It Matters to Me: Part 3

By: Camospam

A Whateley Universe Adventure featuring Outlook and friends.

 

Dickinson Cottage, Whateley Academy

 The dorm rooms at Whateley Academy were functional at best, at worst – well, prison cells at least have their own toilets. Dickinson was a girls only dorm, it wasn’t as opulent as Melville for those with more money than brains, the poor souls with disfigurements got sent to Hawthorne, and the nut jobs tucked away into Poe: out of sight and out of mind. So, there were worse places to be assigned.

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 Each dorm room at Dickinson had two beds, so dual occupancy was expected, having a roomie you got along with was a blessing, a roommate that was a friend was a bonus. Rachelle and Charlotte shared a dorm room, even though they were in different grades, but being sisters allowed certain rules to be bent, especially since Charlotte was still in Junior High.

 The dorm room shared by the sisters was configured with bunk beds, granting more usable space in the limited confines of a dormitory. So, of course, their room although the same size as everyone else’s, became the female members of Northern Lites de facto meeting place.

 It wasn’t uncommon for Lynn – in cat form, to lay stretched out on the top bunk: Charlottes bed. While the others would jostle for a chair to sit in, while late comers were relegated to sitting on Rachelle’s lower bunk, at the risk of being swatted by a twitch of Lynn’s long whip like panther tail.

 Today though, Lynn had shifted to house cat size, having curled up on the foot of the top bunk to enjoy a cat nap, as her teammates busied themselves discussing the complexities of cottage politics. Charlotte lay across the top bunk, her pillow balled up beneath her, allowing her bent legs to flail as she soaked in the gossip.

 Rho couldn’t join them today, her home economics course was having a bake-off, to see who made the best raisin bran muffins. Nothing like pitting people against one another to heighten a competitive nature, and Rho wasn’t inclined to step away from a challenge. It wasn’t that the Energizer had to win, but she gave her all at whatever she put her hand to do. Cooking was something she enjoyed and was good at it.

 Leaving Rachelle to play referee between Tricia and Debbie, both trying to outdo the other with the newest and juiciest gossip of the goings on at Whateley. Rachelle having to confirm or deny the latest rumours circulating. Sometimes knowing people’s innermost thoughts made keeping secrets around a Psychic was a reason in futility – but revealing those secrets was a breach of trust. Mostly Rachelle tried to protect peoples’ reputations rather than let lies run like wildfire.

 A day off at Whateley was rare, a day when no classes were held, no team training sessions scheduled, a chance to relax and unwind, it was why Lynn could take the opportunity to indulge in a mid-day nap. As she woke, Lynn stretched out, her front and hind paws going opposite directions, and letting go a huge yawn.

 “Morning,” jested Charlotte, earning her a head butt and a tail dragged under her nose, tickling the girl and making her sneeze.

 Hopping down to the floor the Were shifted into human, amid stares from Tricia and Deb. Lynn looked at herself, worried she was improperly attired – or had forgot to put clothes on entirely.

 “How is it that you’re dressed? Does your fur become clothes?” sought Tricia.

 “More to the point; how can you look like a million bucks after you wake up? My hair looks like a rat’s nest in the morning,” bemoaned Debbie stroking her hair to emphasize the claim.

 Being put in the spotlight was not what Lynn ever desired, she preferred to hide in the shadows, not be noticed. She was caught, and it may go against the grain, but she figured her friends could handle the truth.

 “I’m always a cat – and always human. I only alternate between different shapes, like you would change clothes. When I return to me, I look like what I did when I left.” Explained Lynn, hoping the science wouldn’t be called into question.

 “So, sleeping as a cat means you don’t need to coiffe yourself in the morning.” Deduced Debbie.

 “Exactly. But, honestly, sleeping as a cat is ten times better than as a human, its so relaxing, easy to be warm and get comfortable, and just downright relaxing.”

“Okay. What I want to know is; with everything blasting rapid fire in your brain, how do you even get to sleep?” Questioned Rachelle, obviously a topic she’d been curious about.

 “Your right, sometimes I wish I had an off switch for Precognition. There are nights when all I can do is let my mind chase whatever thought I’m dealing with. Other times, I just empty my thoughts and can drift off to sleep. It’s why some day’s a nap is the best medicine.” Reasoned Lynn, to then ask: “What about you, can you suppress being a Psychic anytime you want?’

Rachelle smirked a mirthful smile: “I focus on somebody already asleep, and bam! I’m asleep. Charlotte is a great roomie for that, her head hits the pillow and she’s asleep in seconds.”

 “After our run in with Alpo – Apollonia,” Lynn corrected herself from using Charlotte’s nickname for the Telepath. “I was curious about why she could affect Cameron, when he can block Psychics?”

  “I asked the same thing to Mr. Gentz. Turns out, not long ago, anyone with a mental ability was called psychic, even precognition fell under that blanket, as did fortune tellers and clairvoyants. But once they did some digging, they found major differences between them and started labeling them into silos of commonalities.”

 “Psychic – Pyscho, didn’t know there was a difference from what I’ve seen,” claimed Charlotte, a jab at her sibling. Earning her a mental slap upside the head.

 “All fine and good, but doesn’t answer the question,” sought Lynn, not wanting to be distracted.

 “I was getting to that. Empaths can be projective or receptive with emotions. A true Psychic can receive or impart thoughts, whereas a Telepath can only impart or implant thoughts. It makes a Telepath better equipped to circumvent mental blocks because they can focus on a narrower window, getting through the cracks.” Described Rachelle.

 “You can bet Cameron is going to be re-inventing his protections,” mused Lynn.

 “Yeah, he’s asked me a couple times already if I can read him. He’s tight as a drum.” Added Rachelle.

 “I don’t get why? Does he have that many secrets?” Pondered Tricia, never satisfied with superficial reasons, preferring to go deeper.

 “He likes his privacy. To have someone invade his mind is like breaking his trust. To him trust is earned, if there’s no trust Cameron shuts a person out. So, as a rule he finds anyone digging around in his mind untrustworthy.” Supplied Lynn in defence.

 “Does he ever open up?” Debbie asked an open-ended question, but all looked to Lynn to provide an answer.

 “Has Cameron ever done anything so that you don’t trust him, or question his motives?” retorted Lynn, looking at each of them, receiving nods of acceptance that the statement was true.

 “So, is it more important to hear him say it – or see him do it?” The question hung as the members of Northern Lites mulled it over.

Charlotte was the first to say something: “He always has our backs.”

 “Right, that means he trusts you. You’re a friend, and there’s nothing he won’t do to help a friend. Heaven only knows what he’d do to those who hurt you.” Nobody countered Lynn’s claim. “Guys might promise you the moon, Cameron delivers.”

 “Has he promised you the moon?” wondered Debbie. “Cause you’re – like, a Were.”

 “That’s a myth. Were’s are not tied to the moon’s phases, although wolves howl at it. I think it’s cause thier lonely and are wanting to find a mate.”

 “Is that why you and Cameron are an item? You’re lonely?” Asked Tricia.

 Lynn’s own curiosity drove her to respond: “I saw Cameron while in a precognitive trance, his light is what impressed me.”

 “Love at first sight” sighed Charlotte at how romantic it all sounded.

 “More like hope at first sight,” countered Lynn. “Cameron’s path traveled far, not ending in a black morass.”

 “Is that what you see in our futures?” questioned Debbie.

 Lynn had walked right into it; she hated telling people their futures. “I’ll make you a promise,” resolutely stated Lynn. “I’ll tell you when you’re heading down a dark path, but I won’t interfere with your lives, only try to point you towards happiness.”

 “Do you know who we’ll marry, when we’ll die?” Rachelle was never one to leave a stone unturned, although Psychic, she hated loose ends, preferring things neatly tied up.

 “Yes” was all Lynn said. But before she could be peppered for details, she added: “You all deserve to experience your lives to the fullest. As a friend I want you to be satisfied and self-sufficient, I won’t dictate your every step.” Cautioned Lynn to then show her affection for her friends by saying: “I suggest you have a clear idea of what a happy life entails, that will help me to help you.”

 Lynn could see the mental gears grinding to deal with the conversation’s complexities, to bring levity back to the room, Lynn commented: “Come on, Rho said we could sample her baking.”

Holbrook Arena: Whateley Academy

 Tricia was tense and agitated, her nerves were running in overdrive: Combat Final, what the heck did that even mean? She hadn’t signed up for any fighting classes. Sure, plenty of the stuff Mrs. Grimes taught in Mystic Arts could be used offensively, but Tricia had no affinity with any of that kind of magic. She only formed portals, holes in space, and she’d only been doing it for a little over a week now.

 When the notice arrived in her Cottages mailbox, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was required to attend, she’d panicked. All the other Northern Lites hadn’t gotten similar notices regarding these exams, just her, it was so unfair.

 When she asked, she was told it was because she’d only recently begun making portals, Whateley needed to gauge her progress, and this was a final exam for the semester, without it she wouldn’t pass. What terrified her was the ‘Combat’ aspect, and aside from some whispers, nobody was forthcoming with details about what to expect.

‘Not helping people’, mentally chastised Tricia, it was a new form of torture, and why Tricia was on pins and needles waiting for her turn to enter the arena

 Passport wore her Northern Lites team uniform with the yellow highlights, it wasn’t until she’d seen the aurora borealis for herself that the uniform colour scheme finally made sense. The utility belt Debbie had provided each of them, the pouches all packed full of assorted knick-knacks that the Gadgeteer had supplied with: smoke bombs, flash-bangs, a whistle that could split eardrums.

 Debbie’s latest doodad was device that fit into the palm of Tricia’s hand, the Gadgeteer called it a Scrambler, it messed with a person’s brain and nervous system, scrambling electrical signals, she’d copied Cameron’s knack, but unlike Cameron it required direct physical contact to work. Nobody had volunteered to be the test subject.

 Tricia also had a pouch full of Cameron’s energy absorbing balls: the black ones mostly but a couple of his new red ones as well. When Cameron had shown his teammates his newest creation, after he’d struck upon a suitable combination of elements in Chemistry class, he’d started making red balls, he’d said it could render somebody unconscious by siphoned off a person’s vitality but cautioned: to many balls could drain a person entirely, no doubt why there was only two red balls given.

