Fathis: Birth of a Falcon

By Wendy Ann Nolan

250 years into the future, the Earth is now healing from the multitude of traumatic global events. After a war ravaged earth learns to embrace its new Utopian society, teams of earthlings with extraordinary mental abilities, known as Fathis Teams, have been created to defend our planet against hostile extraterrestrials.
An independent, yet timid girl is forced to join the Peregrine Falcons team to train to become their lethal mental weapon, the Tor. Kealin is young and lazy, and wants nothing to do with terrifying Fathis teams. Unfazed by the astonishing powers she possesses, Kealin must learn to embrace her fears while accepting the support of being a part of this reluctant team. Because of her unusual abilities, Kealin gains the notice of several ruthless factions. Just as the team finally accepts their new Tor, Kealin is kidnapped.

Warning: this ebook contains moderate adult language and some violence. This ebook is intended for age 13 and up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wendy Ann Nolan
• Release date: Dec 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465811370

Wendy Ann Nolan

I like to cook, go to movies, and take random road trips. I’m also a self-proclaimed Pajama Day goddess. I live with my fat, happy cat in Southern California. I’m a storyteller, first and foremost, writer second.

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Fathis: Birth of a Falcon

By Wendy Ann Nolan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright by Wendy Ann Nolan, Sept. 2010

Cover Art by Wendy Ann Nolan, copyright Dec. 2011

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Wendy Ann Nolan. mailto:[e-mail] Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This ebook is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. (with the exception of Paul Horton)

Fathis: Birth of a Falcon

Wendy Ann Nolan

Dedication

To Leigh, for being my staunchest supporter, and Ambar for being my persistent fan, and Aiden for being a relentless focus group, and Kelly for being my BFF. And to everyone else who supported me through this endeavor. Thanks all.

Chapter 1: Severed

Heart racing, he grappled for control. The power of his mind and breath stuttered when he inhaled the stench of rust mixed with the stale air. All the men around him clattered across the rusted metal floor in a dead run for the two spherical ships. They had to make it to their ship!

Where—‘—did it come from?’ One of the men yelled louder than normal in his mind. The sound of the thought had a desperate jagged edge to it. The old battered ship bay groaned around them while abrasive hysterical screams, some not human, bounced off its metal walls.

Each of the men kept turning their heads to look over their shoulders.

Did it come back?

Where did he go?

Next thing he knew, Rollins spun screaming No! The older man grasped for all of the Ethereal his mind could handle and like a crack of a whip Rollins crumpled to his knees, clutching his head. Rollins gave out a pitiful whimper while blood dripped from his nose… it felt like his soul was being torn out of his body. Rollins’ six teammates staggered with the mental assault they shared with their comrade. The team’s automatic response was to create a dome of protection around the Tor. But it was useless; the Anunnaki had a hold of Rollins’ mind and had no intention of letting go.

Another frantic man stepped forward to take Rollins’ place. Several screamed at the man to "not intervene!"

Helpless, he watched Rollins’ succumb to the most tortured death possible. The pain was nauseating in the back his head. He struggled to keep his balance when he looked behind him; he could only see the sick, vicious glare of two large yellow eyes and an over-sized mouth painted with a perpetual sneer, delighting in the pain it was inflicting. A darker and larger brother to human-kind, these aliens would be beautiful in looks, if evil did not emanate from their core.

Then, he felt the most horrendous sensation he had ever felt in his life, the sickening snapping of etheric fibers, one right after the next. He could hear one of the men vomit beside him. The frantic screaming and running, amplified like metal spikes dragged over gritty metal. His team was in shock, frozen in disbelief and horror.

***

Screams echoed through his mind, slowly his vision cleared to a bright white light and a hum. He shuddered, ah… a flash back… he won’t miss those when their bond is healed. Breathe, just breathe, he ordered himself and took a big heave of clean air. His throat caught at the thought of what was to come next in the flashback. Eyes shut, and with his mind, he tried to control his racing heart. He knew the rest of his teammates just shared in the unsolicited flashback, like they always did. With a hand to his chest, he debated if he was cheating by keeping the barrier up between them so he wouldn’t feel all of their emotions. He was on business today, he thought to himself. The excuse felt flimsy.

The well-built man watched the pattern shift on the glossy, marble floor, he wondered why it didn’t feel like the sun had shone so bright in months past, or maybe today was the first time, while standing in the middle of the Pillar Building he had noticed it. Granted, he only recently moved through the compound late at night… to avoid people and daylight. The rotunda of the Pillar Building was crowded as always. He hadn’t been out socially for months, so this many people around him made him feel suffocated.

