Mind Power Read online

  “Eight months?” said Michael. She was further along than he thought.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” said Pauline.

  “No.”

  Michael didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to explain himself. Standing in the starkness of B10 had taken him back to his early days at Galen House when he was lonely and frightened. Growing up had taken away some of the fear, but the loneliness had somehow got stronger. It embarrassed him to feel that way, but he decided not to block it from Pauline.

  “Fine!” she said, eventually. “You can stay in here tonight, but you’re having the floor.”

  “The floor is fine.”

  “Go back to B10 and strip the bedding, I’m not having you drool on my carpet. And for goodness’ sake, don’t let anyone see you. Some of the perceivers here are new and eager to please. They’ll report me in a heartbeat.”

  The sound of smashing glass startled Michael awake.

  He opened his eyes into the dark of Pauline’s room and perceived the shock from nearby drowsy minds as they were all rudely pulled from sleep. The minds were unclear, indistinct, like the sound of distant traffic.

  Apart from Pauline’s. Her mind was waking, too, and her confusion was loud.

  Michael sat up on the floor and stretched his stiff and cold legs.

  “What’s going on?” said Pauline, stirring in the bed above.

  The room’s only window shattered. Pauline yelled as broken glass cascaded onto her face and a projectile the size of a grenade pushed through the curtains and landed on the floor next to Michael.

  White smoke rose from the grenade like vapour from a frozen packet of food thrust into the warm. Some of it reached Michael’s nose. He choked.

  Gas.

  He picked it up and scrambled to his feet.

  The gas stung his eyes and made them water so he could hardly see. He found his way to the window more by memory than by sight and threw the projectile back to where it came from. As the grenade bounced across the earth outside, it left a trail of white smoke behind it.

  The air outside had the sting of frost about it, but it was cleaner than the tainted air in the room and Michael stayed at the window to breathe in deep. As his eyes cleared, he saw the shadowy figures of people running away. By the time he had reached out his perception, they had gone.

  Behind him, Pauline launched into a coughing fit that retched deep inside her lungs like someone with a disease. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Tear gas,” said Michael.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I was at the perceiver riots, I’m sure.”

  The hubbub of other minds was louder now. More people were awake and more of them were confused and scared. Normally, Michael wouldn’t reach out to perceive them, but it gave him an indication of the extent of the attack. He didn’t know exactly, but it was clear there was more than one broken window.

  Pauline was up and out of bed. Both of them had left some clothes on for modesty, but she still reached for her bathrobe that was hanging up on the back of the door. Michael found his shoes and slipped them on his feet.

  “We need to find out what’s going on,” he said.

  Pauline gave him no argument. They went out in the corridor, lit by the dim lights on night-time setting and breathed in the unexpectedly toxic air. Coughing, Michael strained to look down the corridor to where another grenade-like canister was smoking away among a scattering of splintered glass. The chill of the night breezed in from the broken window next to it.

  Pauline put the sleeve of her bathrobe over her mouth and nose as she tried to control her coughing.

  Michael’s eyes burned like they’d been sprinkled with acid.

  “One breath and run past it,” said Pauline.

  “No, wait,” said Michael. He wrapped his mind around the canister. Its gas could hurt his body, but it couldn’t hurt his thoughts. They cradled the smoke bomb as easily as if he had wrapped his hand around it. With one effort, he willed it into the air and out of the window, leaving a trail of smoke behind it.

  “Come on!”

  Michael grabbed Pauline’s hand as they ran down the corridor towards the communal area.

  The glass of another window shattered ahead of them and another gas bomb landed. It spewed out its toxicity. Michael urged Pauline to keep running ahead of him as he gripped it with his mind and threw it back outside.

  Michael felt the minds of around two dozen perceivers before he saw them all gathered in the communal area, milling in clusters near the entrance with its illuminating porch light. Michael had to pull up his filters to block out their confusion and fear. Some of the other perceivers were young, maybe only fourteen, and they seemed to find comfort in sharing their distress.

  What’s going on? their thoughts whispered. Are we under attack?

  Michael looked around at the members of the Perceiver Corps in their regulation grey T-shirts and sweat pants – recognising a few of them from when he used to live there – until he caught up with Pauline.

  “Any idea what this is?” he asked her.

  “Some of the others think it was soldiers.”

  “We’re under attack from our own people?”

  “But they’re not our own people, are they?” said Pauline. “They’re norms.”

  Norm the Norm came out of his office and ran down the stairs in a surprisingly agile manner. Cooper followed him down in a more measured walk.

  “What’s all this?” demanded Norm.

  A dozen voices tried explaining all at once.

  “One at a time,” he said.

  Norm shuddered as the glass window shattered behind him. A stream of tear gas arched into the room.

  Michael’s mind gripped it almost immediately and threw it back out again. He didn’t think anyone saw. They were too busy being traumatised.

  A woman’s voice screamed through the broken window. “Perceivers out!”

  Other voices joined her in the chant: “Perceivers out! Perceivers out!”

