and force a public meeting between her and Megan’s family.
Inevitably, Emma was called in to see the hospital’s board of directors and EMS administrators, who informed her they wished to discuss the route her future should take. While they acknowledged her excellent credentials and obvious edge when it came to trauma management, they felt the posse that now shadowed her every move would drastically reduce her effectiveness in the long run. As such, it might be in everyone’s best interests for her not to return to her former position for the foreseeable future.
Instead, they asked that Emma consider an administrative role and perhaps focus her considerable talents on going back to college for the few more years it would take for her to qualify as a doctor. But Emma hadn’t joined the service to do that. And while the prospect of becoming an M.D. did appeal, the thought of the time spent away from actually saving lives really upset her, and so, she made the monumental decision to quit.
July found her standing in the living room of her apartment one afternoon, screaming in her head for help and not really believing anything would happen. When the Guardian appeared less than a minute later, she jumped out of her skin. It took a stiff glass of bourbon before she realized it was the same team leader from the incident of the month before.
“So you’ve decided to take the plunge?” he asked.
“It looks like it. There’s no way I can carry on here, so I’d better see what else I can do to help.”
“You won’t regret it, Emma. We think you were born to serve and we want to make sure you do that for a long time.”
Coming to stand by her, he said, “Do me a favor. Relax and envisage this place, will you, with as much detail as you can . . .?”
He put his hand on her shoulder and projected an image into her mind of a room with huge panoramic windows, overlooking a strange silver-gray vista. The Earth hung like a brilliant blue and white backdrop in a midnight sky, so Emma naturally assumed it must be somewhere on the Moon. “Now imagine that we’re actually there.”
Puzzled, Emma did as she was asked. Frosty nails raked down her spine, and before she could comprehend how, they were standing in the office she had visualized.
“Ho . . . what the hell?” she spluttered.
“Sorry about that,” the Guardian Master apologized, “we wanted to see how strong you were when properly rested. I made sure primary focus was maintained so there was never any danger, but you’ve just teleported us nearly a quarter of a million miles. That’s impressive!”
“Tell that to my nerves,” she moaned, clutching at the kettledrum threatening to erupt from her chest.
Turning, she found herself in a small conference room, overlooking an eerily beautiful valley with high cliffs on either side. A blonde-haired woman in Guardian robes sat on one of the three couches grouped around a coffee table.
Emma’s gaze strayed to the woman’s cuffs, where a narrow golden ribbon gleamed from the middle of a much wider scarlet band. Her first impression was that the colors denoted high rank, but not having really followed much about mankind’s saviors on the TV or internet, she couldn’t begin to guess just how high that might be.
The stranger stood and walked toward her, smiling. “Hello, Emma. It’s wonderful to meet you at last. My name is Corrine and I’m the Lord Healer.”
Emma extended her hand in greeting, but was surprised to find the Lord Healer swept her into a warm embrace instead. Not knowing how to respond, Emma stiffened, then murmured, “Er . . . hello Ma’am?”
“Call me Corrine, please. I’d like to show you around the Academy if I may and tell you a bit about what it’s like to live and work here. Of course, my department is the busiest and the best, so I do hope you end up wanting to stay with us. We can never have enough dedicated doctors and nurses . . . or first responders come to that.”
Emma immediately felt relaxed in the other woman’s company and wasn’t surprised to find the Guardian Master had disappeared while they were chatting. “So you think I’ll be able to do that, blend my talents to your regimen?”
“If what Gerry—the guy who alien abducted you—said is true, you’ll definitely fit in. You’re quite a talking point here you know.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Corrine’s face beamed. “Oh, don’t worry about being the center of attraction. You’ll find this place is full of gifted individuals with the same desire to serve others as yourself. I assure you, we’ll keep you a busy and an active part of a much larger, closer family than you’ve ever imagined. Come and see.”
And with that, Corrine ushered Emma out the door and took her on the most amazing tour of her life.
Five hours later found Emma sat in a well appointed room taking a break. Coffee in hand, she perused a concise report of her recently completed mental assay:
High Grand Master Class potential healer and shielder; Grand Master potential teleporter and water elemental; Master Class remote viewing telepath, with a similar telekinetic aspect that wouldn’t surface for a while.
Although Emma appreciated she wasn’t yet as strong as the results indicated, her prospects after training and maturation would certainly guarantee she would fulfill her dreams of making a difference where it mattered most. Even so, that wasn’t the part of the evaluation that excited her. No! The part she kept reading and rereading over and over again was the psych-evaluation detailing the roles she would be best suited for.
The report contained three distinct recommendations:
MEDICAL DIVISION—SUBJECT SHOWS A NATURAL BENT FOR ACTIVE RESPONSE DUTIES.