From above, filtering through a shifting crystal dome ceiling, the sun created a glaring kaleidoscope effect on the floor all around him. The sunlight seemed too harsh, painfully bright. The pattern on the floor moved fluidly but it made his stomach twist slightly. It never did that before, usually it had a very calming, soothing effect on people, but not today, not on him. Life had been bleak for about six months. No, painful, —physically painful.

He stood in a neat cream uniform cropped with glory-blue piping. He brushed his fingers absently through his deep chestnut hair, trimmed Fathis short. His hazel eyes were etched in sorrow while he stared at the floor, wrestling with an unseen yellow-eyed demon. Many of the passers-by never even stopped to watch the changing patterns on the floor. With his impressive height he looked up. It felt as though he was in a hornets’ nest with people swarming around him, their voices creating a consistent drone.

They never touched, though. Never. It was because they, he… were the lepers of the Fathis community now. None of the other teams wanted the stigma of a damaged team getting too close to theirs. But, there was still the song and dance of the candidates vying for the open position, but they never came too close.

No, none of the other teams understood. Yet, they would try to show compassion at a safe distance, which annoyed all of his teammates thoroughly. The compassion was annoying, more so, than the distance. A team that lost a member in death made them undeniably on the edge of insanity.

They, his team, were too busy trying to heal… and survive. Everything was just a little off key, a touch out of balance, slightly out of time, smelled a little sour, and tasted a bit bitter. Nothing went right or easy. Just getting to the Pillar Building was a trial for him today. And, besides being clinically depressed, the agitation of everyday life put his patience over the edge, hourly. And let’s not get into the homicidal/suicidal thoughts floating around in his head.

His clean shaven, sallow face held a flat expression that probably kept most people at bay. He pulled himself together with a deep breath and peered up to the next floor encircling the rotunda. The massive roman columns which held up the enormous dome ceiling, had large spaces between them where eleven gigantic pictures of the top most West American Fathis Protectors teams, looked down solemnly from their animated portraits. Each portrait consisted of seven people. Above the portraits were four floors of walkways encircling the main hall with elaborate stone balustrades gracing the rotunda like the inside of a Faberge egg. His eyes slid down and fixed below one of the team images and above one of the rounded tunnel entrance, with a numeral X engraved into stone.

He had come here every day for the first four months and promised he would make this the last time for a long time, if he could manage it. With a hand in his pocket he fiddled with a small oval candle for a moment before heading for the dark brick entrance.

The rotunda echoed with footfalls and voices, which dropped when he entered the dim, cool tunnel. On both sides of the passageway were much smaller, still portraits of more teams in golden frames. Three pictures stood one above the other, on either side of the tunnel, as far as the eye could see. The back-lit photograph he looked for in particular, was on the right, not far away. In front of each was a mini shelf, where a viewer could leave a memento or a note. The picture, which had his attention, had multiple objects on its shelf. Small white flowers, burnt candles, a little figurine of a dove, more burnt candles. The small copper plaque beneath the frame stated; The Peregrine Falcon Team.

He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, and placed the candle on the shelf, straightening the wick. He glanced in either direction for observers and spied four people deep within the tunnel. With that, he tapped his finger lightly on the end of the wick and a flame sprang to life. It flickered for a few moments while he observed the dancing light across the team picture: his team’s picture. They stood there solemnly, dressed in their cream and blue uniforms. He could see himself looking back, along with six other men. This was a happier day. One older gentleman sat in the middle of them. His graying hair, wise eyes, and half smile, made the man looking at the picture smile. Sighing, he gazed down at his polished black shoes.

You weren’t very helpful last night, Rollins. He said, softly. He grimaced; he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Rollins was annoyingly vague, last night. Well…today is the day. I hope one of them can stand in your shadow. With a wan smile he continued, Heavens, I miss your insight… though, it doesn’t mean you should rub it in— He straightened himself up in annoyance for losing control of his voice and then realizing he was leaning quite heavily on the wall.

He nodded to the picture in a form of a salute and smartly headed back out to the sunny rotunda, his heels clicking on the polished marble floor.

Opposite the tunnel from which he emerged, on the other side of the large rotunda was a staircase which formed a T. It split off, to ascend to the third floor hallway, which then encircled the inside of the large circular building. He headed there with purpose. When his foot hit the third stair, though, he heard a voice cry out over the hum of voices,

Na’tan! Hey, there—Captain Drake!