 It would have been nice if Cameron could have been here, of anyone, he gave her a confidence boost. Unfortunately, he’d left for Canada to deal with some legal matters. However, the rest of Northern Lites had been supportive and promised to be cheering her on. Tricia hated to disappoint them by failing – badly, time would tell.

 The door she’d been directed to stand at opened, going through the opening she determined it was a city scape, not an actual city, but the way it was laid out in a row muck like a towns main street with assorted buildings and businesses, it was obvious that the intent was for her to enter.

 Laying on the ground at her feet was a cloth bad, picking it up - within was a list:

1. 1 - Fish oil
2. 2 - Salt
3. 1 - Baby formula
4. 4 - Water
5. 1 - Bicarbonate of soda

 They’re testing my shopping skills, boggled Tricia.

 All this hoopla just to stock somebody’s pantry. Whoever came up with this test is full blown crazy. Probably that nut case lady they’ve got for an art teacher, everyone says she’s grade A certifiable crazy, if she wasn’t at Whateley she’d be locked up in the loony bin. Cameron’s taking Art, but the only thing he’s ever said was the class was interesting.

 Stepping out of the back alley onto a main street. Looking to her right she spotted a Pharmacy and a Health Food store; those should take care of most of the stuff on her list.

 A distance down the street to her left, Tricia saw two other students who were also contestants on this gong show. There was swarm of people between her and them, all disheveled and moved with lurching motions, they were advancing – albeit slowly, on the two students. 

 Now, to be clear, Whateley uses ants in its sims, artificial constructs that resemble people in form. Sure, they look like animated crash test dummies, but, come on, considering the destruction that happens in a sim, who would volunteer to get torn asunder, so animatronics it was.

 The crowd didn’t seem right, at first Tricia assumed it was how the ants normally moved, but the longer she watched them, it became obvious, as anyone who’d watched Micheal Jackson’s Thriller video for umpteen thousand times like Tricia had, you couldn’t mistake a zombie for anything else. This wasn’t a simple everyday shopping trip; it was a Zombie Apocalypse!

 Now Tricia knew for a fact the crazies ran the asylum.

 From the two students down the street came a screech, not from fear but anger. An accusatory finger was pointed at Tricia. “It’s her! She’s the one who threw a fireball at my face.”

‘Oh joy’, Indigo. Is Whateley trying to make my life miserable? Reasoned Tricia. Rightly so, she and Indigo had a love / hate relationship. Indigo just loved to hate Tricia. The finger pointing detracted a couple of the zombie swarm, turning they began that telltale beleaguered shuffle in her direction.

 Tricia could see there would be no reasoning with the others, so she ran towards the Pharmacy to get more distance, at the stores window she looked inside, the windows and door had security barriers lowered and locked, seeing an open space Tricia portaled inside. Some light was available near the windows, but at the back it was dark – of course the lights would be off, what apocalyptic scenario ever left the lights on.

 Fortunately, the utility belt Debbie provided included a headlamp, the ones they’d used up on Baffin Island, Tricia muttered a thanks to her Gadgeteer friend. Tricia searched the stores shelves, finding almost everything on the list except for salt.

 Looking at the list again, a realization dawned on Tricia, it’s not a grocery list, these are ingredients. For what she couldn’t even guess, whatever it was it would taste nasty.

 Outside the Pharmacy the trio of zombies had gathered where Tricia had stopped, but were held back by the security gate which they rattled while trying to get in.

 Tricia was able to see across the street at a bakery, the store front had been damaged by a car crashing into the frontage. Not something she’d noticed earlier, her spatial awareness needed work.

 Since the zombie’s attention was focused on her inside the Pharmacy, Tricia portaled over across the street for a better look inside the Bakery, it had no lights on – again, but she could see far into the store, enough to find a safe spot to portal to. Inside Tricia quickly checked the baking supplies, finding a large container of salt, and scooped some up into a baggie.

 Tricia froze at the loud roar, the sound reverberated off the Bakery’s walls. Turning, her headlamp shone on the large frame of a man, the intense light blinding him momentarily. In that brief second Tricia portaled away.

 Back inside the safety of the Pharmacy, Tricia watched the zombies wander across the street in their slow – relentless shuffle, they’d been attracted by the noise over at the Bakery.

 The zombies only made it halfway across the street before the large man rushed at them, he began tearing the robotic ants apart, throwing the rent pieces to the side until none of the ants remained whole, but the separated pieces started to inch towards the man by whatever means available.

 The man, having a blonde mane of hair like a lion, snorted in displeasure at the advance, he began stomping on the miscellaneous piece on the ground. He wore a skin-tight leather outfit, obviously to show off his physique. Tricia was aghast, the guy looked like Lion-o: from Thundercat’s, surely some copyright infringement was going on.

 A voiced called out, telling Lion boy to back away, he did. A dark purple fog drifted over the zombie remnants, as the pieces got enveloped in the surging boiling fog, the ant bits stopped moving, neutralized.

 That fog, Tricia had seen that before, in her Mystic Arts class: Indigo’s classic magic fuelled maneuver.

 Indigo had singled Tricia out to harass, giving it consideration she’d been a thorn from day one, however, once Tricia had begun to make portals, Indigo’s ire had ramped up. The accusation that Tricia had thrown a fireball was entirely inaccurate, Tricia couldn’t wield magic, but did redirect Indigo’s own fireball back at her. So, technically, Indigo threw a fireball at herself.

Nothing like heaping coals on a burning hate.  Such was life at Whateley; keep your friends close – cause enemies were around every corner.

 “Did you find her?” beckoned Indigo.

 “She was in the bakery.” Spat lion guy.

 “Was her bag full?” Asked Indigo.

 “I don’t think so, it looks like she only got some salt.” Explained the Lion-o wannabe.

 Indigo carried a bag similar to the one Tricia had been provided, the Mage’s sack looked to have only a few items inside. “The Pharmacy should have the other stuff we need,” remarked Indigo, pointing towards Tricia’s hideout.

 So, they have partnered up surmised Tricia. Tricia had an innate sense of fairness, but this didn’t seem fair at all. With that thought firmly in mind, Tricia ported all the ingredients she’d found in the Pharmacy away, putting them all into the Bakery’s ovens, just let them try and find them now she snickered.

 Grabbing some additional supplies Tricia ported back to the alley she’d arrived at, with all her acquisitions in tow. Tricia expected that since she’d gathered all the items, it was game over, but pounding on the door didn’t end the exam.

 A zombie trundled into the alleys mouth, blocking her route of escape. Tricia ported down the street the opposite direction she’d been. A bank was situated on a corner, a quick look inside provided a view of a safe landing zone, into which Tricia portaled.

 The mock bank was a pretty basic representation of an actual bank, a counter ran across the room separating the public from the money. But no vault, nor any money present, not that Tricia expected otherwise, but the empty bank gave her a secure site behind the counter, if she stayed hidden out of sight.

 Tricia brought out her ingredients from the sack, and pondered what her next step needed to be, getting the ingredients together wasn’t the test, so using the ingredients must be it.

 A quick port back to the bakery let her grab a large mixing bowl and some measuring cups.

 Looking at the list with a renewed outlook, Tricia determined that it showed how many parts of each item to add into the bowl. The concoction didn’t explode or even fizz up menacingly. It smelled terrible and no way was she going to taste it.

 Tricia took some of the vile liquid in a cup and ported outside. As stupid as it sounded – maybe the list was a formula that was supposed to stop the Zombies. Crazy seemed to rule the day, so when two and two equals five and a half, why not give insanity a chance.

 On the street Tricia made a point to observe her surroundings. A Sporting Goods store was a couple doors down, but the door had been torn open and sounds of an argument coming from inside told her where Lion-goof and Indigo were at.

 A solitary Zombie walked towards her, in a millisecond Tricia was beside it and threw some of the liquid in its face. It stopped the drooped stance as it sputtered and shuddered, to then stand like a normal person.

 “What happened?” was asked.

 “Zombies,” informed Tricia. “Run and hide.” Was all the instruction needed as the ant turned and scurried off.

 There was a roar, and Tricia turned to see a fist coming at her face.

  In her peripheral Tricia saw Indigo leaning against a building, sneering, as Lion boy attacked her. Typical of the girl, let others fight her battles and enjoy the show.

 Tricia opened a portal, in had become easy now, it was a simple mental process for her, no waving of hands or murmuring words to cast a spell. 

 Lion boys fist disappeared into a void hung in mid-air in front of him, his arm could no longer be seen as if it no longer extended out from him. The boy was startled, he couldn’t see his arm since it was gone all the way up to his bicep.

  A whump was heard, followed by Indigo slumping to the ground, having been the recipient of the solid punch intended for Tricia. Lion-boys fisted arm – disconnected from the rest of his body, hung in the air at where the mage had stood. He opened his hand while looking at it from several feet away in disbelief, he wiggled his fingers, then tried withdrawing his hand from the floating disc but couldn’t. The brute then attempted yanking on his arm to free it.

 Tricia had gotten some distance between them, before relenting and collapsing the portal. It was an odd expression of relief on the guy’s face after he had his arm back, not that it had been separated but the optics of something passing through a portal – seeing it elsewhere while still attached, was disconcerting.

 The brief second of indecision came to a quick end, the Thundercat wannabe reared up, let fly another roar, and stalked towards Tricia. Tricia looked him in the eyes, he had dim yellow cat’s eyes with narrowed slits for pupils. Tricia stood her ground which infuriated him, he wanted her to be scared and run.

 Still holding his gaze, Tricia opened another portal underfoot, and the lout stepped right into it.

 Lion-boy dropped down into a hole in the street so’s only his head remained above ground. Tricia narrowed the portals opening so small that it was tight around his neck.

“Do you have a name?” asked Tricia. As traps go, Tricia had made a good one, the portal was now only big enough for his head to squeeze through, it was impossible for anyone else to enlarge the portals opening so his struggle was futile.

 With a seething hate burning in hie eyes, he said: “Pride.”

 “Ah,” remarked Tricia, she’d heard of him. This was the guy who’d wanted Aware to join his harem, cause – you know, cats. Anyway, Lynn had quickly dissuaded him which requiring only minimal physical injury. Sometimes that’s the only way people learn.