  They dissipated soon enough as the gas overwhelmed them, but as their voices dimmed, the sounds of them banging against the sides of the building took over.

  “Everyone into the dining area!” Norm ordered and herded his charges into the back like a farmer herding sheep.

  It was then that Michael saw Katya emerging from the accommodation wing. Somehow, presumably in her haste and confusion, she had put her maternity dress on backwards. She clasped at her pregnant belly as she walked uncertainly towards them.

  Michael elbowed Pauline and pointed. Pauline went over to help her.

  “What’s happening?” Katya’s Russian accented voice cried above the voices of the perceivers. “You said I would be safe here. I would have been safer in Russia!”

  Cooper walked up to Norm, looking as flustered as the rest of them. “What the hell’s going on here, Macaulay?”

  “It looks like the protestors have got in,” said Norm.

  “Into a secure army base?” said Cooper.

  Michael stepped in. “The other perceivers think it’s the soldiers,” he said. Then remembered to add, “Sir.”

  “I thought I saw civilians,” said Norm.

  “The others think the attack was started by soldiers, maybe they let the protestors in.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying, Sanderson?” said Norm, using Michael’s surname like he used to when he had been stationed there.

  Another gas canister sailed through the already-broken window and bounced towards them.

  Outside, the crowd – because it was a crowd, judging by the large number of minds at the edge of his perception – broke into a chant again.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Michael. “We’re sitting ducks.”

  Cooper pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. “Let me make a call.”

  Cooper took a couple of steps away from them and dialled. After a moment, he could be heard screaming down the phone, “Then wake her!”

  M
ichael turned and looked at the other perceivers huddled around the dining tables. Sitting on one of the tables away from them was Katya, with Pauline standing beside her holding her hand. He turned away from them and walked back towards the entrance.

  “Sanderson, where are you going?” yelled Norm.

  Michael ignored him. He got close enough to the window to perceive their individual minds. What he sensed was not a collection of individuals, it was a joining together of hatred and excitement fuelled by adrenaline. Like the emotions that had spurred on norms to beat up and, in some cases kill, during the perceiver riots.

  The people outside were not a crowd, they were a mob.

  Michael went back to Norm the Norm. “Have we got any weapons here?” he asked.

  “Locked up safe in the armoury,” said Norm.

  Michael sighed. The armoury on the other side of the base, on the other side of the mob. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Not that we can use them on civilians.”

  Michael was more thinking of firing in the air to scare them off, but the idea was a non-starter if they couldn’t get to the weapons easily.

  “We’ll just have to wait it out,” said Norm. “I’m sure they will get bored eventually and go away.”

  “I don’t think so, Sergeant,” said Michael. “You didn’t perceive them.”

  “If you have any ideas, Sanderson, don’t keep them to yourself.”

  He had an idea, but it wasn’t something he could pull off by himself. “Can you drive one of those big army trucks?” he asked.

  “It’s been a while, but yes,” said Norm.

  “Good, I think I’m going to need you.”

  Fourteen

  Feelings of shock and alarm rose from the other perceivers.

  Oh, my God!

  What happened?

  Pauline, are you all right?

  Their thoughts whispered around Michael’s perception.

  He followed their gaze to the back of the room where Pauline was staggering in with blood running down the side of her face.

  Katya, of all people, ran to her aid. She took her arm and helped Pauline to sit on one of the dining chairs.

  Michael dodged his way through the other perceivers to get to her. He perceived she was dazed, there was pain in her head from the wound, but she wasn’t badly hurt.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Pauline clasped her hand to the source of the blood at her temple. “I tried to go out the fire door at the back,” she said. “But they were waiting. One of them threw a stone.”

  Katya took Pauline’s hand, pulled it away from the wound and looked at it closely. “It is shallow cut, just in bad place,” she said in faltering English. “Will be okay.”

  Michael frowned. “Why didn’t you perceive them before you went out there?”

  “I did!” said Pauline. “But you know how difficult it is through a wall. I perceived one or two, I thought it would be fine, but there were others out of my range …”

  Michael sighed. “At least we know getting out through the fire exit is not an option.”

  Pauline grabbed his arm and pulled him close. She whispered, as using her thoughts to tell him something privately in a room full of perceivers was not going to work. “I perceived them when I was out there. When they realised that gassing us out wasn’t going to work, they decided to regroup and try something else. I was on the verge of perceiving deep enough to find out what they were planning when the stone hit me.”

  Norm came striding down the middle of the hall. Some of the perceivers who had clustered around Pauline parted to let him through. “What’s going on?”

  “Pauline found out we can’t go out the back way,” said Michael, hoping that was explanation enough.

  That message had obviously got through to the rest of them as the chatter in the room was getting louder, while Michael tried not to listen to the increasing number of anxious thoughts being exchanged.

  The sergeant, despite being a norm, must have sensed it too. He turned to face them.

  “CORPS, ATTEN-TION!”

