Authors: Adrian Howell
“Over and out.”
I switched the transceiver off and sighed. This was going to be a very long week.
Alia gave me a worried look and asked into my head,
“Did I say something wrong, Addy?”
Chapter 11: The Puppeteer
“Cookie to Jacob, Silver is detecting movement. Targets inbound. We estimate contact in approximately nine hours. Over.”
Mark, who was holding the transceiver, looked at us to see if we had heard that. Terry was grinning from ear to ear.
Mark replied, “Roger that, Cookie. Rabbit will want regular updates from here on in. Over.”
I narrowed my eyes at Terry. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Aww, come on, Adrian,” Terry said cheerfully. “Learn to live a little!”
I stared at her. “Living requires staying alive, Terry.”
We had been in the rat house for three days now. When I wasn’t practicing CQC with Terry, I whiled away the hours playing board games with Alia or chatting with Mark.
Though my sister still occasionally forgot to use our call signs on the transceiver, we let her speak with Cindy every day. Alia spent a lot of time standing at the front window, waving to Cindy and practicing her mouth-speaking over the air. Even when she was excited, she talked slowly and deliberately, carefully sounding out each syllable, and still made many mistakes. Though I had already gotten used to hearing Alia speak with her mouth, I felt it was unfortunate that anyone who didn’t know her would assume she was unintelligent. At least she was no longer shy about speaking in a loud voice. I often wondered if Cindy could, from diagonally across the street, directly hear Alia shouting into the transceiver. Even if she couldn’t, Cindy was probably still hearing Alia telepathically as well.
Our house only contained the four of us so, to the casual observer, we probably looked like a normal family. Watching the Knights’ sedan pull into their driveway with takeout food for more than twenty people always made me chuckle. Mr. Baker had assured me that we wouldn’t be staying long enough for the neighbors to get too suspicious. In this part of town, people generally kept their noses to themselves.
But even in a decrepit, rat-infested house, you can quickly fall into a routine. A routine of CQC, board games and microwave cooking of the kind Cindy would never allow into our penthouse. Mr. Baker’s announcement had broken that routine. “Targets inbound.” They were coming.
“They’ll never get this far,” Terry said with a disappointed frown. “But if they did, at least we’ll be ready.”
Terry already had her sheathed jo stick strapped onto her back and was wearing both of her pistols in her waist holsters. It was a “minimum precaution,” as she put it. The battle, which would happen miles away, was still nine hours off.
I watched Terry recheck her pistols. “You really hate the Angels, don’t you, Terry?”
“And you don’t?” asked Terry.
“Well, of course I do,” I said reluctantly. “But I’m not out for their blood or anything.”
“Are you calling me bloodthirsty, Adrian?”
“Well, you certainly don’t seem to mind them dying.”
Terry groaned loudly, rolling her eyes as she said, “Are we going to have another argument about sparing people who want us dead?”
“Not if you shut up,” I muttered under my breath.
I’m sure Terry heard me, but she pretended not to, and instead walked to the window. It was still only about 7pm, but the March sky was completely dark. Looking out into the twilight, Terry said, “I wish they’d get close enough to see, but I doubt it. It’ll be over before the Angels reach the town’s edge.”
With the exception of Alia, who fell asleep in my lap, we stayed up all night. Cindy and Mr. Baker, who remained in the other house while the Knights set up their ambush outside the town, relayed hourly updates until about midnight. Then we contacted them every ten minutes, and then every five. Mr. Baker, getting tired of repeatedly answering “No change,” had Cindy talk us through the mission’s progress while he coordinated the attack with the on-site Knight leader. The Angels were coming faster than we had expected. Cindy told us that they would probably step into the Knights’ trap at around 3am, if not sooner.
Every time Terry got restless, Mark called to Cindy, saying, “Jacob to Silver, come in. Rabbit requests update. Over.”
And Cindy would invariably reply, “Silver here. No change. Over.”
2:40. Although I knew that I was well out of harm’s way this time, it was still a hard wait that reminded me of my last day at the Psionic Research Center. Waiting was bad for the heart. Perhaps sensing the tension in the room, Alia had woken a few minutes ago and was stretching her arms.
“Can I talk to Cindy?” Alia asked aloud.
“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea right now, Ali,” I answered, not wanting to miss any updates just so that my sister could play telephone. “Let’s let Mark handle the radio, okay?”
“Oh, come on,” whined Alia. “Please?”
“Sure, Alia,” said Mark. “Hold on.” Pushing the talk button on his transceiver, Mark said, “Jacob to Silver, Gretel wishes to talk. Come in, Silver. Over.”
We waited for a second, but Cindy didn’t reply.
Terry looked up excitedly, saying, “Maybe the battle has started.”
Mark said again, “Jacob to Silver, please respond. Over.”
All we could hear was a quiet burst of static.
I said to Mark, “I thought Mr. Baker was handling all the mission stuff. Why can’t Cindy talk?”
Terry immediately turned on her transceiver and said, “Rabbit to Silver. Come in, Silver. Over.”
No reply. Terry switched frequencies to Mr. Baker’s channel, saying, “Rabbit to Lancer One, come in. Over.”
Still there was only static. Terry tried again. “Rabbit to Lancer One. Come in, Lancer One. Cookie, are you there? We can’t hear Silver. What’s going on? Over.”
After a few more seconds, Terry, her voice becoming just a bit panicky, said into her transceiver, “Rabbit to Lancer Two. Lancer Knight Command, come in. We’ve lost contact with Lancer One. Do you read? Over.”