 “Get me out of here!” demanded Pride.

 “I think not,” countered Passport, he would cause her no end of trouble.

 “What about Indigo?” asked Pride.

 “What about her?” Tricia wasn’t callused, but she was curious about the sincerity of his concern.

 “She could be hurt,” countered Pride.

 “True that, you hit her awfully hard,” concurred Tricia. “Couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

 Pride snarled, a deep throated rumbling announcing his displeasure. “I was aiming for you.”

 “You know what they say: ‘pride comes before the fall’, me thinks she fell pretty hard. But tell you what, I’ll drop her off at Doyle if that eases your conscience, that is of course; if you have a conscience.”

 Again, Tricia earned a snarl.

 “You know, the zombies are attracted to loud noises. If you don’t be quiet, you’re going to be the center of attention.”

 A growl was given in lieu of a snarl, not too much of an improvement – but some.

 Tricia created a portal and stuck her hand in, retrieving a plastic pail from the Bakery, after punching a few holes in it with a knife retrieved from her utility belt, she placed it overtop Prides exposed head. “There, now nobody will know you’re here.” Said Tricia, giving the overturned bucket a tap on top.

 Stepping over to the passed-out Indigo, Tricia formed a portal underneath her, depositing her onto the waiting room floor at Doyle Medical Center.

 Walking across the street, Tricia looked inside the Sporting Goods store, finding exactly what she’d wanted: a water gun. It had a screw on water reservoir which suited her purpose exactly. Returning to the bank, Tricia filled up the water gun with the blended ingredients.

 Back out on the street, Tricia found her target, a roaming band of zombies. Porting beside them, Tricia took aim and sprayed the zombies in the face with her gun. After the zombies sputtered and staggered about, they resumed acting like normal people.

 Tricia combed the mock city street, giving any zombies she came across a blast from her soaker gun. In a very short time no zombie ants remained, at which a horn sounded signalling the end of the exam.

 Tricia released Pride from his confinement as she exited the arena. Familiar with how the school liked to operate, Tricia went to the debriefing room to await her score – or was that scorn. She had no doubt she’d ruffled some feathers.

 In the debrief room waited Gunny Bardue, he had an unreadable expression plastered on his face; not anger, or happiness, maybe it was his default expression dealing with students at Whateley. Tricia didn’t know the man well enough to make anything other than a wild guess. But had no doubt she’d hear about it.

 Entering the room, Pride was ready to pounce at Tricia. Gunny Bardue headed him off before he could act on an impulse that would result in a severe reprimand. Pride took a seat – as far away from Tricia as the room would permit.

 Before Gunny could begin his assessment, another person entered: Miss Imp, the art teacher. Tricia knew the wacko had to be responsible for such a twisted escapade.

 Gunny ah-hem’d to get attention: “It may come as a surprise, but this exercise was intended to encourage collaboration. While Pride and Indigo had formed an alliance, it left no room for Passport’s inclusion.”

 “I’ll be investigating to determine if Pride and Indigo’s efforts were in fact collaboration or collusion. Now, Pride, you followed many prior participants notion to ripe and tear your way through the simulation, with Indigo’s help in negating the animated pieces, you had a reasonable chance of completing the sim.”

 “Few of the students who’ve taken this exam have collected each of the ingredients, of those only five teams mixed the ingredients together, using the formula to heal the infected zombies. Passport is the only student to have done it – by herself.”

 “Typically, after the first zombie is healed, that ends the simulation. But this run was such a boondoggle, we decided to let it carry out to see what would happen. We’ve never seen the entire zombie population returned to human. We will be considering reworking the simulations parameters.”

 “Indigo is at Doyle recovering from a concussion, she is being temporarily assigned a grade of 71 percent, a pass – just barely, until after my investigation.”

 “Pride, your score is 75 percent, a pass, but a disappointing showing young man. You shouldn’t blindly believe everything people tell you, it’s what distinguishes a leader from a follower, and a mastermind from a minion.”

 “Passport, you gave our technicians a headache trying to keep up with your jumping all over the place. Care to explain why you looked before you leapt?” requested Gunny.

 “I need to know where I’m going, to ensure I don’t enter into something – or someone,” revealed Tricia with a shudder.

  “You have a unique way of solving problems and showed an impressive mastery of your talent. My understanding is you’ve only just recently started making portals?”

 “Yes sir, just a week or so ago.”

 “Unbelievable. I look forward to testing you in the future.” For the Gunnery Sargent, it was as close to a compliment he’d ever given. “Miss Imp, anything to add?”

 “At what point did you determine the list was a recipe to recover infected zombies?” The Art teacher asked Tricia.

 “I suspected from the way the list was written that it was ingredients, but I really wasn’t certain until I tried it out,” explained Tricia.

 “Marvelous,” exclaimed Imp, delighted at her twisted machinations. “Congratulations on a successful run.”

 Tricia was stunned, she’d been right about the insanity of it all, but to be congratulated by the mind behind it – did that mean she was crazy too?

 “Passport, you’ve been assigned a score of 94 percent. Not attempting to form an alliance resulted in demerits, but given the situation you faced, it had to be re-calculated into the final scoring.” Summarized Mr. Bardue.

 

Doyle Medical Centre

 Lynn stepped through the hospitals entrance door, having such a high recuperative ability Lynn rarely needed the health care services offered here. But she was familiar with the place having visited her friends in their times of need.

 Speaking with the attendant at reception, Lynn was directed to take a seat in the waiting room. Some others sat in the designated seating area; brief greetings were given but Lynn took a seat distanced from anyone else.

 Minutes later a woman came to collect her, she was dressed in doctor whites sporting a visitor badge. Introducing herself as Tanya Nelson, coming from Arkham Institute to conduct research. Lynn already knew this, not from precognition – although she had a good grasp on the situation, rather, Lynn had been sent a letter asking if she would participate in a study about Precognition.

 Although there were only a few true Pre-cogs out there, a growing concern about how to rate the rare ability had drawn the attention of the scientific community. Hence why Dr. Nelson had sought Lynn out.

 Cameron had vouched for Tanya, his experience with the doctor had left a good impression, and since Lynn herself was curious about precognition, it made sense to explore the boundaries, of the ability itself – and her own.

 “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” graciously said Tanya Nelson, showing them into a reserved consultation room.

 “Cameron spoke highly of you,”

 “Cameron! How is he?”

 “He’s in Ottawa, dealing with a situation.”

 “Too bad, I’d hoped to interview him also. I’m not certain if he isn’t precognitive as well.”

 “Interesting, I suppose that is yet to be determined.”

 “Indeed. As you know, precognition has no ranking system. So, I’m taking on the challenge to try and classify the ability and maybe arrive at a means to rank how powerful a PreCog might be.”

“How can I be of help?”

 “I have a series of questions designed to describe your experience as a PreCog. Please answer as honestly as possible so I can tabulate the results.”

 “Okay, ask away.”

 “Would you describe your Precognition as an inkling, a premonition, or a vision?”

 “What is the difference between an inkling and a premonition?”

 “It’s a way to distinguish how a person receives an insight into future events. If someone has an inkling it’s a sensation that something is going to happen, often described as a danger sense. I’ve heard it described as knowing you need to sneeze, but it hasn’t happened yet. A premonition is like you’d experienced an event before and can avoid adverse consequences, some have described it as deja-vu, the feeling you’ve been there before.”

 “That helps. I’d say I get all three to lesser or greater degrees depending on the circumstances. For example: it’s like – knowing someone is sneaking up behind you, on the other hand I see an accident before it happens and can move out of the way. But I’ll also see what can – or could happen by following a certain path which might be a long time to come to fruition.”

 “Wow, that’s unexpected. So far, nobody has claimed to experience all three. One or two perhaps. I’m so glad I get to speak with you.

 “I know my mom has premonitions of what could happen. But Cameron gets dreams in his sleep which he claims to come from God, so I suspect he might not fit into a premonition category.”

 “I have already spoken with your mother: wonderful lady. Does premonition run in your family?”

 “Yes, there’s a long line of PreCogs in my family tree, only the females have the gift, and it skips generations now and then. My mom’s a PreCog but my aunt isn’t.”

 “When did you notice receiving precognitive insights?”

 “It showed up a couple weeks before my thirteenth birthday. It was a very quick onset.”

 “Did you notice any physical changes?”

 Lynn coughed to cover her discomfort at the question, changing gender was a physical change that was hard to ignore, but not something she wished to openly discuss. So resorted to deflection: “Yes. My eyes were always green, but afterwards they took on a different hue, becoming much brighter.”

 “They’re very striking.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Have you noticed a pattern to the inkling feeling, does it only occur when you are bodily at risk?”

 “I need to think about that for sec,” reasoned Lynn, looking off into space collecting her memories. “It’s consistent for myself but can include my family and friends when circumstances are dire.”

 “How about other people, not in close association?”

 “It happens, but they need to be in close proximity to me.”

 “That seems to be a common thread, as if there’s a sphere of influence.”

 “Have you heard of it being triggered by touch? I can get a clearer insight when I touch somebody.”

 “Interesting, physical contact being needed to establish a link. I’ve got to make a note about that.”  Tanya wrote a comment into a notebook rather than onto her spreadsheet. “Now, premonition: does it follow a specific topic, or does it wander around?”

 “I’d say it follows a specific topic, but it can go off on tangents. Think of a pool ball, when it strikes another ball, it veers off from the contact.”

 “That’s a great analogy, I’ve got to remember to use that,” gushed Tanya. “So, in keeping with what you said: do you follow the original balls trajectory, or the one that was struck?”

 “It depends, it can be one, or both, or maybe the effect upon the whole table.”

 “I’m going to have to revisit some of my other subjects to get clarification, this is an unexpected consequence,” surmised Tanya. “Can you direct what you experience?”

 “Not with premonition, it’s more superficial.”

 “Opening up a question about visions, I’ll put that aside for a moment. Could you predict an outcome, such as a lottery’s winning numbers?”

 “I’d like to refrain from answering that question. I’m obliged not to lie, but if such an ability was possible, a PreCog would never get a moments peace, everybody would apply pressure on them to disclose a desired future, especially easy money.”

 “You make a valid point; one your mother also holds to.”

