Nick, however, was a quick learner. Based on initial testing, most of his classmates would almost certainly catch up to him over the coming years; several might even surpass him. But right now he was far more powerful than any of his peers…strong enough to knock another twelve-year-old down.
“He started it,” Nick protested in his own defense. “He was making fun of my shoes. So I just pushed him. I can’t help it if I’m good at biotics!”
Kahlee sighed. Nick’s attitude was completely normal, and completely unacceptable. The Ascension Project had two primary objectives: to work with biotic individuals in an attempt to maximize human potential in the field, and, more important in her eyes, to help biotics integrate themselves into so-called normal human society. The students were not just trained in biotic techniques, they were also exposed to a curriculum of philosophical and moral instruction that would help them understand the responsibilities and obligations that came with their remarkable talent.
It was important the children didn’t grow up with a sense of entitlement, or the belief they were somehow better than others because of their abilities. Of course, this was often the hardest lesson to teach.
“Seshaun’s bigger than you, isn’t he?” Kahlee noted after a moment of thought.
“All the boys are bigger than me,” Nick mumbled, crossing his legs. He hunched forward to rest his elbows on the bedspread, then balanced his chin on his hands in an amazing display of the flexibility that all young children possess.
“Before you got your implants, did he pick on you? Did he push you around just because he was bigger than you?”
“No,” Nick answered, rolling his eyes as he sensed a lecture coming. “That would be wrong,” he dutifully added, knowing it was what she wanted to hear.
“Just because you’re bigger or stronger or better at biotics doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want,” Kahlee told him, knowing he was only half-listening. Still, she hoped enough repetitions might get the message through someday. “You have a special gift, but that doesn’t make it okay to hurt other people.”
“I know,” the boy admitted. “But it was mostly an accident. And I said I was sorry.”
“Saying sorry isn’t always enough,” Kahlee answered. “That’s why Hendel put you in lockdown.”
“But three weeks is sooo long!”
Kahlee shrugged. “Hendel used to be a soldier. He believes in discipline. Now let’s check your readings.”
The boy, still resting his chin in his hands, tilted his head further downward to expose the nape of his neck. Kahlee reached out and touched him gingerly just above his collar, bracing against the tiny spark that jolted the tip of her finger. Nick jumped slightly, though he was more used to it than she was. Biotics often gave off small, sharp discharges of electricity; their bodies naturally generated static, as if they had just walked across a carpet in wool socks.
She pinched the skin on his neck between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, while her right drew out a small needle from the pocket of her lab coat. There was a tiny, ball-shaped transmitter on the needle’s head.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready,” Nick said through tightly gritted teeth, and she pushed the needle into the gap between two of his vertebrae with a firm, steady pressure.
The boy’s body tensed up and he let out a soft grunt as it entered, then relaxed. Kahlee pulled an omnitool from one of her other pockets and glanced at the readout to make sure Nick’s data was transmitting properly.
“Did you used to be a soldier, too?” Nick asked, head still bent forward.
Kahlee blinked in surprise. The Grissom Academy was a joint Alliance-civilian facility. Much of the funding came from the Alliance, but for the most part it was modeled after a boarding school rather than a military academy. Parents were free to visit their children at any time, or to withdraw them from the curriculum for any reason. Security, custodial, and support services were provided by fully uniformed military personnel, but the majority of the instructors, researchers, and academic staff were civilian. This was particularly important for the Ascension Project, as it helped allay fears the Alliance was trying to transform children into biotic supersoldiers.
“I used to be in the Alliance,” Kahlee admitted. “I’m retired now.”
A brilliant programmer with a knack for synthetic and artificial intelligences, Kahlee had enlisted at the age of twenty-two, shortly after her mother died. She had spent fourteen years working on various top-security-clearance projects for the Alliance before returning to civilian life. The next few years she had served as a freelance corporate consultant, cementing her reputation as one of the foremost experts in her field. Then, five years ago, she had been offered a lucrative position on the Ascension Project by the Grissom Academy board of directors.
“I figured you were a soldier,” Nick said a little smugly. “You look all tough, like you’re ready for a fight all the time. Just like Hendel.”
Kahlee was momentarily taken aback. She had basic combat training; it was mandatory for all Alliance personnel. But she didn’t imagine herself bearing any resemblance to a battle-hardened veteran like Hendel. The majority of her service had been spent in research labs surrounded by computers and other scientists, not out on the battlefield.
Except for that time you helped Anderson kill a krogan Battlemaster, a small part of her mind chimed in. She tried to push the memory away. She didn’t like to think about Sidon and everything that came after it: too many friends lost there. But with Saren’s face constantly appearing on the news vids over the past few months, it was hard not to dredge the memories up. And every time she saw images of Sovereign attacking the Citadel, she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been some connection between Dr. Shu Qian’s illegal research at Sidon and the massive alien starship Saren had used to lead the geth assault.
“Miss Sanders? I think I’m done.”
Nick’s voice snapped her thoughts back to the present. The transmitter in his neck was beeping faintly.
“Sorry, Nick,” she muttered, withdrawing the needle. Nick sat up straight, rubbing the back of his neck.