  His booming, authoritative voice cut a silence through their chatter. The perceivers who were standing, snapped their heels together and pulled their arms straight to their sides. The ones who were sitting on tables jumped off and did the same a second behind them. All expect for Pauline who stayed sat on her chair cradling her injured head, and Katya who took no notice of the shouting man.

  Even Michael, despite having left the Corps, felt himself straightening up a little.

  “Foster!” said Norm, looking straight at a boy of about fourteen years old.

  “Yes, sir?” said the boy.

  “Get the first aid kit.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The boy ran off.

  Norm turned to the others. “The situation in here is stable for the moment, as long as we don’t do anything stupid like trying to run out of fire doors unprotected. But things outside have the potential to become volatile, which is why I am ordering a withdrawal.”

  During his speech, Cooper approached by weaving himself in and out of the perceivers standing to attention. He was still holding his mobile phone.

  “I’ve just spoken to the base commander,” said Cooper. “She’s going to order some of the soldiers to clear the protestors.”

  A voice rose from the perceivers standing to attention. “Is that the same soldiers who started the attack and let in the protestors in the first place?”

  Unspoken thoughts exchanged between the perceivers:

  They did?

  Didn’t you perceive them?

  Every time one of them looks at me, I perceive they hate us.

  Michael recognised the one who had spoken out as Kev. A boy who had become a man since they had last seen each other. Kev had grown at least a foot, there was a layer of stubble on his chin and his body had filled out with enough muscle to suggest he hit the gym on a regular basis.

  Cooper looked aghast at Kev, but the teenager did not wilt under his gaze. Because, Michael perceived, Kev knew he was right.

  Michael took a step closer to Norm. “I need their help, if you’ll let me.”

  Norm nodded. “Meanwhile,” the sergeant informed his charges, “Sanderson will lead the withdrawal strategy. Sanderson?”

  Michael looked at the perceivers around him. The older ones knew him – and, perhaps they trusted him – the younger ones didn’t know him at all. “Shall I tell you the plan or would you rather perceive it?”

  The ones who weren’t Kev didn’t have the audacity to break the silence of standing to attention, but their thoughts were not so shy:

  Perceive it!

  Perceive it!

  Perceive it!

  “Okay,” said Michael. “But be gentle.”

  He slowly pulled down all his blocks. He felt his fellow perceivers, eager to know what was going on, rush in on his mind. He had to use filters to push them back a little, but once they had all settled, they explored the thoughts in his head without hurting him.

  He imagined the whole intricate plan. In his head, it executed itself smoothly. He tried not to think about the possibility that real life might not be so accommodating.

  When he had finished, he pulled up his blocks again tight, but he still felt their curiosity, and their uncertainty, bumping up against them.

  “You just have to trust me,” said Michael.

  Pauline, now with dried blood down her cheek, spoke out to help him. “What do you need everyone to do?”

  At that point, the Foster boy came running back with the first aid kit.

  “You sit there and get that cut seen to,” said Michael. “The rest of you, go to your rooms, strip the bed and bring back the bedsheets.”

  They hesitated.

  “You heard him!” Norm shouted.

  Some of the younger, inexperienced ones shuddered at his voice and scampered off, followed by the more cynical older ones.

  Kev paused next to Micha
el before he left for the accommodation wing. “Peter was right about your telekinesis, then?”

  “Yeah,” said Michael. “Sorry about what happened to Peter.”

  Kev shrugged and his mind sent out a vibe that he didn’t care about it anymore. At least, not on the surface. “Peter did what he did to himself.”

  Pauline winced as the Foster boy dabbed at her temple with something white, which was probably a gauze pad soaked in antiseptic, by the way she recoiled from it. Katya snatched it from the boy’s hand and began cleaning the wound in a more gentle manner.

  “Foster!” said Michael.

  The boy turned to him; startled.

  “Can you go and get me a bucket of water?”

  “Yes, sir!” said the boy without question and scampered off again.

  Michael glanced across to Kev. “How do you fancy ripping the first sheet that arrives into strips?”

  “For makeshift gas masks?” said Kev. “No problem.”

  After less than five minutes, Michael was standing by one pile of white bedsheets, a smaller pile of cotton strips and a bucket of water. The perceivers queued up to take a strip, dunk it in water and have it ready to put over their nose and mouth to prevent them breathing in too much tear gas.

  “What the hell are you planning, Sanderson?” said Norm, suddenly at his side.

  He had forgotten that the sergeant wouldn’t have perceived the plan. “I need you to be ready to run,” said Michael. “Can you do that?”

  “I’m not dead yet,” said Norm.

  It made Michael chuckle. It released the tension. A little. “I also need someone to open the entrance door for me. I can’t do this alone.”

  “I can do that,” said Kev.

  Michael felt guilty about putting him in harm’s way, but it would be the same for anyone he asked. “Thanks.”

  Outside, the protestors still chanted and banged on the windows and walls.

  Michael turned to the perceivers. “Here we go.”

  Some of them put their makeshift gas masks to their faces.

  Michael kicked the pile of bedsheets closer to the entrance. He wrapped his mind around them until he held them completely in his thoughts. “Kev, now!”