 “She helped me set boundaries and kept me sane when my mind felt overwhelmed.”

 “You were fortunate to have a guide, I’m sure it would have been hard to cope with the mental onslaught.”

 “Part of the reason I agreed to be interviewed was to increase my understanding about PreCogs, to help others gain a grasp about what’s happening to them.”

 “Is that a precognitive insight?”

 “Maybe, I thought it was a worthwhile endeavour at any rate.”

 “I appreciate your willing assistance.”

 “You have more questions?”

 “Indeed I do. How would you describe your visions? Do you zone out when they happen? Can you plot what you see? Direct the outcome?”

 “All good questions,” mused Lynn. “There are times when it happens in a momentary flash, it takes a second to return to what you’d being doing, but it happens so fast nobody notices – unless thier very observant: Cameron can tell. For the most part, I consciously allow my mind to explore the possibilities, for that I need to be resting, some might equate it to meditating.”

 “Excellent, very insightful. What about plotting your vision?”

 “That’s very much a question Cameron, my mom, and I have asked. We’ve determined that the past is written in stone – unchangeable, the future however can be altered, to a limited degree. But to answer your question: I can follow a path to see what consequences could happen if a course change is made. To know when and what change is needed. But I’ve been stymied as to why, how it fits into the big picture, only that it’s the best outcome for the now.”

 “I didn’t realize.”

 “It’s hard to explain, and harder to understand. Seeing the future can be discouraging, you can see what a person needs to do, but you can’t force anyone to do what’s in their best interests. It’s like trying to steer a boat through whitewater rapids, you might be able to point out a smooth course to take, but either though inexperience, laziness, or indifference a person chooses to take the worst possible route, increasing the danger their in.”

 “How do you deal with that?”

 “Cameron believes that you must grant people freedom of choice, to make their own decisions. So’s that they are responsible for their own lives. I am beginning to see the wisdom in that approach: I tried to direct my brother away from what I felt was a dumb choice, he didn’t listen to me and suffered terribly, but it worked out in the end for him. So, I won’t attempt to control what a person does again, cause maybe it’s what’s supposed to happen.”

 “Implying there’s a grand plan?”

 “I suppose so, I don’t claim to know what it is, only that I get glimpses of what’s in store. But the long range – I’m talking like years away; I can’t tell what’s gonna happen.

 “How far into the future have you seen?”

 “Oh man! That’s a tough one. I’ve still got some pots in the fire from visions I got as far back as when I became a PreCog, and some visions are still in play, and I don’t know when they’ll be finished. For example: I knew I had to meet Cameron, but just what exactly that means for my future hasn’t been revealed.”

 “I can’t imagine having to stay on top of events for such a long time. It seems unfathomable, how do you do it?”

 “One day at a time. I think the biggest thing for a PreCog to remember is to live each day, don’t let the precious moments slip by, and don’t separate yourself from others – friends can be an encouragement and comfort.”

 “Good advice, something I think all PreCog’s need to hear.”

Department of Defence Headquarters, Ottawa, Canada.

 “I call these proceeding to order,” announced the central judge of the triune seated behind a long high podium, it was a female Lieutenant-Colonel, she was chair of the three judges adjudicating Cameron’s case. “The defendant: Private Outlook, is facing court martial, charged with dereliction of duty, insubordination, and desertion. How do you plead?” 

 Cameron looked around the courtroom, to the side of the judges sat a row of jurors. All of them dressed to the nines in military uniforms – including the prosecutor: a Lieutenant. Beside Cameron on his right was Emit Paulson, his personal lawyer, to Cameron’s left was Mike Williamson: his friend, guardian, and legal strategist.

 Military court held to different protocols to what civil proceedings do, those differences could make or break a case. Fortunately, Mr. Paulson had started his career as a military lawyer, so he wasn’t phased by the climate, even if he’d served in the US not Canada.

 Mike Williamson had been studying prior case files to build up a better defence, so the two legal minds had devised a sound foundation for Cameron’s defence.

 Emit nudged Cameron, reminding him to stand and address the court.

 “Not guilty your honours.” Stated Cameron.

 Of course, the prosecution had sought Cameron to plead guilty, even the judges winced at the announcement – it meant what looked like a simple open and shut case would get dragged out indefinitely.

 Not that Cameron had indefinitely to waste, he was due back at Whateley in three weeks to start the next semester, and he had promised to visit the Franklin’s in Alberta since Lynn had gone home to spend time with her family over the winter break.

 So, to plead not guilty meant that everyone in the court room was going to be tied up – potential over the entire precious holiday period.

Another judge: a Major, spoke: “To expedite this case, we request that the accused provide us a detailed narrative, explaining events leading up to these charges. We do note however, that the defendant has previously submitted a record of events, but upon review, we’ve found it lacking in certain details and contains some blaring omissions.”

 Emit Paulson stood to address the judges: “Yes, your honours. We are happy to comply with your request. And we had hoped such an opportunity would be presented. For your benefit, we have prepared a visual demonstration which coincides with my client’s accounting of events.” Smoothed Mr. Paulson, trying to curry the courts favour. “If at all possible, we would ask the court that questions be kept to the topic at hand? Since, as you say, you wish to be expeditious.”

 “That depends upon your client’s portrayal of events,” Instructed the lead judge. “Please proceed.’

 Emit motioned for Cameron to remain standing during the discourse, while he himself resumed sitting, Mr. Paulson then initiated the visual presentation showing it on a large monitor positioned for the audience to see, particularly the judges and jury.

 Cameron, dressed in a charcoal grey two-piece suit, waited for Mr. Paulson to give a ‘go ahead’ cue. Which the lawyer gave once the slideshow was ready, giving Cameron a wink and a nod, along with a reassuring smile, Cameron commenced:

 “Thank you for allowing me to speak as to the events that transpired back in early September. For those not aware, my name is Alex Cameron Burke, please note that my common name is Cameron, but I use Outlook as my codename.” Cameron addressed the judges directly, but tried to cast his gaze upon the jurors as well. “I was approached at a social gathering,” on the screen a photograph showed well attired folks gathered into groups, conversing. Cameron could be seen in a huddle wearing his RCMP dress uniform of red serge, “and was asked to assist with the recovery of children …”

 “What was the nature of the social gathering?” sought the prosecutor, a Lieutenant.

 Cameron had been forewarned that questions would be raised to throw him off guard, make him stumble, try to catch him in a lie. He responded: “I don’t see how that is relevant?”

 “You raised the subject, opening the door for scrutiny. Answer the question.” Directed the left most judge: another Major.

 “Very well. I had only wished to protect individual’s privacy. I was attending the wedding of a good friend and colleague: Kenneth Tallman. His marriage to Veronique Gosselin was held on her family’s property at Trios-Rivieres – Quebec. Do I need to provide you co-ordinates?”

 “We know where Trois-Rivieres is.” Replied a dour judge.

 “Good, I wasn’t sure how much detail you required,” jested Cameron, his attempt at humour falling flat, the room held no levity that he could discern.

 “Are we to assume it was a theme wedding, given the nature of garb worn?” asked the judge on the right.

 “I don’t understand the question?” puzzled Cameron.

 “The groom and groomsmen, including yourself I might add, are all wearing formal RCMP uniforms. Isn’t there a law forbidding impersonating a policeman?”

 “Yes, it is against the law to impersonate a police officer. However, an active RCMP officer is granted permission to wear the red serge at formal occasions outside official duties, such as his wedding,” explained Cameron.” To answer your other question: all the men shown in the photo are RCMP officers.”

 “This court does not appreciate your attempt to falsely represent yourself.” Accused the right-most judge.

 “Excuse me, but: Mr. Paulson represents me.” Said a confused Cameron.

 “Don’t play games! You are too young to be in the ranks of the RCMP.” Rebuffed the same judge.

 “But, apparently, not too young to be shanghaied into Military service.” Muttered Cameron.

 “You are out of order Private Burke. We will not allow you to malign the fine name of the men and women who serve this country with distinction.” Barked the center judge.

 “That was not my intent, only that you refuse to dignify my appointment in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.” Countered Cameron with a calm demeanour, indicating to Mr. Paulson to advance to another prepared picture.

 On the screen was a still shot showing Cameron’s RCMP identification, set beside that was his badge.

 “I work in a task force called the Special Investigations Unit, who’s mandate is policing the empowered community in Canada, including oversight of the MCO.” Detailed Cameron, holding up his ID in support of his claim.

 “How many strings did you have to pull to forge those documents,” disparaged the Prosecutor.

 “If the voracity of my claim is doubted,” directed Cameron. “Perhaps you would like to hear from my supervisor with the RCMP: Mr. Ray Martin, fortunately he’s attending today to observe these proceedings.” 

 Ray stood, making his presence known.

 “Sir, please approach the bench.”

 Ray joined Cameron standing before the judges, he shook Cameron’s hand before giving the judges his full attention.

 “Please identify yourself.”

 “I am Raymond Arturo Martin, Commissioner of the RCMP’s Special Investigations Unit.” Stated Ray, handing over his identification to be inspected. “I can verify that Outlook has been a member of the RCMP for roughly sixteen months, serving with distinction.”

 “Has the RCMP taken to cradle robbing?” scoffed the center judge.

 “That question is one the Canadian Armed Forces should answer, considering it conscripted Outlook,” retorted Ray with a raised eyebrow, an indicator he didn’t appreciate the perceived double standard. “However, Outlook meets all requirements, and is thoroughly qualified to be a member of the RCMP.”

 “He doesn’t look a day over fourteen.” Complained the right-hand judge.

 “Indeed, his appearance has been most advantageous in diffusing hostile situations.” Admitted Ray, facing Cameron, giving him a wink. “He’s suffered physical setbacks which have resulted in his youthful appearance. Moreover: the RCMP does not discriminate against age, race, colour, or religion.”

 “You insinuate that the Military does?” The lead judge glared at Ray.

 “That is yet to be determined.” Was said cooly by Ray, almost a challenge to be proved wrong.

 “Thank you for your testimony, you are excused Commissioner Martin.” The judge said in disgust. “Let the record show that Mr. Burke is a Constable with the Royal Canadian Police.”