She pocketed the needle, then checked the readout on her omnitool again, verifying she had the data she needed. This was the core of her work on the Ascension Project. The newest biotic implants, collectively called the L4 configuration, were equipped with a network of virtual intelligence chips. The VI chips monitored the brain wave activity of a biotic, learning the complex thought patterns of their host and adapting their own performance to maximize biotic potential.
By analyzing the data collected in the chips, Kahlee and her team could also make subtle, customized adjustments to the VI program coordinating an individual’s amps, resulting in even greater gains. So far tests showed a 10 to 15 percent increase in biotic ability over the older L3 configurations in 90 percent of the subjects, with no apparent side effects. But, like most research into the field of biotics, they were only beginning to scratch the surface of what was possible.
Nick lay back on his bed again, drained by the ordeal of having his spine tapped. “I’m getting stronger, right?” he said softly, smiling ever so slightly.
“I can’t tell just by looking at the readout,” Kahlee replied, evading the question. “I need to get back to the lab and run the numbers.”
“I think I’m getting stronger,” the boy said confidently, closing his eyes.
A little alarmed, she patted him gently on the leg and stood up from the bed. “Get some rest, Nick,” she said, leaving him alone in his room.
THREE
As the door to Nick’s room closed behind her, Kahlee noticed Hendel coming down the hall, wearing his customary attire of tan pants and a black, snug fitting, long-sleeved shirt. He was a tall man, a few inches over six feet, and thick through the neck, chest, and arms, with a closely cropped beard and mustache that covered his chin and upper lip but left his cheeks bare. His rusty-brown hair and first name were clear evidence of his
Scandinavian ancestry. However, the darker tone of his skin and his last name, Mitra, hinted at his mixed heritage, and he had actually been born in the suburbs just outside of New Calcutta, one of Earth’s wealthiest regions.
Kahlee assumed his parents still lived there, though they were no longer a part of his life. Her dysfunctional relationship with Grissom was nothing compared to Hendel and his family. He hadn’t spoken to them in over twenty years; not since they’d abandoned him to the Biotic Acclimation and Training program when he was a teenager. The BAaT program, in contrast to the openness the Ascension Project enjoyed at the Grissom Academy, had taken place in a top-secret military facility before it was shut down as a dismal failure. The minds behind the program had wanted the BAaT instructors to act without interference from the families, so they had made every effort to convince the parents that biotics were dangerous. They tried to make them feel ashamed and even afraid of their own children, hoping to drive a wedge between the students and their families. In Hendel’s case they had done a wonderful job.
He was approaching with both speed and purpose, propelled by his long, quick strides. He ignored the children peering curiously out at him from their rooms as he went by, a frown etched on his face as he stared intently at the floor.
Now there’s someone who walks like a soldier, she thought.
“Hey!” Kahlee called out in surprise as he blew past her, seemingly oblivious to her presence. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Huh?” he said, pulling up short and glancing back over his shoulder. Only then did he seem to notice her. “Sorry. In a hurry.”
“I’ll walk with you,” she offered.
Hendel resumed his pace, and Kahlee fell into stride beside him. Every few steps she had to break into a quick jog to keep up.
“You were just with Nick?” he asked.
“He’s sulking,” Kahlee replied. “Thinks you’re being unfair.”
“He’s lucky,” Hendel grumbled. “Back in my day he would’ve gotten a smack upside the head hard enough to make his ears bleed. Now all we have are lockdowns and lectures. No wonder half these kids leave here as arrogant, snot-nosed punks.”
“I think that has more to do with being a teenager than being a biotic,” Kahlee noted with a small smile. Hendel talked tough, but she knew he’d never allow any harm to come to the children he worked with.
“Somebody needs to straighten that kid out,” Hendel warned. “Or he’ll end up as one of those guys who goes into a bar, hits on another man’s date…then uses biotics to knock the other guy on his ass when he takes a swing.
“He’ll think it’s all just a big joke…until someone in the bar freaks out and bashes him over the head with a bottle when he’s not looking.”
Kahlee liked Hendel, but this was an example of his pessimistic, often bleak view of life. Of course there was some truth to what he said—there were biotics who acted as if they were indestructible, blessed with super powers. But there were limits to their talents. It took time to generate a mass effect field, as well as intense mental concentration and focus. Fatigue set in quickly. After one or two impressive displays a biotic was drained, leaving them as vulnerable as anyone else.
There were several documented cases of biotics flaunting their power: cheating at dice or roulette in a casino; altering the trajectory of the ball in the middle of a basketball game; even playing practical jokes on people by yanking their chairs out from under them. And the consequences for these actions were often severe. Enraged mobs had been known to assault or even kill biotics in retaliation for such minor offenses; driven to extreme overreaction by their ignorance and fear.
“That’s not going to happen to Nick,” she assured him. “He’ll learn. We’ll get through to him eventually.”
“Maybe one of the teachers needs to hit him with a stunner,” he deadpanned.
“Don’t look at me,” Kahlee objected with a laugh, taking two quick hop-steps to keep from falling behind. “I never carry mine.”
