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"The Agency: Meeting of Souls "Written By: Karina Pairings 13x6 [eventual], 5xS, 3x4, Others undecided at this time. Warnings: Extreme Alternate Universe setting. Unbetaed, Aussie spelling and grammar, not much else in the early chapters though it will involve murder, stalking and possibly some colourful language down the track. Some Out Of Character depictions are unavoidable considering the alternate universe setting. Rating: M [In Australia that would be mature adult 15+] Not sure with the new rating system about international ratings. Rated for violence and language and adult concepts. Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. That's about as plain as you could say it. Summary: The world took a very different turn with the acknowledgement of psychic abilities and training of select psychic individuals enlisted in elite fields such as law enforcement and politics. A grading system for the strength of psionic abilities was developed and those who were the top of the elite have been dubbed Prime Talents and are highly sought after. Elite institutions have been developed to mark, train and employ individuals with useable psionic talents. The colonies of canon Gundam Wing do exist in this fic and were constructed before the psionic system was founded. With the advent of psionics in open use in society younger people are appearing in positions of power as they are awakening to their abilities earlier and are highly trained in their fields of expertise. Archive: Gundam Wing Universe [gundam-wing-universe.net]
//…// Thoughts
Chapter 43 For all of the years that had passed before her eyes in grand procession, for all of the hardships she had endured during her long life, for all of the joys and the tears, the heartbreak and the ecstasy experienced with each sunrise passing into sunset; for the shared laughter and the tears… She would forever and always adore her grandchildren. It was of no account just how many `greats' could be tacked on to `grandchild'. They were all her children, her flesh and blood, her enduring legacy to the future. Each and every one of them, male and female, was as precious to her as the daughter long years lost to her, whose bloodline continued on in them. These grandchildren who were not children at all but young adults, whom she had sworn to protect and oversee; she had taken them away from all they had known. And she would gift to them a better future than they could hope to dream of as Cousins of the Peacecraft lineage. They had freely chosen to follow her, placing their trust in her above the King who was their kin, and for their faith she would ensure they did not come to regret their decision. Her daughter had died long years ago, so very many years had passed since her passing, and yet still she lived on, watching as her descendants increased in number and flourished in their fertility, safe beneath the protection of a crown. Watching them from afar she had not once regretted her long years or the often painful, and always invasive, procedures. Those sessions with the best geneticists, surgeons and therapists in the ESUN saw her still viable in an ancient body well past its prime, and as strong in her talent as she had been in her prime. Her days might be numbered, she knew they were and she would not fight that moment when it came, but her time was not, as yet, done. There was time to make another play, to set another scheme in motion to benefit generations as yet unborn. No one need ever know whose fingers manipulated so much with precision that exceeded the finest jewellers manipulating the thinnest imaginable strand of precious golden wire into a complex Celtic knot. She did not need anyone to know who laid down the foundations that guided future events. She did not need recognition… or cursing of her name… as a reward. It was something she was capable of doing, she had the will to do it and the fortitude to persevere against opposition, and therefore it must be done. She could hear muted whispers of conversation from all about her. From somewhere behind her the softest strains of an ancient waltz played and the low murmur of amused voices. If she bothered to concentrate she might hear what it was they were discussing, but at present she could not bring herself to stir beyond this level of awareness. There was the steady vibration and muted thunder of the engines underlying all other sounds, and it was that which had lulled her to sleep soon after departing New Port City. Her internal clock informed her she had been sleeping for hours and soon she would need to stir herself, but for now she was content to simply listen and `feel' with her talent. She could hear no sound to suggest dissent; she sensed no overtones of doubt in the mixed auras surrounding her. It was good. It was a quiet sojourn that she needed after the strain of the night's working session and the subsequent succession of disasters and arguments that had followed. She had prevailed in winning freedom for her children against the King and family objections, and whilst she did not know any of these young people on a personal level, she was already gaining respect for them. Trusting her as they had after knowing so little of her, beyond the horrors of her reputation, she would ensure they would never regret following her from their assured security into the unknown. She had never been one to take kindly to idiots and fools, and the two were distinctly different in her opinion. The objections raised against her claiming these few of the ever growing horde she could claim as blood kin, who had shone in her `sight', had been dealt with. She had not hesitated to claim them and they had not hesitated to accept her offer. They had understood each other on a level few but the most sensitive of empaths might have sensed. Objections had come thick and fast from their families, and from Stephan himself, but she had, as she had known she would, prevailed against them. Though they had grown within the protected glasshouse society that was Sanc, and were reared to the isolated formalities of the palace court, each and every one of these children held her legacy. It was in her genetics, in their genetics, and she would not see it wasted. Sharp minds, strong psi