 Mr. Paulson hurriedly stood: “Objection your honour. If Cameron Burke’s status is being recognized, let the record reflect his rank as an Inspector.”

“This court wasn’t aware that Inspector was a rank used by the RCMP. What does the Special Investigations Unit do?”

 Cameron replied: “When a situation arises requiring Special Investigations presence; typically involving empowered individuals, we assume supervision of the scene and take over control of the local detachments resources.”

 “As an Inspector, what role do you play?” it was a validly asked question by the left judge, expressing honest curiosity.

 “I am the field teams designated leader. I ensure situations involving empowered individual s doesn’t escalate or endanger the general populous.” Supplied Cameron, not giving more details that necessary.

 “How do you achieve such a task?” again asked by the left judge.

Mr. Paulson ran interference: “Outlook is not obliged to answer that question as it’s protected information under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.”

 “We’d hoped he’d willingly divulge his abilities.” Sought the left judge.

 “I shall refrain from providing you an answer, under advice that it is a violation of my rights and freedoms.” Replied Cameron.

 “If that is your choice, but your unwillingness to be forthcoming may impede our ability to render an impartial judgment.” Counseled the center judge.

 Emit Paulson jumped up, saying in earnest: “Your honours, making a claim - such as was just made: implies that this court holds a bias, a direct violation of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms of Canadian citizens. The jury should be instructed to ignore that comment, and if any of the presiding justices cannot render a fair judgement – they need to recuse themselves immediately. Otherwise, I am forced to a request a mistrial and have all charges dropped.” 

 “I misspoke, I merely suggested that refusing to answer a question might sour the jury’s determination of events. However, I direct the jurors to not hold the Defendant in contempt for adhering to his Rights.”

 “Thank you, your honour.” Acquiesced Mr. Paulson.

 “Can we get back to the narration of events?” Asked the left judge.

 “Yes, of course. Please resume.” Agreed the center judge. 

 “As I had mentioned, after the wedding ceremony, Veronique Gosselin – now Tallman, asked if I would be willing to assist in the rescue of captured children: Canadian embassy staff’s children specifically.”

 “Why?” asked the center judge.

 “Because … they’d been taken captive, and … their parents were worried about them?”

 “Why were YOU asked to help?” clarified the center judge.

 “Due to my work with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s Special Investigations Unit solving challenging situations I imagine. I really can’t speak to Veronique’s motivations, I recommend you interrogate Veronique herself. However, she did mention that the office of Foreign Affairs had received a request from the Prime Minister’ Office to provide assistance in repatriating the captured children. That’s my assumption anyway.”

 “Why would Foreign Affairs approach you?” Demanded the right judge.

 “I am on temporary assignment with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, acting as an emissary out of Canada’s embassy to the United States. I retain my current rank of Inspector for the task of assessing an educational institution’s specialized instruction for gifted students. Before you ask: I am not permitted to reveal the institution’s location for security reasons.”

 “Why send an RCMP officer to inspect a school?”

 “As has been already established, I’m not what you’d expect an RCMP officer to look like.” Explained Cameron. “However, the school has a specifically tailored curriculum for youths who’ve manifested abilities. As more and more children are exhibiting mutant traits, a way to ensure they can control these abilities is seen as the best solution to integrate them into society.”

 “What makes you a suitable candidate for such an assignment? To be sought after by both the RCMP and Foreign Affairs?” asked the right-hand judge.

 “An interesting question,” paused Cameron from his narrative. “Perhaps the Canadian Armed Forces could enlighten me as to why they feel justified in pursuing me with such vigour? That would most assuredly provide an answer we all would like to know.”

 “We are not the one’s facing court martial.” Sneered the spiteful judge at his line of question being turned back onto himself.

 “If you’re unwilling, or unable to provide a clear answer. Then I find I can’t answer your question, as it requires me to speculate about the motivations of others.” Countered Cameron.

 “Surely you must have an inkling as to why.” Weaseled the same judge attempting to gain traction.

 “It could be my reasonable rates, or maybe my charming disposition,” Cameron’s smile faded as quickly as it came. “Quite honestly, I’d rather not speculate on the matter.”

 “You are gifted, are you not? Your posting with the RCMP and to the US suggests as much.” The right-hand judge finally demanded an answer.

 “Yes. I’m imbued by God. Hence, why at times, I use the codename Outlook.” Agreed Cameron.

  “There isn’t a record of your registration with the MCO.” Questioned the center judge after getting an update from an aid.

 “No, you won’t find such. I’m not a mutant, so don’t fall under the MCO’s jurisdiction.” Informed Cameron.

 “How convenient, what is your power set?” directed the right judge.

 “We’ve already danced to that tune: according to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, that’s a question you’re not allowed to ask me.” Countered Cameron.

 “It’s information crucial to our deliberations.” Demanded the right-hand judge.

 “I’m sorry you feel that way. But given the adversarial manner in which you’ve chosen to conduct these proceedings, and the treatment I’ve received by the Department of Defence, I’m not inclined to offer anything beyond the bare minimum required of me.” Asserted Cameron

 “How unfortunate, we’re not the enemy.” Insisted the middle judge.

 “Not from my perspective,” remarked Cameron with an unmistakable tone of bitterness. “Do you want me to resume the narrative, or shall we continue to waste time?”

 “Proceed.” Waved off the lead judge.

 “I was requested to assist in the recovery of embassy staff children …” Cameron was once again cut-off.

 “Who made the request?” the judge on the right again being a pain.

 “As I’d already said: I was approached by Veronique Tallman, a representative of Foreign Affairs. It was assigned to her by her superiors coming down from the Prime Ministers Office, a member of the embassy was a personal friend of the Prime Minister.”

 “Who?” sought the judge on the right.

 “Please be more specific, do you wish to know who the Prime Minister is, or the person at the embassy?” Cameron couldn’t help himself from being a little snarky.

 “The embassy of course.” Dismissed the persistent judge.

 “I don’t know. I was never told. All I went from was that there were children in trouble, that was enough information to convince me to go.” Added Cameron.

 “How long did it take for you to arrange affairs before departing?” redirected the left judge.

 “In hindsight not long at all: I sought permission to go and was granted a window of opportunity, then arranged transport, picked up a Foreign Affairs liaison officer on the way. All told, it was less than a half hour from being asked until arriving a Canada’s forward operating base: Nimpkish. So, all told: a half hour.” Supplied Cameron.

 “You had to ask for your parents’ permission?” was the snidely asked question said in as belittling a manner possible by the judge on the right.

  “Not as such, although I did send my guardian a text to let him know my whereabouts. But: No, I needed to seek approval from God to detour from my existing assignment. I can’t do anything without God’s backing. So, I suppose I did need to ask my ‘parents’ permission.” Cameron used hand quotes to emphasize parent.

 “How were you able to travel from Quebec to the Middle East so quickly?” was asked by the left judge.

 “I hired a Teleporter,” replied Cameron.

 “Who exactly?” required the right judge.

 “I don’t have permission to make her name public, she is however on the RCMP approved services list, and the bill was footed by Foreign Affairs.” Answered Cameron, to add: “Those agencies may be willing to provide you with her details.”

“Who acted as your liaison?” redirected the lead judge.

 “Next slide please,” requested Cameron. “Commander Ron DeVouge, retired from the Canadian Navy. The Commander and I arrived at Nimpkish to be greeted by Captain Gareth Patel. The extraction team was still a few hours out, so it was recommended that I get some sleep in the meantime.”

 As no questions got asked to further interrupt Cameron’s train of thought, Cameron continued: “I was woken to attend a meeting with Captain Patel and Commander DeVouge. I was notified that I could not participate in the recovery operation unless I signed documentation linking me to the armed forces. I was handed an enlistment form, which I read and found to be entirely unsuitable.”

 “I took it upon myself to alter that document into something I could abide by …” Cameron knew an objection was coming, still it took him by surprise.

 “What gave you the right to tamper with a government form?” demanded the judge on the right.

 “I followed standard business practice, if a contract is inaccurate, or conditions are unattainable, entering into negotiations to achieve suitable terms which both parties can agree upon is conducted. To do otherwise could ruin a company, lead to misunderstandings and cost overruns.” Cameron spoke from experience.

 “Canada has used a standard recruitment document for years, why did you feel it was ‘ unsuitable’?”

 “The form, as provided, required that I commit to serving in the military for a three-year minimum, As I am already engaged – full time, to serve God, it would be impossible for me to fulfill both roles. Now, I’m certain you’re all chomping at the bit to pepper me with a barrage of questions – so let me explain: My work with the RCMP is done on a part-time basis, I am asked if I’m able to provide aid before any deployment, as well, my posting in Foreign Affairs fits into my God given objectives.” Explained Cameron.

 “Rescuing children was, for a brief moment in time, aligned with what Canada wanted to achieve, so I could proceed in that endeavour.” Cameron informed. “But, what was being asked of me was for me to submit to the Canadian Armed Forces whims, at the risk of forgoing God’s blessing – and favour. Doing such would leave me powerless and thereby of no use to anyone.”

 “It boiled down to Canada attempting to tell God what to do. That is not a situation God will tolerate. As the Brotherhood of the Hand found out.”

 “But you signed the recruitment papers.” Countered the middle judge.

 “I signed papers, but it was not your recruitment form,” next slide please directed Cameron. “On the screen you can see photos of the four-page document as signed by myself, notarized by Captain Patel, and witnessed by Commander DeVouge. Please play the video.”

 The video footage showed the four-page document being flipped over by Cameron’s hand, to then have Cameron’s signature affixed to the last page. For all the pages to then be handed to Captain Patel to which his signature was affixed, and finally the Commander sealing the deal by witnessing the signatures.

“Please note: all recruitment text has been stricken in red ink, replaced by the terms and conditions of a Memorandum of Agreement.” Cameron’s statement was reinforced by the magnified picture images shown on the screen.

“Had Captain Patel been aware of these changes?” puzzled the lead judge.

 “I recommend you ask the captain.” Redirected Cameron.

 “Captain Patel died in the bombardment of camp Nimpkish.” The left judge provided the grave news.

 “How unfortunate. What about Commander DeVouge?” was Cameron’s nest question.

 “He is still recovering in a hospital in Germany from his injuries.” Again the left judge supplied the answer.