Na’tan controlled his features, trying not to wince and turned around to greet the caller. For a heartbeat, he considered pretending not hearing the man, but decided it would be noticeably rude. He didn’t smile, though. Lestol, Na’tan had started in greeting. The man named Lestol flustered when he realized Na’tan had stopped, but then plastered a smile on his face. He was a blond haired boy in his early twenties, with green eyes, and green ambitions.

He spoke in one breath, So, I was wondering if you might have received the calibrating ratchet set I sent you. I heard you got an old speeder about eight months ago and I thought it might help—

I haven’t even looked at it Lestol.

No problem… he considered Na’tan for a moment, … so what brings you to The Pillar, today?

Na’tan tried not to growl at the man. Lestol knew exactly why he was here, today. Na’tan just wasn’t in the mood for the courting process that came with filling a position on his team. As far as he was concerned, Rollins was still their Tor, and until a decision was made, it seemed bad form to suggest otherwise. Granted, Rollins was dead.

I have a meeting with Mr. Waters—

Oh, oh, don’t let me keep you.

Na’tan tried his best to control his face but his hands tightened into fists. Then why did you stop me? Na’tan used to be the pinnacle of self-control, but lately, he had little patience for anything. Before Rollins’ death, absolute chaos could have been ensuing and he could calmly negotiate a Draconian peace treaty. But now, he had to stop himself from punching Lestol in the face. He knew it was because of the bond, or lack thereof. He wanted to get that remedied as soon as possible.

Lestol peered up at him, So, I take it you have your short list?

Wow! That was bold. A shadow passed over Na’tan’s face. Lestol, I have to go. He said. The young man seemed to realize he had crossed a line, and took a step back.

Of course, of course. He mumbled. I’ll see you around, then. Lestol tried to smile when Na’tan turned to go up the stairs, three at a time.

He made his way around the third-floor hallway, and passed multiple offices with their entrances all facing the inside of the building. From over a carved stone balustrade, voices from below echoed up from the main hall of the Pillar Building.

He wanted a Tor, just not Lestol. Someone a little more subtle, more experienced, someone more like Rollins. Not a green eyed, blond haired monster clawing at Rollins’ corpse to get out of the way. See, he didn’t used to think that way. He would have smiled at Lestol’s eagerness, patted him on the head, and pushed him on his merry way. Na’tan shook his head, disgusted with himself. He knew it was the lack of bond coloring his thoughts, but he hated these people. Truly, he hated them. Hated that they cared, hated that they didn’t.

Finally coming to the office he was searching for, Na’tan paused over the threshold. There was no sign denoting to who this office belonged, but anyone who was anyone, knew exactly who resided in this office. The door to the reception area opened and closed automatically when people entered and exited around him. It was difficult, more difficult than he thought it would be, to get through this door. It meant no more Rollins. Rollins was synonymous with the Peregrine Falcon team. He had been with the team since its inception, a span of more than eighty years. And now, the Peregrine Falcon Tor was gone. Old guilt nagged at him, if he had been a better Captain… if he had made them make a faster retreat… if he had made any decision faster… if…

None of this would be happening. Na’tan would not be here today. Going in here to replace Rollins seemed more like the end, than Rollins’ funeral had felt. More than anything, he wanted the team to heal. Ray was suicidal.

Na’tan, steeling his fragile emotions, took the gigantic step forward and stepped into the always-full reception room of Travis Waters’ office. Mismatched antique chairs lined each wall, and a desk to the right, with precariously stacked papers hiding Travis’ blond assistant, Susan. Na’tan edged his way to her. She was busy, as always. Managing Travis was probably the equivalent of managing a small country.

Na’tan stood in the waiting room, watching the fidgeting people occupying the eclectic furniture. The tension in the room was palpable. It was almost too much for Na’tan to take. He ground his teeth in response. Travis, for all intents and purposes, was the man behind the curtain: the team maker and breaker. He would personally go through each and every applicant, forming, with his spider web-like mind, the possibilities of each one. The funny thing about Travis was that he was a Luddite, yet here he was, in charge of the upper echelon of the West American Fathis division, that consisted of more than a thousand teams.