potential, and spirits free enough to yearn for something more than the golden cage that surrounded them. Her chosen of them were all strong willed enough to jump at the chance she offered to go beyond the borders of their homeland. Her offer had been accepted by them eagerly, as she had suspected it would be, but it had not ended there, with their willingness to leave with her. It had been no simple matter to extricate them from Sanc in so short a time. Parents had protested, most of them members of the aristocracy of the small kingdom, and in some cases older and younger siblings had protested the separation. She had been required to give guarantees, offer reassurances of safety, protection and employment, for further education in some instances, but ultimately she had gained parental consent for those who required it. A few of their number were legitimate heirs to ancient bloodlines and for them she had held up the example of her Khushrenada, a titled Duke, working in the outside world and content with his lot, managing his hereditary duties with accomplished aplomb. Then, of course, there was the harder battle. Stephan Peacecraft had not been pleased. Not at all. They were the cream of the Cousins, those youngest already in service to the Crown and those coming up through their training to hold ranks of distinction. He had protested, he had argued, he had shouted and he had whispered threats, but in the end he had allowed it. She was a stubborn old bird, too tough to be eaten, and she knew enough of dealing with politicians to manage him. And she had taken no particular delight in reminding him that his efforts would be best directed to putting his house into order. The Queen was anything but amused by the revelations that had taken place during the night, and it would be no easy matter for him to deal with the aftermath. Katherine Weyridge Peacecraft was a prideful woman, strong and her pride would not easily be appeased by the revelations that had taken place. Gabriella took no pride in what had happened, it had been messy, dirty and underhanded, but the dead should have their day, and in this case the dead belonged to her own bloodline. No, she did not regret her action. It was past time the Queen of Sanc learned the truth of what had happened. Katherine, after all, had, unknowingly, been involved in the mess and whilst innocent of the actual deeds, she had a right to know. He had claimed, in a venomous hiss, that none of that mess shrouded in the past was of any concern of hers. How wrong he was. He was a grandchild too, she had not forgotten that, but he appeared to have conveniently forgotten that she was his grandmother. That was the politician in him, conveniently forgetting or misrepresenting the unpalatable. She would have none of that, not from him or anyone else in the wide ESUN. He had certainly forgotten just what it took to deal with her when her ire was raised, and it had been raised during their `discussions' of events taken place more than a score of years ago. As far as she was concerned, he had made his bed years before she had returned to Sanc, giving in to the demands of others, to the deception and the lies. In the interceding years since he had given no hint of regret and she had watched, seeking some sign he would make a move but no, she could see little effort on his part to deal with those mistakes. Not even a token attempt to seal bleeding wounds had been made; he had not sought her out to ask either advice or aid. Decisions had been made, yes, that was obvious. Many decisions had been made, but none of them with her input and there had been no actual attempt to resolve the old issues. No attempt to restore the equilibrium to a neutral standing. No truth spoken in private with Katherine and, if it had not come in twenty years, then it would not come at all without a good old fashioned push in the back. As far as Gabriella was concerned, for that oversight on his part, for deciding that `this' was how events must now progress when the past reared its head to haunt him a few years ago… Ah, he could have contacted her then and she would have acted, quietly, discretely, but no. He had made his own decisions, seeking to hide behind deception and deceit and cover past mistakes in yet another layer of lies. For that he could wallow in the mud that was the quagmire he had made for himself. Sometimes children needed harsh lessons. She could not abide lies and the degree of deceit used to keep what had happened from her in the intervening years, and from the woman who wore the crown, put simply, infuriated her. What had happened then could not, should not, forever lie beneath a carpet of ignorance. Katherine at least deserved to know. None of it was generally known, few even in the King's select inner circle knew of the matter. Indeed it did not need to be announced from the tallest tower for all and sundry to goggle at the idiocy of the upper echelon of society. Spreading dirty laundry for all to see was not her intention. It had never been her intention. The entire sordid mess would remain a secret to the general population of Sanc and to the ESUN at large, but in her opinion that woman had a right to know, and thus she had told her. In private, with discretion, but firmly and factually. He might have thought he could keep the details from her but no one could deceive Gabriella. She had her ways of gathering information and she did not doubt she knew far more of what had happened in Sanc at that time than Stephan himself. And how dare Stephan attempt to lie to `her'. It was the principle of the thing! No one lied to Gabriella. Not for many, many years had someone had the poor taste to outright baldly lie to her. No one did that to Gabriella and escaped unscathed. She could be the original, sweet little old lady, a role that, to be honest, she liked playing. But she was more at home with the persona of the cold eyed executioner she had all too often needed to display to the world. It was no trick of fate that she had such a worrisome reputation. She had worked hard to achieve it and did not appreciate being dismissed as Stephan had dismissed her. His punishment for his trespasses against her, against his Queen, and against the Houses of Volksam and Carruthers, was to put his house into