Lancer Two, which I guessed was the on-site attack team, didn’t reply either.
Terry turned to me and said, “Adrian, try yours. Try calling Ms. Gifford again.”
I did, but the result was the same.
“Why can’t we reach them?” I asked.
“There must be some kind of interference,” Terry said slowly, but I knew she didn’t believe it any more than I did. The house was right across the street. How could there be any interference?
“I’m going over there to see what’s what,” said Mark. “Terry, please stay here.”
Looking out the window, Alia said excitedly, “They’re coming here!”
A moment later, Cindy and Mr. Baker were banging on our door. Mark ran to unlock it.
“What’s going on?!” I demanded as the three adults rushed into the living room.
“No time to explain!” Mr. Baker said hastily. “Evac, now!”
“Forget the bags!” Cindy said sharply. “Let’s go! Now! Right now! Come on!”
Terry had already drawn both of her pistols and was holding one in each hand.
Cindy, eyeing Terry’s weaponry, said, “Terry, hand me one of those guns!”
I stared at Cindy. Terry took a step forward to offer her a pistol, but I quickly jumped in between them.
“Don’t give it to her, Terry!” I shouted.
“Why not?” Terry asked in surprise.
“Because Cindy would never ask for a gun!”
Even as I shouted that, Cindy made a dash for the door. Mr. Baker jumped on her from behind, knocking her down and shouting at the same time, “They have a puppeteer!”
I had less than a second to wonder what, in psionic terms, a “puppeteer” was. Suddenly my right arm jerked up, and I realized in horror that I was aiming a telekinetic blast at Alia. I tried to shout a warning, but my mouth was wired shut. Alia was slammed against the wall as my blast hit her in the side. My palm had been open when I blasted her, so it wasn’t a focused shot, but at this range it hardly mattered. Alia crumpled onto the floor, blood-soaked and unmoving.
“Move and I’ll kill her!” I heard myself growl as I pointed my right index finger at Alia’s limp body. A focused shot at this distance would probably crack her skull open.
Cindy was no longer struggling against Mr. Baker, and I said to them in a deep, raspy voice that I hadn’t even known I could make, “Ms. Gifford has an appointment with my master. No one is going anywhere. If anyone so much as twitches, the kid dies.”
“Alright,” Cindy said quietly. “Just stay calm. Please don’t hurt anyone else.”
I snarled at her, “Silence, Gifford!”
All the while, I was screaming in my head,
This isn’t me! This is not me!
I had known about controllers who could manipulate thoughts, but a puppeteer didn’t care what I was thinking. He was doing all the real thinking for me now.
Through the corner of my right eye, I saw Terry, still holding her pistols in her hands. Terry was my one hope. Terry would stop this. Terry would kill me. Better that than to let Cindy walk right into the Angels’ hands, or to let me kill Alia. For all I knew, my sister could already be dead.
Come on, Terry,
I thought desperately.
Do it! Shoot me already!
I heard Terry pull the hammer back on one of her pistols.
That’s right, Terry! Shoot me! Now! Before it’s too late!
I slowly turned to her, my right index finger still pointed at Alia, my focused shot ready to put a hole through her head.
“Put the guns down, girl,” I sneered at Terry, “or we’ll see how good a shot this little destroyer really is.”
I sensed something behind my eyes. It was the puppeteer. He was looking through my eyes at the scene before me. I had to turn away from Terry. I had to turn my head so that Terry could act. But it was like pushing against a brick wall. My head wouldn’t turn. I had no control over any part of my body except for my panicked, screaming thoughts.
“Put them down, girl!” I said again.
Terry carefully lowered her pistols.
“Throw them down,” I commanded. “Both of them.”
Terry did, gently plopping both guns onto the floor.
“Step back slowly,” I said, and Terry complied. I couldn’t believe it. Terry, who had once told me that I should have sacrificed Alia to save myself, was giving up! It couldn’t be happening like this.
My eyes glanced at the guns on the floor.
Pick them up!
I thought desperately to myself. If only I touched a gun, I’d be drained. My power balance was such that it wouldn’t make me fall over anymore, but Terry wouldn’t miss the chance to knock me down. The puppeteer seemed to know this, because my body ignored the guns on the floor and kept my finger pointed at Alia. My sister still wasn’t moving.
“Everyone stay calm,” I said in my unnaturally deep voice. “We will be here in a moment.”
“Adrian?” Cindy called softly. “Adrian, you have to fight it.”
I looked back at Cindy, shaking my head and smirking at her.
The next moment, I was knocked forward as Terry slammed her jo stick into my back. Turning swiftly, I released my focused blast. It tore through Terry’s left forearm and punched a hole in the ceiling as Terry fell on me, screaming. Terry’s blood had splattered onto my face, and I felt my psionic power fade. But the puppeteer was still in control of my body. Terry grabbed me by my hair, and I saw a brilliant flash of light as she rammed the back of my head against the hard wooden floor. I couldn’t see straight anymore.
Chapter 12: Ups and Downs
I was standing in the middle of a busy highway. In a tunnel with no end in sight. Cars and trucks were zooming past me at breakneck speeds. They had mouths, filled with razor-sharp teeth. They were laughing. They were screaming.
I turned around and found myself in a cavern. Around again, and I was in a dark alleyway with flickering neon lights. There were screaming voices everywhere, echoing, laughing, raging.