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Part 5 Lukas left Emanuel's instruction room, feeling the familiar dull numbness settle over his mind. After three years it wasn't even an effort to disconnect his mind from his body any more. Oh, there were moments when it crashed over him, when the reality of the hell he was living in became inescapable, but for the most part his life had become dull routine. Get up, work out, go to breakfast, go to class, practice shooting and punching things, go to lunch, get fucked by Emanuel, work out more, eat dinner, go to the group telepathy class, study, go to bed. Repeat as necessary. He snorted to himself. He was becoming cynical in his old age, he decided. What a shame, considering he was only barely seventeen. He knew the other Instructors had noted the change in him - he'd once been a bright, bubbly personality, a little reclusive due to his need to keep his mind separate from those around him, but fairly outgoing. They all attributed the change in his manner to Arun's death - after all, even though they hadn't been close, they HAD known literally everything about each other, up to a point. That sort of loss could be traumatizing enough to make a cheerful young boy turn into a sullen young man, they'd decided, and he'd never bothered to disabuse them of the notion. It wasn't worth the arguments - or the punishment he would inevitably have received. He rarely even thought about Brad anymore, except to wonder what he would say to his old friend when the man came to find him after he'd graduated. "Sorry Brad, I can't help you - I'm too busy taking it up the ass from Emanuel." Or perhaps, "Sure, I'd love to help you screw the fuckers over - just hang on a sec while I pull my pants up." Not that it would probably matter. Brad had loved him - if he HAD loved him, and that last whisper hadn't just been a product of Lukas' own imagination - with the uncomplicated passion of an eighteen-year-old for the only friend he'd ever had. Really, Lukas had been so young then, it had probably been more affection than lust. Unless, of course, Brad had been as sick as Emanuel, but Lukas didn't think so. At least, he didn't like to think so. By the time Lukas graduated, Brad probably would have found real love, or at least have realized that someone he'd known five years previously as a scrawny little thirteen-year-old was hardly the person he wanted by his side for the rest of his life. Besides, the truth was, Lukas was beaten. He just didn't have the strength of will to go up against the authority of the Institute, as evidenced by his continued uncomplaining abasement to Emanuel. What the hell would Brad want with a whiny, pathetic little whore like him? Briefly, and not for the first time, he contemplated taking the same escape Arun had chosen. He was certain he could get around the Instructors' precautions against attempted suicides - after all, he was the only student in the complex who could shield himself well enough that the Instructors couldn't find him. All he had to do was find a gun or sharp knife, and an out of the way place... He shook his head and sighed. To the best of his knowledge, he was Emanuel's only playtoy. The man preferred to concentrate his efforts on one person at a time. If Lukas killed himself, the bastard would turn to one of the younger telepaths to ease his 'needs', just as he had turned to Lukas when Arun had died. Lukas found that he was unwilling to subject another of the telepaths to such a horror. He was already dirty, already used - let him take the abuse, and leave the others innocent. Of course, when he graduated Emanuel would likely choose another, but at least he could spare them as long as possible. He paused at the junction of the corridors, picking up on a feeling of unease and fear in the air. Sending out his mental 'feelers', he probed around him for the cause. One of the telekinetic Instructors hurried by him, and he picked the man's mind clean in the few seconds it took him to pass by. This one thing he could be proud of - he was still the best fucking telepath in the Institute, past or present, maybe the best in the whole world. His cat-green eyes widened as he sorted through the information he'd picked up from the Instructor's mind. One of the Institute's larger enclaves of psychic soldiers had been bombed during an important meeting, taking out the entire Asian force in one critical blow. Japan, China, Korea, eastern Russia, Vietnam, Thailand, and countless other countries were now without agents - the Institute was blind, deaf, and helpless in those areas until they could replace the field agents. There were only two people currently ready to graduate, Lukas knew - either they were going to have to sit on their asses for several years and pray no one marched in through the massive hole in their spynet, or they were going to have to graduate some of the students early and spread their experienced officers thin. He bolted for Dekane's office, already picking up the telepathic murmur from the Instructors that classes were suspended for the rest of the day. Dekane was still his favourite Instructor, the one he went to whenever he had a problem - at least, any problems that weren't related to Emanuel. If anyone would give him the straight story, it would be Dekane. He skidded to a halt in the half-open doorway, catching Dekane's eye where he was pacing back