order. No small feat given Katherine's reaction to the news, and, of course, the greater punishment would be that he was to lose the brightest and most promising stars in Sanc… and the brightest of them all currently residing at Tsuberov, to her. That bright eyed boy with the Sexy Eyes would never set foot in Sanc if Gabriella had her way. "Grandmother?" Ah, he was a bright one, the brightest shining of those she had coaxed away from Sanc. She had determined from the moment she had made his acquaintance on her arrival in New Port City that he would be hers. He, like these few others who had chosen to come, would be wasted in Sanc. She would attend to their neglected education, allowing them to surpass what had been planned for them on their births, offering to them the wide world and the colonies if they chose to excel. They were already trained as administrators and had received extensive psi training, but they had not been pushed to excellence and she could not abide such waste. Their fate had been determined, chosen at birth, their designation given, their education planned to the smallest detail and then they were placed in select positions. Hot house flowers destined for the vases of the rich and famous, for the aristocracy of Sanc. Some few of them had been born from legitimate marriage and were trained to succeed their parents, but even then, they were not pushed to excel in their chosen fields. They had not been given the choice to go in any directions other than those Sanc needed. A crime, as far as Gabriella was concerned. One needed to have one's own interests, diversions and sense of achievement at exceeding the goals one set for oneself. "Grandmother?" Adrian Carruthers. Twenty eight years old, accredited and certified as a Level 5 Receiving and Projecting telepath. Initial training performed in Sanc under private supervision, and supplementary training and official certification performed at the Luxemburg Psi Institute. Confirmed favourite of both Stephan and Katherine of Sanc. Pagan had had a marked liking for this one too, so much so that he was as reluctant to part with him as had been the King and Queen. But Gabriella already had plans for him. A brief investigation of his file informed her he had the potential to increase his level 5 certification to level 6, perhaps higher. Beneath her supervision he would be given the chance. From the moment she had laid eyes on him, sensing his ability, observing him with both physical eyes and psychic attention, she had devised uses for him. Occupations that would be of greater benefit and pleasure to him than dancing attendance on his own kin who judged themselves to be better than he. Really as if which side of the bed sheets one was born on really determined ones potential. Sanc's nobility was well blooded by the mixing of so called `Cousin's' marrying into the nobility. The noble houses all kept assiduously maintained stud books in order to keep the bloodlines refreshed, vital and healthy. Gabriella could not abide that stigma. `The wrong side of the sheets', indeed. One made oneself, not one's birth. One should never surrender to the expectation of others but strive to excel, to stride past the limits others set and show to the world the value of one's worth. She had no doubt her grandchildren, would grasp the opportunities she would open to them and stride forward. She had chosen the young adults she could sense yearning for more than what was expected of them; feeling caged, constrained by the walls surrounding them, and not all of them realised what it was that bothered them, merely that they were discontent. These were the grandchildren who felt their gypsy blood the strongest. She would direct and focus that restlessness, but she would always keep an ear focused to determine their content. Discontent she would not abide. Nor was it simply for them to be content. She wanted more for them. Joy, happiness… that was what she desired they strive for. Advancement of their inner self. It did not matter if they failed, it was only important that they try; that they have the chance to try. That was what was important… and what grandchild of hers would ever fail? Ah, she was sounding like a soppy old woman, even to herself. Enough with the introspection on a most unpleasant stay in the palace. Good things had come of it, would continue to come of it, so the unpleasantness could be dumped and forgotten. It was time to start work on those pleasant things for these younglings who placed their trust in her. "Awake Gabriella is." She reached for the seat controls to move her chair into a more upright position only to have a larger, stronger hand settle beneath her fingers. He was kneeling at the side of her chair, bright eyed, smiling and a very welcome sight to old eyes. They were very pretty, these Peacecraft children, no matter what name they carried. Especially the boys. Not that she was prejudiced. "A protein shake and a light meal have been prepared for you, if you are ready for them?" Ready to eat? No, mentally she was far from being ready to eat, but her physical body was ravenous following the work through the night and she was well trained in the needs of the working psychic. She did not `want' to eat, but she needed to, so there would be no protest, no refusal. She would not set a poor example for her children. The private jet was sizeable and provided for her use by Pagan. She was uncertain if Stephan had given instructions for the jet to be prepared, or if Pagan had taken it upon himself to ease her departure from Sanc. Likely her ill tempered descendant who sat upon the throne of Sanc would have best been pleased if she had sat her sizeable posterior on the back of a particularly scrawny donkey and clopped her way out of the country. But then, he might not have wished to burden any donkey with her. After the forceful impact of her visit, and the disruption she left in her wake, a donkey would undoubtedly have been too slow for his liking. She grinned at the thought and just hoped she did not frighten off the young stud now standing beside her as her chair settled into the upright position and she worked her way up from her comfortable slouch in the admittedly very comfortable seat. Sparing a quick glance around the jet as he settled the tray