Alex Armstrong: Awakening (8 page)

“Babies.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Testing began in the maternity ward of every hospital in the country. It was simple, really. A new test was added to the battery of tests already administered on newborns. This one identified any baby with those key genetic markers. The results were never reported. Hell, no one even knows this test existed. And that includes the doctors.” He chortled at the thought.

“So, guess what they found?” he said. “They found that a
lot
of babies met the parameters. Well, I say a lot. They found about one hundred per year. Still, that number seemed simply astronomical when you consider that only a handful of these people existed at the time.” He was pacing faster now, his long strides getting longer as he got into the rhythm of his speech. “Each of these babies was logged into a database and periodically observed under the guise of some doctor’s visit.

“But there was a problem. None of these babies ever showed any signs of telekinesis! So now you had a whole bunch of high-level government scientists trying to find a way to induce telekinetic ability. Do you still follow me?” he asked the class, his nasally voice getting higher.

Alex nodded along with the other students, but he wasn’t really listening. He was still picturing that video of Chris making his toys float all over the room. Was it really that easy? There had to be limits. Weight limits, for sure. Luke Skywalker struggled the first time he tried to lift the X-Wing. It didn’t even look easy for Yoda. Alex was remembering that scene on Dagobah when he realized what was happening and shook his head. What an idiot. His brain was so filled with pop culture knowledge that he was struggling to think rationally. This wasn’t a movie. For all he knew, there could be people out there lifting buildings with their minds. Alex cut his eyes at Eva. He noticed her leaning a little bit toward his chair and it made him smile.

“So, it was at this time that those government scientists split into two groups. The first kept trying to induce—and some would say exploit—the power of telekinesis in all those children. And then there was the second group of scientists, led by our own Christopher Joyce, who wanted nothing more than to determine the
cause
of all these babies developing telekinetic potential. Because by all accounts, they should not have found that many babies with the special genetic markers.

“Let’s talk about Chris’s group first. They went straight to the source, interviewing the moms who gave birth to these special babies. They found—after a lot of digging and detective work—that every one of those moms was on Pregnacal, an over-the-counter migraine medication made specifically for pregnant women. It was the only common thread. Subsequent controlled tests proved this finding. They even determined the odds: If the mother was on Pregnacal, there was a one in twenty thousand chance that the baby would be a latent telekin. Better odds than winning the lottery,” he said, his thin smile returning.

“But their work wasn’t done. Pregnacal had been on the market for nearly twenty years. So, they started searching through the past, poring through sales records and backlogs of information. Amazingly, they were able to track down almost every mom who took the drug while pregnant. And then they tested their kids,” he added. “They found hundreds of kids under the age of nineteen that had the potential for telekinesis.” He stopped pacing and a thoughtful frown came over his face. “Kind of scary, when you think about it,” he said, to no one in particular.

“Now, back to that other group of scientists, the ones trying to create a telekin army. They piggy-backed on the findings of Chris’s team and developed a pill with a concentrated dose of Pregnacal’s active ingredients. And it worked! They tested it on a dozen high school students who were known to have the correct genetic code and it worked every time. Each of these kids started showing signs of telekinesis.

“They had pediatricians across the country ready to prescribe these pills to the kids in their database. But at Chris’s urging, they reconsidered. He told them that instantly creating hundreds of young telekins would be dangerous. Chaotic. Plus, with that many telekins running around, how would the government keep the project a secret?

“Thankfully, President Joyce can be a persuasive man. He developed the idea of a special college for telekins, and promised that
he
would create the curriculum, under one condition: that Pregnacal be removed from store shelves, immediately. Chris argued against artificial genetic manipulation because, really, that’s what was happening at this point. He said that not only was it morally wrong, but we didn’t know the long-term side effects. And at the time, he was right. Thankfully, though, it now looks as if all of us unnatural telekins are healthy.” He looked down and patted his stomach. “Well, relatively healthy.