and forth in front of three of the other Instructors. Dekane motioned for him to come in and close the door behind him, and he did so. "Lukas, I had a feeling you'd show up first. And I'm sure you already know the problem." Lukas nodded, and Dekane grunted. "You and five of the others are being sent out to cover the gaps. We're moving as many experienced personnel out there as fast as we can free them from their current assignments, but we're going to be spread thin for a long while to come. Too many holes, and not enough people to plug 'em. So you and the others are going to have to be on your toes out there, understand?" Lukas nodded, picking up what Dekane hadn't said. Some of the Instructors were being sent out as well - all of the advanced trainers, including Dekane himself. Lukas was pleased to realize that meant Emanuel wouldn't have a chance to get at the younger telepaths when Lukas left; he would likely be shipped out with the others. With all the top students graduated early, there would be no one at the Institute who would require his specialized training abilities for some years to come. "You're going to be going to Japan, Lukas," Dekane continued, and Lukas blinked. He knew only a smattering of Japanese, mostly swear words, picked up from the Japanese clairvoyant Hideaki. It was going to be difficult for a redheaded, green-eyed Caucasian with no sense of the language or customs to get by in a country that was so politely hostile to all foreigners. Dekane nodded, seeing the look on his face. "Yes, it will be difficult, but I'm sure you'll manage. I'll be accompanying you, and the Institute has arranged for a non-psychic interpreter to meet us there. Go pack your bags for a field trip - we're leaving in an hour." An hour. Not much warning, but then graduates rarely got warning. It had been a minor miracle that Brad had been able to find him in time to say goodbye, that day so many years ago. It felt like another lifetime; he'd certainly been a different person then. He nodded, and spun on his heel to head for the barracks at doubletime. This was his chance to get out of here, at long last! He certainly wasn't going to do something stupid like miss his plane. He had his bag packed in minutes. Everyone older than fifteen always had a field bag mostly packed - everything but rations and clean clothes. The Instructors loved to take them on surprise overnight trips, sometimes as much as a week long, and usually gave them only five minutes or less to ready themselves. Anyone who was caught short enjoyed a miserable few days with no food or equipment of any kind. The Instructors were not forgiving of mistakes. Hefting his duffle with all his worldly possessions - a gun, a knife set balanced for his hands, ammo, a week's worth of clean underwear and two changes of uniform, razor, toothbrush, and a couple of textbooks - he glanced around the room for the last time. He expected to feel nostalgic, or maybe even a little homesick; this was, after all, the only home he could remember having. He found that he had no particular attachment to it after all. It had only been a place to live while he learned everything the Institute had to teach him, and now he was going to put that knowledge to use. Grunting, he shifted his bag to his back and left the room without a second glance.
The next two weeks were a flurry of frenzied activity. No one seemed to know if they were coming or going, and it was as disorganized as if one of the first-year students had been running it. Lukas learned several new sets of swear words just from listening to Dekane deal with the officials of the various countries they had to pass through. Free of Emanuel's influence at long last, his original personality was slowly beginning to emerge. He knew Dekane had noticed the change, but the firearms Instructor declined to comment on it, probably (rightly) figuring that Lukas wouldn't offer any kind of explanation. He revelled in the freedom to be himself again, and slowly started to believe that maybe life didn't have it out for him after all. The end of the two weeks saw them settled in Japan, having received a hasty briefing from the harried agent who had been covering the island nation until they arrived. Lukas was amazed to discover what a hotbed of corruption and iniquity Tokyo was - most of the major underworld Yakuza lords were also prominent politicians, funding their campaigns with dirty money. They had half the police force and most of the judges in their pockets, and had no fear of being brought to justice for their actions. "This first assignment won't be difficult for you," Dekane explained as they unpacked their bags of equipment. Short-handed the Institute might have been, but under-equipped it was not - they had everything from a tiny two-shooter semiautomatic to grenade launchers. "More of a test run. The brass is doing the best they can to break you in easy, despite the fact that they need us on the job as quickly as possible." He flashed a grin at the German boy. "Never let it be said that the Institute doesn't take care of its own," he added heartily. Lukas nodded, and finished stowing the last of the ammo in its padded cases. He turned to the small table on the other side of the room. On it laid a slim file folder, which Dekane had received from a courier just a few minutes before. It contained all the information they should need to carry out their