in place for her, she noted each one of them, acknowledging their reception of her wakeful state. All in place, no bright young faces showing obvious second thoughts… Smiling faces and smiling eyes. Good. They ranged in age from Adrian Carruthers at twenty eight years to the bright young Kristiella at a newly turned twenty one. In so many ways the country of Sanc was considered a backwater, and one of the reasons for that was the coming of age for the younger generations still rested at twenty one. In Sanc it was illegal for those not considered to be adult to drink, enter bars, vote or marry without the express consent of parents or a legally designated guardian. Sanc gave certain concessions to visiting younger people given that the rest of the world gave adult standing to sixteen year olds, far too young in Gabriella's opinion, but she did not make the rules… though she rejoiced in the chance to change them. There were in Sanc three of the Cousins currently under twenty one she now had her eye on, and she would follow their development attentively. Sanc bred psychic talent into its children and had done so for centuries, though not always knowingly. The aristocracy of the country were all related to some degree, and their habit of not objecting to young studs indulging their wild oats mixed the gene pool of the common population. Not all of the Cousins were called into service by the Crown, though all were `known' to the Crown. It still amazed her that Sanc had never suffered blood wars over the right to the succession, because of the number of blooded heirs walking around the country. Before she lost her faculties and became just a decrepit ancient bag of bones waiting to die, she really had to spend some time studying just how they managed to keep their Cousins content enough not to cause contention for the crown. Half of the parliament of the country claimed blood kinship to the Crown, up to the sixth generation, and she estimated that a good sixty percent of the staff in confidential positions in the government and the Palace were Cousins. It really could do with her attention to see just how they managed to maintain order, but not today. Unfortunately today she had far graver concerns to attend to. Poking around in ancient history would be a pleasure she must reserve for a later time. Looking over the selection of food laid out on the tray she was well pleased. She could stomach this without a problem and it would do much to replenish her depleted reserves. There was much to do and only a limited time in which she would have to perform satisfactorily. She would require copies of all files pertaining to the case her Naughty Boy had been working on. She did not expect to have a fight with that Une woman who, following their last meeting, would no doubt recall her place. Of course, given his nature her Naughty Boy would refuse to abandon the case voluntarily, or be removed from it forcefully. She would assure him she had no intention of excluding him or replacing him, she would be present to support him, nothing more. And in the process she would teach his employers just how they should be treating a Prime Telepathic Empath. He might not like to be pampered, but there were certain requirements she would insist be met… and it was now clear they would need her assistance with the one they were hunting. Perhaps she might even need to request one or two of the other Prime talents. What had befallen her Khushrenada could happen to any telepath or empath of a high level, but a telepathic empath such as her Khushrenada was the most susceptible. There could be no mistaking the Killer's strength. He was strong, perhaps too strong, and given what she knew of the case it might already be too late to save him. She would try, of course, it was in her nature to salvage who she could, but she would not sacrifice her Naughty Boy in an attempt to tame a Prime level talent gone well out of control. She would not sacrifice her Naughty Boy, or her lovely blonde young stud with the killer blue eyes… or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross the out of control psychic's path. The simple truth of the matter was they had to snare this one, one way or the other, before more people died. Two deaths already she could attribute to this Killer, and she feared there might be more. Certainly there would be more, potentially many more, if they did not locate and contain him soon. He might not have started out to be a threat, a killer, but the path to insanity could be swift indeed when one involved enhancement drugs, psychotropics and no appreciable training or discipline. That was what she feared this Killer was all about. Psychoactive persons, namely psychic individuals, should never mix their minds talent with the use of uncontrolled chemical abuse. There were a few drugs of such a nature used in the training of Psi talent, and those that were considered to be safe for use were under rigid controls by the ESUN's Health Authority. If, as they suspected, an unknown cocktail of chemicals was involved… over recent months it had come to her attention that law enforcement agencies around the ESUN were encountering a growing number of cases involving drugs. The drugs were targeted to the young and foolish and were undoubtedly pushed by a black market reaping copious rewards for their use. It was, much as she wished not to entertain the notion, possible that the source of the drugs was a drug company running illegal experiments using the cocktail. It would not be the first time the general population, the homeless and the disaffected of society, had been used to test an experimental drug base. She needed to know the exact chemical composition of the drugs so that she might determine the source of the poison flowing through to the young. She would know. She must know. These scientists, thugs and crime lords and their pushers had to be stopped before they ruined all of her hard work and dreams to have the future generations of psychics protected from exploitation. It would be best for her to arrange for the files to be waiting for her at her Naughty Boy's residence. He might not feel so threatened by her intervention if she was open with him about her interest in the case. Before she could attend to that she must first settle