“Chris also argued that it would be hard to police all of these newly developed telekins—that their powers must be cultivated in a controlled environment. And that’s why, if any of you looked ahead in your course catalog, you saw a variety of philosophy and ethics courses in your junior and senior years.

“The government—specifically the military—wasn’t in love with the idea of giving up Pregnacal. But they knew having Chris involved was the only way this project would work, and they wanted access to these kids as quickly as possible, so they compromised and fast-tracked the college. Pal Tech was born. That brick campus with the two guards? That was the first campus. This one was built some years later.”

Professor Startsman made his way back to the desk. He faced the class and placed both palms on the desktop and with a grunt of effort lifted himself to a sitting position. “Pregnacal was removed from store shelves quickly, as promised. However, online merchants continued selling the medication. We believe it was completely eradicated from society a few years later. The year of your births marked the final year newborns were tested for telekin genetic markers.” He stopped here, seeing the obvious question form on everyone’s lips. He squinted. “Yes, you represent the final freshmen class at Pal Tech.”

9 - Pill Poppers

9

Pill Poppers

Professor Startsman grabbed his tablet and began reading with the blissful detachment usually reserved for the toilet. He seemed to ignore the restless silence taking hold of the room.

Not that it lasted long. Only minutes went by before a few of the bolder students made their presence known with a timely zipper pull, the opening of a carbonated drink, or maybe just an extra-loud yawn. This emboldened others, leading to a few whispered comments, which in turn led to a few whispered conversations. Voices rose beyond whispers, and soon even the most timid students offered their two cents to the nearest discussion. Now Blue101 had the steady din of a bistro.

Startsman slid his tablet into his briefcase and got to his feet. He wedged his hands down his pants and tucked in his shirt tails, never taking his eyes off the class. “Settle down, everyone. Settle down. Okay, now that you’ve had time to talk for a few minutes…‌are there any questions?”

Alex looked around and saw that most of the students were avoiding eye contact.

“
No one?
My God, did I just give the perfect lecture? Hold on a second.” He pulled out his phone. “I need to call Chris. He won’t believe it.”

Alex raised his hand.

“Well, damn, I thought I just made history. Looks like someone wants to pull the rug out from under me.” Professor Startsman turned to Alex and his crow’s feet softened and his voice became a little less piercing. “I’m kidding, of course. Go ahead, son. Ask your question.”

Alex could feel eyes on him from all corners of the classroom. He immediately regretted raising his hand. He hated speaking in front of large groups of people. “You mentioned that the scientists developed a pill all those years ago for students like us. Do we still take the same pill? Are there…‌injections of any kind?” Alex couldn’t shake the image of being probed and prodded on some alien spaceship.

“Essentially, yes,” answered the professor. “You’ll still take a pill, although we’ve tweaked the formula and the dosage over the years. I think what you really wanted to ask, though, is if there are any procedures
beyond
the pill. And the answer to that is no. I assure you; we will not be poking you with needles or drilling into your brains. Good question. Next?” he asked, scanning the room.

“Are there side effects with the pill?” said a voice from the back.

“You mean, besides telekinesis?” he answered with a wry, tight-lipped smile. “Yes, there will be some side effects. We’ll talk about them later.”

Alex saw a headful of curly brown hair shift in his peripheral vision as Patrick leaned forward and raised his hand. “Are we still funded by the government?” he said.

“Ah, another good question.” The professor hitched up his pants and retightened his belt. “Yes, Pal Tech is and always has been partially funded by the government. Technically, I am a federal employee paid by taxpayer dollars. Although, since they would never acknowledge this, I would like to think that my employment status falls into a nice big grey area in which I am quite comfortable.

“Any guesses as to who else will be government employees four years from now?” Startsman said, smirking. “That’s right…‌all of you.”

There were a few gasps and then they were back in the bistro.