The stunners—small electroshock weapons manufactured by Aldrin Labs and capable of rendering a student unconscious—were standard issue to all personnel on the Ascension Project; a precaution in case any of the students ever unleashed a serious biotic attack against a staff member or classmate. For legal reasons, all nonbiotic personnel were supposed to carry a stunner while on duty, but Kahlee openly defied the rule. She hated the stunners. They seemed to hearken back to the mistrust and fear prevalent during the days of the BAaT program. Besides, in all the years of the Ascension Project, no staff member had ever needed to use one.
God willing no one ever will, she thought. Out loud she asked, “So where are we headed in such a hurry?”
“To see Gillian.”
“Can it wait?” Kahlee asked. “Jiro’s taking her readings.”
Hendel raised a curious eye. “You’re not supervising?”
“He knows what he’s doing.”
For some reason, Hendel had never warmed to Jiro. It could have been the age difference—Jiro was one of the youngest members on the staff. Or it could have simply been a clash of personalities—Jiro was cheerful, extroverted, and talkative, whereas Hendel was, in a word, stoic.
“I’ve got nothing against Jiro,” he assured her, though she knew that wasn’t completely true. “But Gillian’s not like the other students.”
“You worry about her too much.”
“That’s funny,” he replied, “coming from you.”
Kahlee let the comment slide. She and Hendel both spent a lot of extra time and attention on Gillian. It wasn’t really fair to the other students, but Gillian was special. She needed more help than the others.
“She likes Jiro,” Kahlee explained. “He’ll do fine without you hovering around like an overprotective parent.”
“This has nothing to do with getting her readings,” Hendel grunted. “Grayson wants to come for another visit.”
Kahlee stopped and grabbed her companion by the elbow, knocking the bigger man off stride and spinning him halfway around to face her.
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want her hearing that from you.”
“I’m in charge of security for this wing,” Hendel replied defensively. “All visitation requests go through me for approval.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of denying his request?” Kahlee asked, horrified. “He’s her father! He has rights!”
“If I think the visit poses a danger to the child I can deny a parent’s request,” Hendel replied coolly.
“Danger? What kind of danger?”
“He’s a drug addict, for Christ’s sakes!”
“You can’t prove that,” Kahlee warned. “And you can’t deny his request based on suspicions. Not without getting fired.”
“He wants to come the day after tomorrow!” Hendel objected. “I just need to see if Gillian’s up to it. It might be better if he waits a few weeks so she can get used to the idea.”
“Yeah, right,” Kahlee replied sarcastically. “It’s all about what’s best for her. Your personal feelings about Grayson have nothing to do with it.”
“Gillian needs routines and consistency,” Hendel insisted. “You know how upset she gets if her schedule’s disrupted. If he wants to be part of her life, he can come see her every month like the other parents, instead of once or twice a year whenever it’s convenient for him. These unexpected visits are too hard on her.”
“She’ll cope,” Kahlee said, eyes narrowing. “I’ll tell Gillian her father’s coming. You just go back to your office and approve Grayson’s request.”
Hendel opened his mouth to say something else, then wisely closed it.
“I’ll get right on that,” he muttered, then walked off in the opposite direction, heading back toward the administrative wing of the building.
Kahlee watched him go, then took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Gillian was surprisingly perceptive; she tended to read and react to other people’s emotions. And the girl look
ed up to Hendel. If he’d delivered the news of her father’s trip, she almost certainly would have picked up on his disapproval, and had a sympathetic negative reaction. That wasn’t fair to Grayson, or his daughter.
Gillian’s room was at the far end of the dormitory, where there was less noise to disturb her. By the time Kahlee reached the door, she had plastered an expression of cheerful expectation on her face. She raised her fist and rapped lightly. Her knock was answered not by the girl, but by Jiro.
“Come in.”
The door slid open to reveal Gillian sitting at her desk. She was thin and angular, the tallest child in her age group by several inches. She had fine black hair that hung down almost to her waist, and eyes that seemed too wide and too far apart for her long face. Kahlee suspected she took after her mother, as apart from her slender build she didn’t bear any real resemblance to Grayson.
Gillian was twelve, the same age as Nick. In fact, almost half the children in the Ascension Project came from the same approximate age group. Thirteen years ago three major industrial accidents, each at a different human colony, had occurred over a four-month span. The circumstances were suspicious, but investigations had uncovered no connection between the incidents. Of course, this had done little to quell the conspiracy theorists on the Extranet who refused to believe it was all just a tragic string of negligence and coincidence.
The third accident was by far the most devastating; some reports had initially called it the worst toxic disaster in human history. A fully loaded Eldfell-Ashland transport ship had exploded in atmosphere, killing the crew and spewing a deadly cloud of element zero over the entire Yandoa colony, exposing thousands of children in utero.
While the majority suffered no long-lasting harmful effects, several hundred of the unborn children developed significant symptoms ranging from cancer to organ damage, birth defects, and even spontaneous abortion. However, some good did come from the otherwise tragic statistics: thirty-seven of the exposed children had been diagnosed as not only healthy, but also with significant biotic potential of varying degree. All of them were now here at the Grissom Academy.