her grandchildren; quickly, but in no way shorting them of her attention after snatching them from their homes. With them settled and considering what she offered them, she could then attend to her Khushrenada and repair the damages done. She would need to relieve his distress and set him to resting peacefully without the use of drugs to cloud his system. He did not approve the use of drugs any more than she did, and used them only when there was no other option available. In this instance, she was the `other option'. And somewhere in her busy day she must make a stop at Tsuberov and have a few choice words in certain people's ears. Her almost feral grin was hidden from her grandchildren by the raising of the protein shake to her lips, but her eyes danced with an unholy gleam. Oh, she would enjoy her visit to the University Institute. She needed to see Him settled. Assure herself he had taken no hurt from the session she had shared the night before. It would give her the greatest pleasure to revise his work schedule, his training format and, if necessary, toss out any instructors she deemed inappropriate to his comfort. He belonged to her now. He would remain beneath her guiding hand until she was content he was prepared to face the world at large, much as these kin of his would remain beneath her attention. Those persons who had extended their hands to shadow his life from Sanc, and who had thought to rule his life in the future, now realised she would not let go of him. They might yet try a gambit to regain control over him, she would not put that past Stephan at all, but `they' would not succeed. Her hand would be hovering protectively over him. She had an advantage none of them could change. The truth of the matter was that he was not born within the borders of Sanc and, therefore, they really had no claim on him. Even Pagan, whom she did not blame for this mess, though at one time she had, would defer to her will in this. She would not permit any of them to ruin him. "Grandmother?" Pulled back from her speculations dark eyes drifted to the speaker, a dark haired young woman in her mid twenties who had shifted forward in her seat and who looked uncertain. A pretty young woman, it was not just the boys who had remarkable beauty, the long dark hair bringing to mind her gypsy ancestry, though this young woman's complexion was too pale and her eyes were blue, a shade or three deeper than the remarkable Peacecraft blue. "Gabriella is being known to be biting and growling when biting and growling is needed, this is fact. Always more growling than biting, this too is true, but growling wonderfully works most times. Good this is, as `chops'," she clicked her teeth together with a smirk, "what they used to be are not. Biting is effort most days, so saving biting for food Gabriella is. Most days, mind, not all days. Learned long ago Gabriella did that young ones learning nothing they would be if asking questions they do not." The young woman dimpled, blushing lightly, and Gabriella thought that particular look could be a lethal weapon if deployed against the male of the species. There would be few men who did not react to the charm and beauty of her. A light mental probe when first they had met had informed Gabriella of all she needed to know about this one. Her mind was as sharp as a steel wolf trap and just as quick. She had been training to assume a place in the Sancian Parliament and had a natural inclination for politics, skills that would hold her in good stead in the wider world beyond Sanc. "There was not much time for us to talk before we departed, and… well, I was wondering exactly what we would be doing… where we would be going?" She could have them largely prepared to separate from her by the time they landed and Gabriella was well pleased they were attentively curious. There was not an ounce of unease in any of them, only healthy curiosity and a healthier expectation of change. ———————————- He had noticed in the past that some days had a unique life and time all of their own. These days began in a normal enough fashion, then progressed to odd or unexpected, and then time just… slowed down. And the day became odd at best, and other worldly at worst. This day had begun normal enough, he had awoken to a clear sky and, for the early hour, relative warmth. He had hoped to attract Quatre's attention, which would have been easy enough to do had Quatre frequented the cafeteria for breakfast, but these were not normal days. With the group of students staying at the hotel he had come to miss their usual breakfast routine of sitting together on mornings when they had no clash with morning classes. His first inkling that the day would be anything but filled with the usual routine, came with the arrival a professor on his doorstep not five minutes after he had dragged himself out of the shower. A pleasant enough greeting had been exchanged, but then had come the not exactly welcome news he was excused from classes for the day and he would be re evaluated. Laboratory three was his usual training facility, and the staff were his usual group of technicians, but there were a few new additions to his attendants, increasing the working groups numbers, and there was a disturbingly large bundle of notes spread over the professor's personal desk when he had been escorted in to be briefed on the days activities. It had proven to be a long morning, not boring, of course, but long… and the afternoon was not likely to improve his circumstances. There had been little time for him to brood on the possible changes to his life the discovery of the previously unsuspected ability to see the dead would force on him. He could not understand why he had never had any idea that he was a Medium. He had never before seen bodies lurking in kitchen appliances. He did not see dead people shuffling, walking, floating or otherwise moving around in his vicinity. It was just… wrong. There should have been some indication that he had been developing something other than his `long ear'. Regardless of what he thought was right or wrong about it, the fact was that something about his talent had shifted, changed. He had definitely seen that… `person'… he had not a single doubt of that, and… and… He really did not want to think about what he had