COMMAND TRAINING—SUBJECT POSSESSES SUPERLATIVE LEADERSHIP SKILLS.
SHADOW OPERATIONS—SUBJECT SCORED A PRELIMINARY RATING OF 93%.
Emma laughed to herself. To think that, after all this time of being so focused on never exposing myself, I almost missed the opportunity to take up my true life’s work. Each of the listed options sounds fascinating.
However, it was the last entry that kept drawing her gaze.
What the hell is Shadow Operations? She wondered, determined more than ever to join the party and find out.
*
Emma’s example engendered a wonderful harvest and those late summer months saw many brave hearts blessed with extrasensory talents abandoning their self-imposed isolation and reaching out—some to the Guardians, others toward their fellow human beings—with a simple, if profound request: that they be allowed to reveal who they were and what they could do with a modicum of dignity, and without the relentless pressure certain factions of the public might try to bring to bear.
Those requests gained a great deal of influence when the weight of the offices of both the Lord Conciliator and Lord Inquisitor were thrown behind them. Going further, the Guardians vouchsafed the privacy of all such individuals by ensuring specific legislation was added to the fledgling Universal Psychic Law & Order Bill, so that everybody who subsequently exposed themselves as “gifted” would be protected.
It was stressed this new draft would guarantee the rights and freedoms of all those who stepped forward to declare themselves openly and have their mental assays recorded. Once listed, they would also be expected to undergo a number of tests and attend a series of seminars, by which their competence to control their powers responsibly could be verified.
When some reacted to this declaration with suspicion, the Conciliator’s office pointed out a little issue they had all overlooked. The simple fact was, as the decades passed and more and more people were born with abilities, not everyone would qualify or want to serve as a Guardian. Therefore, there would be a need for accurately registered, properly licensed psychics to operate in fields as diverse as criminal and civil law or medicine, politics or academia, trade or industry, and the like. Licensing would protect all concerned—on both sides of the fence—from charlatans and crooks.
A gentle reminder of the existence of psychoenergetic miscreants like Luigi Espasito quickly helped people appreciate that this would be a very good idea.
The rest of the summer passed with the closet floodgates well and truly opened, and soon, it didn’t matter that a small minority were still reticent about the impact such changes would bring. Mankind was evolving and society needed to step up the pace.
So swift was that pace that even the Council took the unusual step of selecting an undisclosed number of members from within their own ranks to stand forward and proclaim themselves as gifted. A cunning move, for while they were keen to present a publicly benign face, the same couldn’t be said of those they were leaving in their wake. Yes, thanks to the machinations of Boss Yeung, one crime family in particular were still determined to demonstrate they were a force to be reckoned with, changes or no.
*
The reach and influence of the White Tiger cartel was, thanks largely to the administrations of its former backer, considerable.
Two months previously, some of their members together with several specialists provided by a sponsor in France, had stolen a consignment of digger drones—christened, Double-Ds— from the Russian Naval Research Facility at Novorossiysk, on the Black Sea.
The still experimental drop-and-forget smart mines were designed to destroy or disrupt a wide variety of objectives: sea-going vessels; watchdog sentinels; fixed and mobile communications and listening posts; pipelines and other submersed infrastructures. All such were valid targets.
The weapons were unique in that they could lie dormant—either at a set depth in mid-ocean or on the sea bed—until activated by a microwave burst. After initialization, they would home in on their principal by following preprogrammed sonic frequencies. Once in situ, they could burrow slowly into whatever obstacle or casing was in their way, before deploying a highly caustic, flammable, atomized spray. The mine would then detonate, killing anyone inside by a combination of blast and burn injuries, or straightforward oxygen starvation, leaving the structure intact. If destruction of the facility itself was the aim, then the Double-Ds were more than capable of pumping thermodynamically volatile solvents in sufficient volumes to rupture the skin of something the size of a Columbia Class nuclear submarine when those gases ignited.
Having secured six of those drones, the hired specialists added a quantity of exotic meteorite compound into the explosive component, whereupon, representatives of the syndicate began travelling to and from the UK on a regular basis. Purporting to be businessmen, they used the Channel Tunnel extensively, taking with them sophisticated monitoring and recording devices secreted away within their briefcases. As such, they were able to accurately measure the oscillations produced by the whole fleet of EuroTram shuttles as they sped back and forth between England and France.
The agents completed their mission without attracting the slightest suspicion within a matter of weeks. Then—having programmed the mines with the appropriate acoustic triggers—simply dropped them overboard from the back of a pleasure cruiser, doing so at two separate locations, both five miles out to sea from either end of the tunnel.
After that, they concerned themselves with other affairs, leaving the world totally unprepared for what was to come.