Professor Startsman’s voice cut through the chatter. “Folks, calm down. Please, calm down. Just let me explain. Every time I utter that line it starts a commotion. It’s like you all picture yourselves as some counter jockey at the DMV,” he said. “So let’s get this straight now; whatever idiotic notions you have pictured in your minds, I want you to just wipe them out. Go on. Out with them.

“Now, remember how I told you President Joyce was working in special-ops missions?
That’s
more along the lines of what you’ll be doing. Those of you who are gifted enough to finish at the top of your class will become Palkins. Agents within the Palkin program travel the world performing covert, peacekeeping missions. Training begins right here on campus, in what’s known as the Greyjean program. These are our most elite students; I’m sure you’ll notice them arriving this weekend.

“Other grads are working at the local level alongside law enforcement agents. Those who do not have the gift for field work, or simply choose not to pursue that lifestyle—because it is a choice—will be placed in a supporting role, working in the background to keep our Palkins safe. Some of you may even be placed in one of our
other
industries…

“Whatever path you end up choosing, know that we do not require a lifelong commitment. If you want to enter the private sector after your service, you are more than welcome. Most, however, choose to serve their entire careers. Partly because it’s fun working alongside like-minded people, but mostly because you will be extraordinarily well-paid.” There were no whispers after that line.

Alex looked at Eva. She was leaning forward with her hands on her knees, bouncing her legs. “You all right?” he asked.

She grinned and her green eyes sparkled. “Can you believe it? A part of me keeps thinking some camera crew will rush in here and everybody will break out laughing and they’ll tell us this is all some big joke.”

“It’s no joke.”

“I
know
. It’s crazy!”

“You nervous?”

“Heck yeah I’m nervous. But I think I’m more excited than anything.”

“Me too. And I’m not really the adventurous type.”

“Not yet.” She elbowed him in the arm.

“Yes, you in the back,” Professor Startsman said, pointing.

“Why don’t I ever hear about this place in the news?”

Startsman smiled. “Oh, I like answering this one. It gets asked every year.” He took a deep breath and scratched his belly.

“Well, the most obvious answer is that we do our best to remain hidden. I’m sure you noticed the sod roofs? I assure you, those weren’t planted for any tree-hugging reasons. They’re there because they act as camouflage from anything flying by overhead. Even better, though, is our deal with Google. We don’t show up on Google Maps. If you go by the satellite imagery, we’re in the middle of a dense forest.” He looked around the room. “I see some of you checking it out right now. Go ahead. Pretty neat, huh?

“Now, onto a more…‌touchy subject: What happens when someone actually spills the beans on this place?” He arched his eyebrows. “It has happened, you know. A few times, actually. But nothing’s ever come of it. No investigations. Nothing. And that’s the power of having friends in high places.

“If you don’t believe me, consider this: Have any of you ever heard of those wackos who claim that they’ve been abducted by aliens?” There were a few nods around the room. “Good, good. Well, what if I told you some of those people were telling the truth? You’d have a hard time believing me, wouldn’t you?”

A roomful of heads nodded in unison.

“And that’s precisely the point. Those who actually have been abducted might know information that the government doesn’t want to get out, so all kinds of dirt is dug up on these people to personally discredit them. I know; it seems terrible. What am I saying? It
is
terrible. But life is unfair.

“Meanwhile,” he said, stressing the
e
so the word cut through the room, “some real-life crazy people are paid to get in front of a camera and tell a similar story, thereby discrediting the story of the one person who’s actually telling the truth! Kind of fun, isn’t it?”

Professor Startsman paced across the room again. “The reason I bring up the alien abductee example is because a similar thing would happen should one of
you
ever decide to go rogue. For starters, you’re legally obligated to keep Pal Tech a secret. Remember that waiver you signed at registration? But if one of you does get a wild hair up your butt, and you
do
decide to approach a major news outlet, be prepared to become the equivalent of that poor alien abductee. And it’s a sad thing. Trust me, going through life being known as a wacko is not good for your well-being.”