witnessed, and he knew it was dangerous not to look into a developing aspect of an individual's psychic talent. He had been drilled in that simple truth since his psi talents had first manifested. That he had been summoned for a full days worth of testing to re determine an evaluation of his abilities said a lot about how seriously this unexpected development of talent was viewed. Prime Khushrenada had been true to his word and had arranged for the examination to take place, but he had not been expecting action this quickly. He had thought it would take longer, that he would have more time to come to terms with the idea, but no… Obviously the Prime carried a lot of weight with the Board, and it was a well documented fact that Tsuberov did not allow their students to run around in the public domain if they were considered `unsafe'. Unsafe to themselves or others. Really, he supposed he should have expected action would be quick and decisive. The Prime was not the sort of man who prevaricated and when he made up his mind that something should be done, well, that was that. Tsuberov, of course, would have responded to a `request' from such an elite psychic with all appreciable haste. He liked the red haired aristocrat, he honestly liked the man, though in truth he had not had many occasions in which to speak with him on a personal level. Their relationship consisted primarily of polite nods in passing and the odd spoken greeting, but Mariemaia was a link between them… and he did like his precocious little red haired cousin, who utterly adored her father. The girl constantly talked about the man. She would avail him of her adventures when she returned from her visits with the Prime and spend hours bemoaning the fact that she saw so little of him. She whispered to him in private, and in confidence, that she would really prefer to live with her father than with her mother, and did that make her a bad daughter for she knew her mother loved her? It was the only time he could recall that Mariemaia sounded uncertain of herself. She was precocious, opinionated and far, far older than her chronological years. It was all part and parcel with growing up in the Barton household. He suppressed a shiver, wondering exactly what had been said when the Family had been notified of his change in psi development? He had no illusions as to his place in the Barton fold. He was a lesser cousin, generally considered insignificant on a whole, but useful should a need ever arise. He had been tested, as all Barton offspring were tested, and found to be psi active, so he had been included in the educational program and brought to the attention of the Patriarch. There were no doubt expectations held for him, and every other younger member of the family found to be psi active; that he would be used in the future for the advancement of the Barton Family was a foregone conclusion. He was not the greatest student, being far from a genius level I.Q., but he managed to keep abreast of his lessons reasonably well through sheer hard work, and his psychic ability was rare enough that he had been given over to Tsuberov for training. He had no illusions about the course his future would take. Dekim Barton had plans for him, plans that would extend the power and influence of the family and its business concerns. His `ear' had a multitude of uses that frightening old man would not hesitate to employ. It was the fate of the younger generations tied to the big conglomerates, much as it was a similar fate to those born into the old aristocracy, like the Khushrenada Duke. And with that very Duke as an example, he dared to entertain hope that he might, somehow, fly free of the Patriarch's future designs. Might… It surely was not impossible for him to slip the leash at some point in the future. There was a problem with that thought, of course. Not much escaped that particular individual's attention. Dekim Barton had fingers of steel and a grip that could bend a foot thick steel girder. It would not be so easy to escape him if Trowa had the misfortune to continually be brought to his attention. He needed to walk a finely drawn line, or he might at any time be withdrawn from Tsuberov. He needed the education and training available here, it had the best facilities and the best instructors available. He needed that to have the skills to carve a place for himself if he broke away from the Barton family. There was also the not so small matter of his boyfriend. He would never forgive himself if he caused trouble for Quatre. He had learned when he was still very young that Dekim Barton had no qualms about using people for his own advancement. His relationship with Quatre… to be used against him… That was not what Trowa wanted, not for himself or especially for Quatre. He had to be careful. If it came down to the worst case scenario, he knew he would run as far and as fast from Quatre as he could… anything to protect him from the designs of the Barton Patriarch. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed softly. He was tired. He had forgotten just how extensive Tsuberov's criteria was for investigating a developing psi talent. After only half the day he was feeling exhausted and he had a full barrage of tests ahead of him. This new set of tests would leave him feeling unable to move, though all of the work would be entirely mental, not physical in nature. He had already resigned himself to spending the night in the laboratory under monitored surveillance. The one good thing about Tsuberov was that they fed you well. Extremely well. It was early afternoon and this was the third meal of the day presented to him. His calorie intake had needed to be boosted due to the nature of the tests and, given how exhausted he felt, he was hoping they might just give him an hour or three to nap at some stage and gather his reserves. Some tests required him to be near dead on his feet; often the state of physical exhaustion could lower mental barriers and a person would be more receptive, more sensitive, to non physical stimulation. He was well on his way to being exhausted, but the current break and meal would revive him enough, he was sure, to survive the afternoon. A disturbance at the door to the shielded room drew his attention. Most of Tusuberov's laboratories claimed