 “I was not informed. Regardless, as you can see, I never agreed to a blanket recruitment, I did, however, agree to be inducted into the military for the specified period of five days – the limited window of opportunity I had been granted. My position and renumeration commensurate with the rank I hold among the RCMP.”

 “That is completely unacceptable …” interjected the right-hand judge.

 “I ask your indulgence to let me finish, then I’ll answer whatever questions you wish,” requested Cameron. “As for terms and conditions of the agreement, one is of particular importance: defining that should I undergo unfair treatment, endangerment, or outright hostility from within Canada’s forces, then the agreement in whole is voided the terms being inseverable. It is key for me to point that out, before viewing this next video.”

 On screen, it showed the interior of an airplane, briefly the footage paned to detail two men working in tandem on what appeared to be a backpack. Freezing the frame, Cameron then commented:

 “What you’ve just seen was taken from aboard a Canadian Hercules aircraft, it was boarded at Nimpkish on a flight to drop the extraction team into hostile territory. The gentlemen you just observed were Lieutenant Tarnowsky and Sergeant Meikle, the package they were working on was a parachute – the parachute I was provided. ExplAined Cameron, to then ask: “Continue the video.”

 The exchange between the Lieutenant and Outlook was shown, including audio, then the moment Cameron was pushed out of the plane was seen, next was footage of Cameron tumbling midair as the ground approached rapidly. The scene was cut before impact.

 “I was handed a defective parachute; the flaps having been fastened closed and the rip cords cut preventing its deployment. This constitutes endangerment and open hostility from members of the Canadian military. It resulted in grievous injury to my person. Further, there was no attempt to render aid or the recovery of my body. It was at this point when my agreement with the Department of Defence was terminated with just cause.”

No one made a comment, leaving Cameron open to finish up.

 “So, you see, I am left puzzled about the charges against me. As for desertion, I was the one left in the desert to die. I suppose I was insubordinate in that I didn’t die as my commanding officer sought. Dereliction of duty could only apply if I was negligent in performing an assigned task, apparently the task given was to be left behind. I did not seek further association with the recovery team members after having been cast out.”

“Now, in considering that release of the captured children was accomplished – I completed my mission.”

 “Do you have copies of that agreement?” was asked by the lead judge.

 “You don’t have the original copy that Captain Patel sent?” pondered Cameron.

 “It never made it out of Nimpkish.” Supplied by the left judge.

 “Then certainly I can provide you with copies, would you like a copy of the video as well?”

 “Please.” Meekly replied the lead judge.

 “I am open to questions?” stated Cameron.

 “The report you submitted didn’t included interactions with local assets, or the Brotherhood of the Hand, why didn’t you provide us details about that?”

 “To what end?” Puzzled Cameron. “After the events I’ve already addressed, I was no longer held to any accountability towards the Canadian Armed Forces.” Summarized Cameron, trying to hold his tongue from providing the tribunal further ammunition, but he couldn’t help himself: “Granted, I continued with the mission under the auspices of Foreign Affairs, since they had been the ones to seek my assistance in the first place.”

 “Then why provide any of those details at all?” doubted the right judge.

Cameron stood his ground by saying: “My intention was to illustrate the activities that members of the Extraction Team engaged in; the good, the bad, and the ugly. I had hoped that my report would provide evidence of Corporal Boot and Private Git’s meritorious service, and that they receive due recognition. Conversely, that Lieutenant Tarnowsky, Seargent Meikle, and Corporal Chuck be given suitable reprimands for their treasonous acts. Those details should not be considered pertinent or relevant into your inquisition over my court martial.” 

 “You have given us much to deliberate on. We will adjourn for today and reconvene tomorrow after lunch” directed the lead judge, stymieing the right judges anger.

 Cameron sat, taking a load off his feet, and gave a heavy sigh – that had been brutal, No wonder Mr. Bardue raked Whateley’s students over the coals, he was getting them ready to face the worlds contentious nature, Cameron would have to thank the man next time they met.

 Both of his lawyers gave the boy a pat on the back saying he did great. Cameron didn’t know what to feel, it was no relief at their reassurance, his legs wobbled, and his nerves were wracked from the stresses of the day.

 Ray Martin: his RCMP boss, came to take Cameron back to SI’s office in the Bunker, it was Cameron’s secure place to stay while in Ottawa. Ken and Veronique joined them on the walk out of the building.

 Nique stopped them a distance away from the militaries offices. “I am to ask, should you be able, tomorrow morning, to attend a small private ceremony at Parliament Building?”

 “What time? Sought Ray, he’s the boss so Cameron wasn’t going to contradict him.

 “Half past nine,” Supplied Nique, given with a huge smile and a wink at Cameron.

 “We’ll be there,’ informed Ray.

 Mike and Emit had arranged a planning session to go over legal strategies. Ken and Nique had matters to attend to and took their leave. It was just Ray and Cameron who headed to the bunker.

 “Any idea what’s on the menu for dinner tonight?” wondered Cameron

 “Cabbage rolls” informed Ray.

 Canada’s Parliament building consisted of grand old stone architecture, it cast an image of pomp, a place of ceremony and pageantry, which for a seat of government was likely the desired effect. To Cameron, he felt out of sorts being here, the surroundings felt daunting to someone who’d run afoul of the institution on a number of occasions now.

 Ray led Cameron into a central area he called the Rotunda, a place with all the trappings of political aggrandizing with flags and banners complete with portraits of former Prime Ministers adorning the walls.

 In the middle or the room, standing in small huddle of people, Cameron noticed Ken and Veronique who turned as Cameron approached. But another face caught Cameron off guard: sweet little Lucy. Cameron’s first reaction was to drop to his knees and hold his arms wide, Lucy ran from where she stood and jumped into his arms giving off a squee of delight.

 They held the hug for an extended period, after which Lucy self-consciously attempted to straighten her frilly dress, to then return back to the side of a formally attired woman – Lucy took up holding the ladies hand and looking up sheepishly at her in hopes she hadn’t broken protocol.

 Nique arranged everyone for a photo shoot, after which the Minister of Foreign Affairs moved to a podium, calling for everyone’s attention.

 “I will keep this brief,” he commented. “Of all the tasks I get to perform, recognizing an individual for outstanding endeavours that have benefited Canada rates well up there.”  “Mr. Burke corralled the MCO for overstepping their mandate and made that agency responsible for, and responsive to, the needs of all Canadians. His ongoing role within the Royal Canadian Mounted Police has promoted Canada into a haven for oppressed people worldwide. I have been authorized to induct Mr. Burke as a Commander of the Order of Canada.”

 On cue, Veronique stepped up to Cameron and affixed a pin in the shape of a flower to his lapel. Nique gave Cameron a hug, whispering: “I am sorry for all the trouble I have brought.”

 In reply Cameron said: “No trouble. It all happened in the Nique of time.”

 The exchange was cut short when the minister asked Ray to speak. As the Bossman approached the podium he gave Cameron a mirthful smile. The RCMP Director came right to the point, which was the man’s style.

 “I am hereby recognizing the outstanding contributions made by Inspector Cameron Burke, for the excelling value of his police work, for the betterment of our community, and ensuring the peace is upheld no matter the odds or situation. Mr. Burke is hereby awarded Commander of the Order of Merit of the Police Forces.”

 Cameron was directed to step forward to receive the medal, he was embarrassed at the attention given, but gave a polite thank you.

 Next, the new British Ambassador to Canada was introduced: Mrs. Marie Moore, Lucy’s Mom.

 It may not have been the most dignified way to greet an ambassador, but she kissed Cameron on the cheek, thanking him for returning her daughter to her. Cameron was at a loss for words but managed to say: “It was my privilege.”

Addressing the room Mrs. Moore commenced: “I was welcomed just this week as my countries newest ambassador to Canada, and one of my first official duties brings me deep personal joy, in that I get to thank the young man who saved my daughter and returned her home to me.”

 “I have been instructed by the government of her Majesty; Queen Elizabeth II, to award Cameron Burke to be an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, for the services of valour and sacrifice in the rescue of consulate staff and family.”

 At that Lucy stepped forward from beside her mom, holding up an ornate purple pillow on which rested a shiny medal. Cameron knelt so his neck was within reach, allowing Lucy to slip the medallion around his neck. She gave Cameron another hug before decorum won over and she returned to her mom.

 Refreshments had been prepared, giving opportunity for congratulations to be offered. Cameron was overwhelmed at the outpouring of attention and affection, he never sought recognition for his actions and tried to direct all praise to God for sending him in the first place.

***

 The court room, just like yesterday, was bereft of any joy, even the curtains were closed to prevent sunshine from interrupting the proceedings that sucked all happiness from any who fell into the unyielding jaws of military discipline.

 Cameron was again joined by his lawyer contingent: Mr. Paulson and Mike Williamson, they had spent long hours reviewing case law and looked worse for wear. The courtroom held many well wishers attending on Cameron’s behalf, including the entire SI team.

 The judges filed in and took up their positions, little acknowledgement was given to Cameron, a bad indicator felt the boy.

 Once the protocol of starting sessions was concluded, Cameron was asked: “Do you have anything to add to yesterday’s testimony?”

 “I neglected to mention that after having received the notification to attend this court martial, and the promissory letter assuring me unhindered passage, I was accosted by members of the Canadian Navy, who attempted my murder – and that of my friends. I have asked the RCMP to commence an investigation and provided them substantiating evidence.”

 “You didn’t see fit to report this to the Department of Defence?”

 “It happened in Canada, which is the purview of the RCMP, and I haven’t faith that the military would take appropriate action.”

 Cameron’s comment raised the judge’s ire, which sadly was an expected result from raising the issue in the first place. Which made his next comment even more distasteful: “I have also asked that a review be made of all recruitments of powered individuals be conducted. I’ve been made aware of blatant coercion and pressure applied through the misapplication of civil law, such as immigration and landed refuge’s status. All to bolster the militaries ranks with mutants. My case is among those the RCMP will investigate, and I’ve volunteered my services in that regard.”

 The judges paled at the revelation. But nevertheless, the lead judge commenced with her duty: “We will render a judgement at this time, in light of the evidence received.”

 “Firstly, we extend apologies to Inspector Burke, and in kind every member of the RCMP who have served alongside military personnel in peacekeeping and wartime deployments.”