first assignment. He felt excitement building in his chest, and pushed it down firmly. He knew enough about mind control to keep his emotions from carrying him away, and he wanted to be perfectly clearheaded for this, his very first real assignment. "No guns on this one," Dekane said, seeing the direction of his glance and putting away the last of his own gear. The rueful tone of his voice matched the disappointed look in Lukas' eyes, and they grinned at each other for a moment, brought together by their mutual love of guns. "The security is too damn tight. This is a simple hit-and-run, the target is a politician who's been snooping around too close to the Institute's areas of influence. He's suspected to have been in on the bombing that took out our Eastern agents." He flipped open the folder and motioned Lukas over. The lanky German boy draped himself into one of the chairs, studying the pictures intently. They showed a well-appointed ballroom, full of the kind of casual elegance and luxury common to the wealthy. Exorbitantly dressed men and women were also in the photos, and many had suspiciously beefy men lurking in the background near them. They had so many muscles they couldn't cross their arms properly, Lukas noted with amusement, though all of them seemed determined to try. "Bodyguards," he concluded, and Dekane nodded. "Good, you're on the ball. Yes, most of them have at least one or two bodyguards, in addition to the hotel's security. That's why no guns. We could sneak them in as a last resort, but it's not necessary. The kill will go to you by preference - to get your feet wet, so to speak." He blinked. "No guns, no knives either I assume..." he paused and Dekane nodded confirmation. "Presumably we're not to be noticed making the hit, so... I'm to take out the target telepathically?" He bit his lip and looked down at the pictures again when Dekane nodded once more. He knew the theory behind killing someone telepathically - you just overloaded them with projected thoughts and images until their mind blew out. He had just begun learning the technique with Emanuel in the last few months, practicing first on rats and mice and slowly moving up to larger and more intelligent animals. Ordinarily the Institute arranged for people who wouldn't be missed to act as the final test subjects for those particular lessons, but Lukas' graduation had been so rushed that he'd never gotten a chance to try it. When it came right down to it, he'd never killed another person, telepathically or otherwise. He felt a moment of unease, but dismissed it. Of course he could do it - it was what he'd been training all his life to do. What was the life of one pathetic little Normal, scurrying about his world blind and deaf to the larger possibilities around him? Lukas had been one of the best students at the Institute, and he was determined to be one of the best field agents, as well. He fixed his normal sarcastic little grin firmly in place, telling himself firmly to dismiss his misgivings. "I never did know," he said musingly, looking up at Dekane. "What is your Gift?" Dekane barked with laughter. "Straightforward, aren't you? Well, at least I know I can always count on you to get right to the point. I'm a precognitive, but my range is short as shit. Can barely see past the end of my own nose - mostly just gives me a sense for when I'm in a bad situation. I was a disappointment to the Institute - until they discovered my secondary Gift, if it is one. An affinity for firearms like none they'd ever seen. I did a few years as a minor field agent, then they set me to training you kids." He paused, then continued more seriously, "Lukas, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you were always my favourite student. I know you, you probably picked it out of my head day one. A teacher waits a lifetime for one student who shares their joy, their love of their craft, as well as their talent at it. Some teachers never find that one prodigy. I've had lots of kids who were excellent shots, some even better than you. But you're the first I've had that understood the art behind it." Lukas blinked at him in shock as he drew breath. "I never had children, though the Institute encourages us to do so - psychics often breed true, and it means they have the children from birth to train. But if I'd had a son, I would have wanted one just like you, boy." He clapped a heavy hand on Lukas' shoulder. The seventeen-year-old sat there, wide-eyed, staring at his teacher. He tried to speak, choked, and tried again. "Thanks," he muttered, blushing and staring down at the table in embarrassment. Dekane nodded briskly, then stood. "We'll say no more about it," he replied, and Lukas knew that he meant it literally. The subject would never be raised again, and if he tried to bring it up he would be rebuffed. The Institute did not allow close relationships between its agents, and that was the end of that. But it instilled in him a burning desire to always make this man proud of him, proud to think of him as a son.