private rooms where students could rest and eat between sessions in guaranteed peace and quiet. Once he had been shown to the room Trowa had not expected to be interrupted until he was to begin another round of testing and it came as a surprise when the door opened. His eyes widened when Professor Jones entered with, of all people, Quatre trailing at his heels. "Mr. Barton." "Professor Jones?" Trowa inclined his head in greeting as the Professor crossed the room and motioned for Quatre to take the seat at the table directly opposite Trowa and his feast. Without a word Quatre slipped into the seat, keeping his face carefully neutral as the Professor glanced between them. "Mr. Winner appears to be capable of performing a certified Monitors duty outside of controlled laboratory conditions. Given this, and with your permission, Mr. Barton, we would like to monitor Mr. Winner as he monitors you during the next work session. Is this acceptable to you?" Trowa blinked, startled. Quatre had been actively engaged in Psi monitoring outside of a training laboratory? What the hell had he been up to? And to make matters worse he had gotten caught. To say Tsuberov frowned on such things was rather an understatement. He did not doubt his friends astonishing Psi abilities, but Trowa was only too aware of how many years of training Quatre still had ahead of him at Tsuberov. With the professor focused on him he noted Quatre took the opportunity to meet his eyes and wink at him, settling him a little. For some reason Quatre was not worried about repercussions, it seemed, certainly he did not show any outward concern. "Ah… Yes?" A disgruntled snort from the professor snapped Trowa's attention back to him. "Mr. Barton, there is no way we would sanction Mr. Winner to act as monitor to an ant, let alone a student here, given the tentative nature of that affirmation. Nor should you have agreed at all, without first requesting Mr. Winner's file to check over his accreditations and current standings." Ah, yes, where was his brain? Protocol. One must always remember to observe the protocols, if one intended to retain one's sanity, life and profession. He must have been more tired than he thought. "Professor, I actually know Quatre and his current accreditations." "Regardless of whether you know him or not, you will be a working psychic, a professional, in the not so distant future. If you survive that long making such idiotic mistakes. You will begin listening to your instructors more attentively and giving credit to what you are taught. You will begin training yourself to think like a professional, and that means no one, no one, Mr. Barton, monitors you without you knowing their accreditations. Knowing them means having them before you and checking for their validity." A plastic file strip landed on the table before him and he could feel the Professor's eyes boring holes in him, accusing him. He had, apparently, failed a test of some kind with his instant, if tentative, acceptance of the request. Damn, one should never relax at Tsuberov. The staff were always, watching, always evaluating. The leaders of tomorrow were reared and trained here and they needed, were expected, to learn so very much. Not that he would be a world leader… "Ah, yes, Professor. I will… remember that caution. I don't have a file t…" The flat tablet required to read the file strip appeared in the Professor's hand and Trowa inclined his head slightly, snapping his mouth shut. The man seemed to be in quite the mood, he reflected as he took custody of the device and laid the file strip over the screen. He was not the only one who was having a far from pleasant day and he activated the scanner, dropping his head and focusing on the illuminated file. —————— Quatre sat quietly, eyes flicking from Trowa to the Professor and trying his best to look as neutral as possible. They had been brought to Tusberov, to the laboratories, after eating a sumptuous, for him at least, breakfast. Zechs certainly would not have agreed. They had been separated on arrival and taken to different laboratories to begin the barrage of tests awaiting them after the antics of the past night. Technical Training Teams had been waiting for them, and he had marked a few new faces amidst his usual number of technicians. Plainly Tsuberov's Board of Governors was far from happy with the affair and, given the Professor's stiffer than normal and very proper demeanour, he could only hoped that Duo and Zechs were not in as much trouble as he appeared to be. Monitoring a high level Psi working session was a serious matter, yes, he knew that, but anyone would have thought he was a criminal. Prime Khushrenada had assured them before he departed the night before that there would be no repercussions, that he would take care of the matter. He admitted they had not been summarily tossed out of Tsuberov on their collective rears, he had almost expected that to happen, but it was…. uncomfortable… to say the least. He was quite certain that the Board had not contacted his father with complaints over his irresponsible behaviour. If they had his father would have been in touch and berated him, loudly and decisively, if he had brought shame to the House of Winner. His father was always aware of the weight of public opinion and the standing of their name within society. The Winner, and his father was always The Winner, could tolerate much from his son's often erratic and quite often rebellious behaviour, but Quatre knew quite well that he would not tolerate shame being brought to the House. Unauthorised use of his abilities, if events had gotten out of hand, would undoubtedly have had him being raked over the coals within minutes of the man being notified. So he could expect, at least for the short term, to be spared his father's disapproval. All he could hope was that the Khushrenada Duke was good to his word and could control matters. Be quiet, be attentive to his instructors, perform flawlessly and trust in a perfect stranger to get his backside out of the fire. That was his formula for surviving this idiocy. On settling into the laboratory he had found himself on the receiving end of a full physical examination. There after he had quietly submitted to a EEG, answered more questions than he cared to have asked of him