 “Secondly, we are obliged to drop the Insubordination charge leveled by Captain Anderson. We have been unable to determine what rank Mr. Burke should have been afforded, a records search has been undertaken to seek prior instances of cooperation between our respective organizations. It was a grievous injustice for Inspector Burke to have been relegated to the most basic rank in the military.”

Cameron refrained from letting his guarded expression fall, lest he be viewed as weak. Rather he simply nodded his acceptance and stayed seated to await what came next.

 “With regards to the charge of Desertion, also levied by Captain Anderson upon receiving the Inspector’s report, this too, was mistakenly laid, and hereby dropped.”

 Cameron needed to keep his composure, two out of three ain’t bad, but with one still left – it was enough to result in a harsh sentence.

 “We had dissent upon arriving at a decision over Dereliction of Duty, we do not recognize a Memorandum of Agreement as a suitable replacement to an official induction into the military. But, in consideration that no other RCMP officer has ever needed to make such a declaration in the past, it is, in our opinion, an overzealous application of a DoD requirement to protect all who share in military actions.”

 “We are referring the enlistment and ensuing interpretation of the alleged agreement to undergo a full legal deconstruction of the terms and conditions as listed. We will wait for a completed legal opinion before a final judgement is given.”

 “We are adjourned.” Called the lead judge, striking her gavel to officially end proceedings.

 Cameron breathed a sigh of relief, he’d been exonerated of most of the charges, and a reprieve from having his bank accounts frozen. He congratulated Mr. Paulson and Mike Williamson – their help had made the whole ordeal less painful.

 As the trio exited, the Colonel would lead the legal proceedings against Cameron approached, she asked to speak with Cameron. “Young man, The DoD is wondering if you would be agreeable to an arrangement similar to the one you presently have with the RCMP? Being on-call, but with the military?”

Cameron didn’t hesitate: “I must refrain, as I doubt there will be another alignment of our objectives, also I am resistant to the possibility due to prior entanglements having proven fruitless and futile.”

 “We have need of individuals with talents such as yourself.” Replied the Coronal.

 “Of that I have no doubt. Regrettably, I have found your organization to be both dishonourable and untrustworthy. I shall decline any further association. However, should you ever see me coming in the future, I suggest you run.”

 

Passing Wind Ranche, Southern Alberta.

 Whateley was shut down for a two-week school break, enough time for Lynn to get home and reconnect with her parents. Cameron was invited to join her, but had pressing matters to deal with first in Ottawa, and he had wanted to spend some time in Prince George with friends there. But promised he would make an appearance.

In fact, when hearing of Lynn’s plans, Cameron volunteered to get a Teleporter to take Lynn home, which was sweet, and something Lynn begrudgingly accepted – the closest airport was in Calgary, and the growing hatred towards mutants had made travel into Alberta a painful experience – one to be avoided if at all possible.

 A few days in and Lynn was finally starting to feel relaxed, her own bedroom, her mom’s cooking, her dad’s corny jokes, it was home. The only thing missing was Cameron, of course forgoing dad’s dreadful jokes went without saying, no degree of precognition could prepare you for when he dropped one of those stinkers.

 One thing Lynn had wanted, no - needed, was to have a long heart to heart talk about Precognition with her mom, the questions Tanya Nelson had asked opened up so many doors that it had Lynn puzzled. Surprisingly, many of the same questions were also on Terry Franklin’s mind.

 They had been at it for hours, each sharing thoughts and ideas about the how’s and why’s of Precognition, it was enough for Doug Franklin to say he was going out to spend time with the cows – they would be better company.

 With just the girls in the house, Terry got serious: “Lynn, you’ve been upset since you got home. What’s wrong?”

 “Mom …” It was a tough subject to broach, and Lynn wasn’t sure she about revealing what weighted heavily on her heart, but it was a big part of the reason she’d chosen to come, rather than be with Cameron. “I’ve been hanging around with young girls for a time now, and – well, each of them has had their periods, even Charlotte who’s a couple years younger than me. I still haven’t.”

 “Lynn, some girls are late bloomers”

 “You’ve said that before mom. I wanted to be sure, see if maybe something was wrong.”

 “Oh dear. I’m sorry.”

 “I got an exam. They confirmed I’m all girl, but …” Lynn looked at her mom’s green eyes and the emotion in them froze her mind and tongue.

 “Go on,” encouraged Terry.

 “I’m sterile,” burst out Lynn, finally getting it out in the open.

 “How can they be sure?”

 “They did an MRI, I haven’t any eggs in my ovaries.”

 “But …”

 “Think about it Mom, I wasn’t born a female, I never had the female bits to begin with. So, I can’t have children.” It was a statement of fact, but still Lynn was shaking from having to explain what was wrong with her.

 “Honey …” started Terry, building up a way to console her daughter.

 “You wanna know what’s funny? The idea of having a baby scares me to death, I should be relieved. But …”

 “Every girl is scared about being a mother.”

 “That’s just it Mom: I’m not a girl. Inside, under this wrapping, I’m still a guy.”

 “You will always be you, it’s just - you’ve been acting feminine, so I thought…”

 “You nailed it: acting. My life is nothing but a big fat lie. Everyday I look in the mirror and all I see is another lie, and you know how hard it is for Were to lie. You’d be amazed how easy it is to fool people – they want to see a pretty girl, and on the surface that’s what they get. Did I tell you I was asked to be a model at Whateley? That’s not gonna happen.”

 “Did something trigger these feelings?”

 “When Tanya asked if there were any physical changes when I started to get premonitions, I just about slipped and told her just how much of a change I experienced.”

 “Have you talked with Cameron?”

 “Mom, I don’t know what to do. Cameron is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, he’s sweet and caring, honest and gentle, he’s the type of girl I could have really fallen for. I though I knew what I was getting into. I had it all planned out - by choosing him as the Golden Eyed Man and marking him, all the pieces lined up perfectly.”

 “But?

 “I never asked Cameron what he wanted. I just went ahead and did what I’d decided upon,” confessed Lynn. “What if he wants kids? What if he wants a big family - in a house with a picket fence, a dotting wife. I can’t give him that.”

 “Baby. Life is an exercise in give and take, if you both give more then you take that’s how a relationship works. So, give Cameron a chance, don’t just give up on him. I bet he’s hurting too.”

 “Is that precognition? Cause I haven’t seen anything to tell me what direction to take. What happens if Cameron feels I pointed him down a dead-end street, one without children, and doesn’t want me around anymore?”

 “That doesn’t sound like Cameron, he doesn’t just give up on people.”

 “I hope you’re right.”

 Lynn answered the phone after the first ring, she was waiting beside the phone – not for long mind you, only a minute or so.  “Hi Cameron” she said, she didn’t even need to look at call display to know who it was. Her Precognition gave her a heads up of what to expect.

 “Hi Lynn. How’s it going?” Asked a chipper Cameron.

 “All good here, how about for you?” Lynn hadn’t received much detail – just enough to say Cameron had been on an emotional rollercoaster.

 “Ottawa went about as expected, so another crisis averted. Marcus and Grace are doing fine, little Mark is a going concern, cute kid.” Lynn’s heart sank hearing Cameron’s comment but held her composure as Cameron continued: “The Trifecta of Trouble arrived safe, their plane landed in Edmonton, but they didn’t need to disembark, so no issue. I’ll tell you about it when I arrive, still good for me to visit?”

 “Of course. Dad can’t wait to unload his latest feeble excuse of a joke on you.”

 “Oh joy,” cringed Cameron. “The Teleporter will be picking me up in a couple minutes. Anything I should bring?”

 “Just yourself.”

 Lynn and Cameron volunteered to stay behind when Doug and Terry announced they needed to go to town on a supply run. It was a nifty plan, having someone stay around  home in case Alan and Ella showed up early. It was the opportunity Lynn had sought to have some alone with Cameron. The wink given to Terry may have been an indicator of collusion between them.

 Sitting at the table, they played a game of gin rummy. Pitting a PreCog: who knew what was coming, against someone with enhanced vision: who could see each cards value – it was a not a game of chance, every move was calculated and strategic. Which brought its own measure of fun.

 Speaking of being strategic, So to was the question Lynn put forth: “Do you want children?” Direct and to the point was typical of Lynn, unfortunately it could be construed a number of ways.

 Cameron tightened his lips and drooped his head in a downcast manner. When he did look at Lynn again, he had tears running down his face, saying: “I’m sorry, I don’t.” His whole being trembled, as his countenance begged Lynn’s forgiveness and understanding.

 Trying to avert calamity, Cameron quickly explained: “I grew up dreaming of the day I’d be a mother. But that dream died after I got poisoned,” admitted the boy. “After the sex surgery Dr. Samuels warned me that my DNA was compromised. It means that - if I have a child, they most likely would suffer from mental or physical deformities. I can’t do that – can’t risk that, it wouldn’t be fair.”

 “I didn’t realize,” for it to then dawn on Lynn, “Is that why you’ve never tried to revert back to being a girl?”

 “I tried,” admitted Cameron. “But I couldn’t find any undamaged DNA to use as a blueprint.”

 “I’m sorry,” commiserated Lynn, realizing she wasn’t the only one hurting.

 “Me too,” sighed Cameron, it was tough to talk about, he might be resigned to the new reality of his life, but it came with a hefty price tag. Cameron felt compelled to explain further: “Did you ever see the pictures in biology class of mutated fruit fly’s, how it takes several generations for the fly to become normal again?”

“Yeah, why?”

 “That’s me. I’m damaged goods, any children will carry that damage. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.” Confessed Cameron, who after a few moments - still with tears in his eyes looked at Lynn, and asked: “How many kids do you want?”

 “There was a time I though two kids sounded right, just like my brother and me. But that was before I changed into a girl, since then, the very thought of having a baby freaked me out something fierce. And now, since I found out I can’t have children,” Lynn paused before saying anything more, her emotions a jumble, she watched Cameron for an indicator - receiving only a look of concern. She forced herself to continue: “I’d hoped you wouldn’t be disappointed.” Lynn looked again at Cameron begging for a reassurance, winning a smile. “Seems we’re a better match than either of us realized.”