Lukas circulated through the crowd, feeling distinctly out of place. The well-dressed men and women around him moved in little cliques, drifting from one circle to another without effort. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and he, as the newcomer, was not welcome. He stood out like a sore thumb, towering over almost everyone in the room and all but shining in the lights with his pale skin, carrot orange hair and emerald eyes. There were a few other foreigners in the room, but they were all well known and accepted. To make matters worse, he barely spoke the language at all, and was clearly uncomfortable in the constricting black tie evening clothes. After twelve years of loose-fitting uniforms designed for combat, the restrictive shirt, bowtie and cummerbund were disconcerting. Across the room he spotted Dekane with their interpreter, speaking to a cluster of grey-haired gentlemen. They'd been here for half an hour, and still hadn't spotted the target yet, a Nishimura Seiichiro, wealthy scion of Tokyo and prominent politician. Lukas was beginning to be bored as well as uncomfortable, and he silently urged the man to hurry up and get there so they could get this over with. As if answering his mental summons, he spotted Nishimura entering through the grand double doors, his wife on one arm in a pretty evening gown. *Target at three o'clock,* he projected at Dekane. *I see him,* the older man replied. He had no projective ability whatsoever, but Lukas was more than strong enough to pick up the thought from his mind. *He's heading for the boardroom - what's he planning?* Lukas took a moment to sift through the man's easily accessible surface thoughts. *He's late for a meeting with five of the other men,* he replied excitedly. *It's something to do with the Institute, but he's carefully not thinking about the details. Do you think he knows we're here?* Dekane considered it while excusing himself from the conversation to drift after their target. *No, I think they've just learned the hard way that even thinking about the Institute sometimes brings them down on your head,* he answered smugly. Lukas shadowed his mentor, half a room away. *That's perfect - we'll wait until he's in there, then you can strike. Check the others' minds as well, and if they're involved get them too. The brass will be pleased.* Lukas felt a tingle. If he could take out several of their opponents tonight, instead of the single target that had been projected, it would look VERY good for him. And Dekane would be proud of him, surely. He quickened his step, not so much that his haste was noticeable to those around him, but wanting to be certain to reach the boardroom at the same time as Dekane. They 'ran into' each other just outside the oak panelled doors, in a pre-arranged 'discovery' of another English-speaking party-goer. They chattered away about inconsequential things, Lukas devoting only a fraction of his attention to the conversation. The rest of his powerful mind was ranging into the room beyond them, searching for meaning in the ever-shifting thoughts and emotions of those within. *They're definitely discussing the Institute and the bombing, but I can't make heads or tails of it without going deeper into their minds,* he finally told Dekane in frustration. *They're speaking in some kind of code, and they're even thinking in it! I can pry it out of them, but it will take time and the others will realize there's something wrong.* *Don't bother,* Dekane instructed him. *They're involved, that's all we need to know. Blow them out, Lukas.* Still chatting about the abominable way foreigners were treated, Lukas let his mind sink deeper into the target's. He would focus on the primary target, and let the backwash deal with the others. That way if any of them DID escape, it wouldn't be the one they were actually after. He drifted past images of the man's wife and family, home and business, burrowing into the very depths of his psyche. Slowly, he began to exert pressure - too fast and the death would be investigated for foul play, too slow and the man would realize something was wrong and fight back, but if he could get it just right, it would look and act just like an apoplexy or an aneurysm... He found himself drifting within the man's thoughts, being caught up in random strings of words and emotion. He struggled to center himself, steadying his breathing as Emanuel had taught him and focusing on his goal. Still the mind he was in tugged at him - this was the deepest he had ever been in a human's mind, and he was losing himself. Frantic, he tried to pull back and discovered he was trapped. *Dekane!* he projected, panicked. *He's overwhelming me!* *Steady, Lukas, don't lose control now.* Dekane seemed unconcerned with the possibility that Lukas might be the one blown out, instead of the target. Lukas told himself that he was worrying over nothing, and forced himself to concentrate. The pressure against him eased a bit, and he took a deeper breath and tried again. The strain built in the man's mind, and Lukas felt him reach up and press a hand to his temple as if attempting to stave off a headache. Lukas gave a morbid little smile, wishing him luck. This was quite literally going to be the headache to end all headaches. He pushed a little harder, and found the memories and thoughts enveloping him again. His physical eyes widened and went glassy, and he knew he'd dropped the inane conversation with Dekane when his instructor hastily steered him to a seat along the wall and guided him down. He vaguely heard the older psychic explaining that his 'friend' had had a bit too much punch, but he ignored the outside stimulus in his struggle to retain himself. He sent the backwash over the rest of the men in the room, and that helped a little. Now they had to deal with the foreign memories instead of him - they were confused at the flood of alien images, but it wouldn't matter in a moment, because they'd all be dead. He pushed harder, and felt the first synapses start to collapse beneath his mind. It was an ugly process, he reflected with the part of him that wasn't occupied by the morbid task. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill this way very often. In fact, it was downright distressing - he could feel his own heartbeat speeding up to match his victim's, felt his breath coming short and his eyes roll back in his head. More images streamed past him, as he was force-fed the man's entire life and personality. Horribly, he began to realize that they'd made a mistake - this man hadn't been involved in the bombing at all. He WAS investigating the Institute, as were all the others in the room, but it was a benign investigation. They were all related - the main target had a son currently attending the Institute, whom he had given up some years before. He had since regretted the decision, and was expending all of his considerable power and influence tracking the boy down. Why, he was Hideaki's father! They were speaking in code because the Institute had already made two not-so-subtle attempts to end the investigation, and they feared, rightly so, that the next attempt would be fatal. *Dekane!* he called again, desperately trying to pull his mind free of the target's. *We were wrong. They weren't involved with the bombing at all! They're Hideaki's family - you know, the Japanese clairvoyant. They're searching for him, that's all!* It was like pulling himself free of molasses - he kept slipping backwards, trapped momentarily by a particularly vivid image or thought. *Take them out, Lukas,* Dekane responded firmly. Lukas projected shock, and was cut off harshly. *No one goes back to their families. You know that. We have no ties to the outside world, no ties to anything but the Institute. They're not Hideaki's family - WE are. They gave him up legally, and they have been warned not to search for him now.* *You knew!* Lukas realized, stunned. He felt sickened, his stomach churning in time with the turmoil in his mind. *You knew they weren't the bombers...* *Take them out,* came the implacable command, and Dekane's mental Voice was as hard as steel. Lukas abruptly realized that this was his true test - a test of loyalty to the Institute, to discover if he would follow ANY order. For a long moment he debated it. He was loyal to the Institute, he really was! But these people had done nothing wrong. Surely they could be persuaded to leave off without killing them! But if he didn't kill them... what would become of him? Could he really kill them in cold blood, tear their minds apart from the inside out knowing that their only crime was the love of their relative? He tried again to pull free, unable to think with the cacophony of their minds inside his head, and discovered that he was unable to budge. While he'd been thinking, his mind had been sinking deeper and deeper into the man's psyche, and now he was thoroughly trapped. Panicked, he struggled to get out, not caring any more that he was doing damage with his mental flailing. He opened his physical eyes, and discovered to his horror that he was seeing through Nishimura's eyes, instead of his own. He was losing himself, the edges between his personality and Nishimura's blurring with every moment he spent in the businessman's head. It was just like when he'd been trapped in Arun's mind, only worse because he was so much more powerful now. With a scream that might have come from Nishimura, or Lukas, or both, he ripped his way free. Nishimura's body flopped about like a fish out of water, and the backlash caught most of the others in the room. A second circle of mental anguish spread from Lukas in the main ballroom, swamping Dekane and half a dozen others who'd gathered around. He couldn't stop projecting, couldn't get his shields up to harbour him from the chaotic panic around him - his mind picked it up, amplified it, and sent it back out again. In moments the entire crowd was stampeding for the doors, terrified for their lives but uncertain just what the source of the fear was. Many were trampled in the jam at the doors, and everyone was screaming. Every new injury, every fresh death, sent him spinning further into the abyss. It was worse than it had ever been, worse than when he'd taken Fits as a child to escape the pressure of the minds around him. Even that way out was blocked to him now - he was too caught by the pain and fear around him to lose himself in the void. His physical body jerked and convulsed, his mind screaming for help but his throat too raw now to voice the sounds. Instinctively he clapped his hands over his ears, as though that would somehow keep the mental noise out. In a last desperate attempt to save himself from total insanity, he sent the most powerful psychic wave he could produce blasting outwards from himself. Those still trapped in the room fell before his mental scream, their minds blown to pieces by his Gift. Finally, finally, as everyone either escaped through the doors or fell, unconscious or dead, from his psychic attack, his mind quieted enough to allow him to fall into the oblivion he so desperately needed. | |
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