and, finally, after wondering just how long a day could be, he had been brought here, to a seclusion room. Discovering the sun was still quite high in the heavens had been a bit of a surprise. He had thought it would have been much later than the hour it actually was. Being escorted to such a room in itself he had expected, following the barrage of tests he had endured. He was physically and mentally tiring and Tsuberov's policy required he be given a break and his energy reserves be brought back up to par with a meal. What he had not expected was to find Trowa in residence, himself eating what was plainly a high calorie meal and looking like he could fall asleep at any moment. Clearly his special friend had been working just as intensively as he, if not more so. A technician ghosted past him and, with the quietly phrased instruction that he eat, the man placed a large tray on the table opposite Trowa. Quatre was quick to obey, not wishing to further aggravate the Professor and flicked his gaze between his obviously curious friend and the looming Professor who seemed almost a stranger. Professor Jones had been one of the more approachable teaching staff, but he was out of sorts, to say the least. "Now then, Mr. Barton. We request that you give your consent to have Mr. Winner sitting in on your next session and have him perform the tasks of a monitor? You are, of course, under no obligation to consent, given Mr. Winner's uncertified Monitor status at this time." His one visible green eye blinked, widening slightly as he looked from the Professor to Quatre, and Quatre could just feel Trowa's curiosity blaze higher. His boyfriend was no idiot and he was well aware of just what stage Quatre had reached in his training. //I suppose the theory behind this is to demonstrate to me just how unready I am. I know that already, but I did the work anyway, because it was necessary at the time. The Prime trusted me, and I think he was well aware of my stage of development. I've done it once, properly, the Prime was pleased with me and he checked me over before he left. I can do this, but I wonder why Trowa is in the labs at this time of the day? He usually has night sessions… and he looks exhausted.// He watched as Trowa read through his file. Not his fully detailed file, he knew, but the file containing all current skills and his certification level. Every courses he had passed, failed, and there were a few of those, and those courses he was currently working on would be in the file, including his overall evaluations. It was what a professional psi worker would require to read before working with another psychic of level accredited talent. His greatest problem at present was the telepathic side of his talent. He was finding it difficult to work with others where pure telepathy was required. He honestly wondered if they had made a mistake with their projection of what his telepathic ability should level out to. But Tsuberov rarely made mistakes, and never mistakes of that kind. His Empathy, however, ah, that was another matter entirely. He already had the raw talent of a Prime, but he needed more training. He still had a few years at Tsuberov before he would be fully certified for work in the general population. Gabriella had spoken to him briefly before she had departed the University complex. She had left him in no doubt that she was pleased with his progress; that he would receive an accreditation for a Prime's ranking in empathy. It was his telepathic abilities in question and the difficulties he was experiencing coping with it that would keep him from gaining the double accreditation of Prime. Regardless of whether he received the full T/E Prime ranking or not, she had said that she was looking forward to working with him in the future. Gabriella. She was quite the character, but he was uncertain if he could survive her company for any extended period. Was it only her advanced years that gave her that air of… well… no, thinking about it he could not really put a name to `it'. You were, within seconds of making her acquaintance, either in awe of her… or in a state of fear. `Abject terror of her', he had heard other working psi's mutter on more than one occasion when Gabriella's name had been entered into a conversation. "Mr. Winner! If you would condescend to rejoin us amidst the land of the living…?" Oh Allah, he had zoned out? "Sorry, Professor. I was just… thinking." How lame was that?! And in front of Trowa too. So embarrassing. His special friends brilliant green eye smiled at him though and set him at ease. He could feel the frustration coming from the Professor and reflexively tightened his shields accordingly; he was in enough trouble without allowing leakage to set him off balance. Pleading a student sensitivity and lack of control was not going to get him out of trouble, but only bury him deeper, given what he had been doing last night. "I have no problem with Quatre monitoring me, Professor Jones, however, I trust there will also be a licensed Monitor as well?" He was sure Trowa did not doubt him, but it was only proper form to check that there would be back up during the working session. Professor Jones had already jumped on Trowa for not following formal protocol, and neither he nor Trowa would be keen on the idea of being raked over the coals for forgetting to check on any changes to an established working team. It was one of the first lessons they had sat through on arriving at Tsuberov, and it was constantly mentioned throughout each term of their tenure here. Every licensed psi individual was indoctrinated with the same set of rules. Work safe practises were explicit and to be adhered to faithfully. For everyone's protection. "Trowa and I are acquainted, Professor. We generally have no problems dealing with each other. If I am to monitor Trowa during a working session, then I will need to know exactly who will be monitoring me; and who will be backing me up on monitoring Trowa." If he treated this like a professional incident, not a laboratory experiment, then maybe the Professor's sour mood might lighten up a little and he might cut them some slack. Hopefully. ~ * ~ tbc... Notes: EEG: Electroencephalogram : A graphical record of electrical activity of the brain; produced by an electroencephalograph |