 Cameron debated if he should speak, deciding it worthwhile: “I need to mention something else: It may not be wise for us to consider raising a child in a world that’s on a crash course with disaster.”

 It took the conversation off topic, but Lynn was curious, and it was her worst personality fault. “Do you know something I don’t?” 

 “Many people are choosing not to have children. It’s the single greatest non-confidence vote a person can make about society and government in general. Deciding not to propagate means populations are dropping. It’s like people are in expectation of critical times.”

 “That doesn’t answer my question?”

 “You’ve mentioned before that when exploring different precognitive paths, most end abruptly in a black morass. I wonder if people sense a bleak future ahead.”

 “I hadn’t thought how an uncertain future might be a reason to not to have kids,” pondered Lynn. “Obviously, I’m going to need to try harder scouting out which paths lead somewhere.”

 “How do you decide which path to take?”

 “I don’t have a simple answer, sometimes its easy - minimize potential damage; the fewest casualties is a good metric. Other times: best outcome, will folks be happy with the results.”

  “Does that include yourself?”

 “Not always,” confessed Lynn with a hint of a cringe. “At times extenuating circumstances muddy the water. Like choosing you, I didn’t know if you’d accept me or not, or be willing to help the Were.”

 “But you committed yourself and are locked into a bond with me. Didn’t your happiness impact your choice?”

 “A sacrifice needed to be made, doing so saved countless lives,” explained Lynn, attempting to describe her motives. “I was asked recently if precognition is patterned after the head or the heart. I’m discovering it’s a matter of balancing both and hoping for the best.”

 “So having an insight into the future still relies on guesswork.”

“Nothing is set in stone until it’s in the past.”

 As if on cue, a vehicle drove into the yard. Alan and Ella arrived at the Franklin’s Ranch ending Cameron and Lynn’s battle over the latest hand of rummy. Welcoming the tired couple and helping them get settled after a long trip took precedence

 Driving across the continent from Whateley in a cloth top convertible was an arduous trip in the winter, it had taken them several days to get to Southern Alberta, which included making multiple stops at Were villages along the way.

 A quick update about the ongoing efforts to reclaim infected Were was discussed, which included good and bad news, no huge battles fought only minor skirmishes with patrols encountered recently.

 An ongoing issue was regarding Alan’s status as an outcast, he wasn’t welcomed by most Were, which strained relations wherever Ella went, something Lynn knew only too well about, working with the Council of Were Chiefs as she did.

 The roar of an engine disturbed their conversation, looking through the window Doug and Terry’s truck screeched to a halt. Terry jumped out of the drivers’ seat – which elicited a gasp, Doug typically drove, mental alarms rang.

 Lynn directed Cameron to get changed, no explanation provided, he didn’t even bother asking, just swapped his clothes for his RCMP duty uniform.

 Running out the farmhouse door, Cameron caught up with the Franklin’s. Doug remained in the trucks seat, he was bloodied and concussed, barely cognizant. Giving the man a quick inspection Cameron directed he be laid on the ground, layers of blankets awaited him curtesy of Cameron.

 Doug suffered from multiple blows to his body, cracked ribs and a fractured jaw, he’d taken a beating. Cameron attempted to alleviate his pain and dampened his anxiety by draining off the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Doug calmed and closed his eyes as his breathing evened out into a sedate pattern.

 Cameron attended to the man’s worst injuries, starting with the damaged bones, then the hemorrhaging parts of his body, all told the repairs only took a few minutes, but recover would need plenty of rest. The four Were each took a corner of the blankets Doug rested upon and carried him into the house.

Left alone outside, while everyone else was taking care of Doug, Cameron looked at the Franklin family’s truck – it too had taken a beating, with broken windows and dented panels. How Terry managed to drive it home was truly remarkable without a clear view of the road.

 Cameron set about making repairs, he salvaged what he could, withdrawing from Warehouse materials to renew what was missing, before he could finish, he was interrupted.

 Bringing his attention back into focus upon his surroundings, he was startled to find two RCMP officers laying on the ground next to him. One held a baton in a vise like grip – his muscles tense even though he was out cold.

 Cameron surmised the situation; they had attempted to touch him while he did a deep dive. Too many times, he had been rendered vulnerable when looking at the molecular, so he’d begun to draw energy from his surroundings to offset his depletion, surprisingly it included anyone who got close.

 Imparting a slight amount of energy into the two men, Cameron watched the revitalizing of their physical vital signs, he hadn’t drained them completely, but enough to render them incapacitated. It took a couple minute for them to stir and awaken.

  The officer with the baton was the first to revive, he raised his weapon defensively. He was the younger of the two, having the insignia of a constable. He asked: “Why did you attack Sergeant Ambrose?”

 “I did no such thing,” advised Cameron. “She attempted to touch me and paid the consequences.”

 “She was only trying to turn you around, we’d told you to cease and desist, but you didn’t respond to direction.” He accused.

 “I see,” Cameron nodded as the pieces fell into place. “So, you decided that striking me was the best solution?”

 “The situation warranted subduing a suspect performing a crime.”

 “How did that work out for you?”

 The constable looked at Cameron in confusion.

 “Did the fact I’m wearing an RCMP uniform not register?”

 “No, we assumed it to be fake.”

 “You know what people say about assuming,” humoured Cameron. “Can you stand? It would be best to get your partner into your car for her to recover comfortably.”

 With effort the constable regained his feet underneath him, then the two assisted placing Sergeant Ambrose into the police cruisers passenger seat. Cameron handed Constable Matthews his identification, which was entered into the cruiser’s computer for verification.

 The constable’s comment of “Oh crap!” kinda summed things up nicely. He approached Cameron returning his ID and badge trying to apologize. While engaged in the exchange, Sergeant Ambrose awoke, her immediate response was to draw her gun and fire a round at Cameron’s turned back.

The bullet hung in mid air, a mere inch away from Cameron’s torso. Cameron turned around using two fingers to pinch the bullet out of the air. Stepping up to the stunned woman Cameron held it out to her, saying: “This belongs to you I believe.”

 “Who the devil …?”

 “Careful. I’m one of the good guys.” Corrected Cameron, offering his hand he proffered: “Inspector Burke; Special Investigations Unit.”

 “Nobody called in Special Investigations,” she defended.

 “The Franklin’s did. They came right to me.” Countered Cameron

 “What were you doing tampering with evidence?” questioned the senior officer.

 “Repairing a friend’s vehicle. All the damage has been recorded, so impounding it would be pointless, and a further imposition.” Said Cameron, while handing over numerous photographs of the truck’s damages. “Are you taking over the investigation?” puzzled Ambrose.

 “Heaven’s no. That would be inappropriate, given that the Franklin’s are my personal friends. But I can provide assistance, if you require it.” Advised Cameron.

 “No hard feelings?” sought Ambrose.

 “I am obliged to submit a full accounting to headquarters, but allowances are typically given for mistakes made in the field.” Detailed Cameron of his obligations.

 “I’m sorry, I jumped to conclusions.” Admitted the Sergeant.

 “It happens,” granted Cameron. “What happened in town?”

 “We responded to a 911 call, a woman claimed her husband was being beaten to death, then the call was disconnected. When we arrived at the scene an angry crowd claimed mutants had accosted the group – for no reason, after which they then fled.” Both the officers alternately provided the details.

 “Is there any video?” sought Cameron.

 “The store has security cameras. We can arrange to get copies.” Affirmed the constable.

 “Good, otherwise it just becomes a matter of: he said – she said.” Mused Cameron. “Sounds like a clear-cut case of self-defence.”

 “Four men got taken to hospital, we expected ‘your friends’ would need to seek medical attention.” Questioned Sergeant Ambrose.

 “They did, they came to me,” informed Cameron. “Doug Franklin is resting inside. Terresa will be able to provide you a statement.”

 “Will you be present during our interview?” a pointed ask to determine Inspector Burke’s involvement.

 “No, I’ll keep distanced, no point inserting myself anymore than necessary.” Deflected Cameron. “For the record, I am not a mutant, only a gifted human. In case preferential treatment is called into question over my actions.”

 Terry was standing on the porch; she was wrapped in a warm blanket with her arms visible but tightly hugging her body. She beckoned the police inside, offering them coffee.

 Cameron remained outside, resuming the work on the Franklin’s truck, and then began making repaairs around the yard.

 Almost an hour later Lynn walked the two officers out and joined Cameron as the police car left. Her comment of: “Looks good.” Could have been about the truck repairs or the handling of events, either way, her smile was warm and assuring.

The Franklin’s house eventually settled down after the harrowing events of the day. Doug was sore but feeling better, despite the black eyes. Terry had recounted the experience several times, each telling lessoning the hurt, but healing would take awhile. It was shattering to deal with unmitigated violence, and she still felt she should have done worse to those Humanity First morons.

This attack hadn’t been the first encounter the Franklins had had in recent weeks, but never this severe, it foretold of the worsening environment for mutants in Alberta. 

Terry, likely passing along a premonition, said: “I was thinking it isn’t safe for Doug and I to remain here any longer; they have a target painted on us. There will be repercussions.”

 It left a sour note on the rest of the evening.

 Doug suggested everyone relax by watching a movie, he picked out his favourite Christmas movie. They had just gotten into the main plot of the story when Cameron’s satellite SI phone rang, the movie was paused as he answered.

 “Outlook.” It was standard practice to use codenames when answering a call.

 “Cameron, I’m glad I found you.” It was Ken, the line must be secure.

 “Hi Ken, what’s up?”

 “We’ve just gotten word that Dr. Diabolik is looting Calgary. Can you respond?”

 “Sorry Ken, I’m in the middle of a terrorist attack on a high-rise tower,” what Cameron had gleaned so far of the movies plot. “Isn’t anyone else available?”

 “Nope, I haven’t found anyone willing to go to Alberta.”

 “Yeah, I don’t blame them. Sadly, it’s a case of: ‘you made the bed – you get to sleep in it’. Talk to you later Ken.”

 Some may claim that Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie – just try telling Doug Franklin that. Cameron may not be able to watch a movie, but sitting next to his betrothed warmed his mind, heart, and body. Besides: it was far better than listening to his future father-in-law’s bad jokes.

Cameron returns in: It Just Doesn’t Matter.