In this day and age there were many who suppressed any type of technology; they considered it to be the archetype of evil. People like Travis, just didn’t trust it. But, knowing what Travis knew, and the business he was in, well, if the current technology didn’t exist, then Earth’s existence in the Greater Community would be doubtful. The main purpose of these teams was to protect Earth and uphold the obligations of the Greater Community, in that order. But even though Travis was anti-technology, his faithful assistant, Susan, continually tried to push him toward the use of some sort of tech thing. This was only because of the chaos she had to deal with, also known as paper work. Lots of it. Folders and folders of it.

Even now, Susan was speaking on an ear bud, pressing the holographic display hovering above her desk with one hand, and shuffling papers with the other. Her desk was modern but surrounding her were old 20th century filing cabinets stacked with folders. Somehow, this antiquated room didn’t match the rest of the modern building.

Around Na’tan, people were sweating with nervous energy. Na’tan wasn’t nervous, he knew why he was here. This was the long awaited day the Peregrine Falcons would finally resume duty and begin the process of filling the Tor position on their team. They had compiled a list of their favorite contenders and then, with Travis Waters’ approval, the process of tryouts would commence. Travis may add a name or two to their list, but it was pretty cut-and-dry what was to happen next.

Na’tan waited for Susan to see him.

Since his team was a Level 10 this should be a pretty quick meeting. Because, Level 9 and 10 dealt with the WAFC, West American Fathis Committee, there was no pre-approval needed. Unlike Level 11 teams with the WACP, West American Council of the Protectors. Everything was always more difficult for the Level 11 teams. If they wanted to blow their noses, they had to ask permission.

Rollins consistently believed the Peregrine Falcons should be promoted to Level 11. He was always affronted whenever one of those teams had made a fool of themselves. It was a surefire way to get Rollins fired-up, by bringing up embarrassing events with those teams. He considered the Peregrines a more civilized, respectable team, making them an ideal representative for Earth. Na’tan thanked the heavens his team was the most stable, reliable, experienced team out there. No dirty laundry on his team.

Susan looked up at him, and her expression changed from mild annoyance to panic. She began gathering some folders and stood up, going around her desk all the while speaking on the ear bud.

Of course, Chief Carlson… I’m sure… Susan gave Na’tan an exasperated expression, she pointed to her ear where Na’tan could just see the blinking yellow light of her ear bud sticking out. Na’tan smiled in apology and held out his arms to carry some of the folders she was struggling to hold. She didn’t hesitate, and dumped about ten thick folders into his arms. Well, as soon as I know more… Yes, I’m sure Mr. Waters knows… She motioned for Na’tan to follow her to a beat-up wood door. This had to be what offices looked like in the Twentieth century. This is where the word eclectic took on an entirely new meaning. A large, old battered, wood carved desk, took up the center of the room. There was a beaten-up ancient Persian rug under foot and small tables strewn here and there covered in stacks of papers. There were chairs but not ones where anyone could sit because everything was covered by stacks of papers. Odds and ends were strewn on shelves and tables: an old globe, a hockey stick, a giant jar of sand, a fish on a wall plaque, along with dusty medals of achievement. On the desk were scattered papers, an antique lamp, little pieces of junk scattered around in the front, and most likely, compliments of Susan, was a clear pane of a computer screen sitting off to the side, collecting dust. To Na’tan it didn’t seem organized but somehow, Susan could find things, and of course, Travis knew exactly where things were located. Na’tan’s office was the exact opposite of this dusty, cluttered one.

He could see Travis standing to the side, speaking on an ear bud; he gazed out of the large curved window in his office. This window was one entire wall, providing a beautiful view over the lake to the gleaming silver spires of Protectors Tower City. It was an impressive view. Susan continued to talk to Chief Carlson while she dropped off folders, removing some from Travis’ desk and adding others. When Na’tan’s arms no longer held any folders she motioned to a chair for Na’tan to sit. He had to clear off some papers before glancing down at his wrist monitor when he sat. Was he late? Is that why she looked so panicked? No, he was easily thirty minutes early. Why did she push him to the front of the line? There had to be at least twenty people ahead of him in that waiting room.

He watched Susan rummage around the room. She picked up some papers, searching, and then she seemed to find what she was searching for. The object fit in the palm of her hand. Susan walked directly in front of Travis holding up a round, metallic-blue object with a smooth bubble top, and then she pointed at Na’tan. Travis nodded, when he realize Na’tan was in the room. She put the device in the middle of Travis’ desk and went back to Travis, holding up three fingers, and making an O with the other hand, then tapped her wrist sternly.

She winked at Na’tan and strolled out shutting the door behind her, still speaking into her ear bud. Na’tan didn’t know how she did it.

The object she put on the desk, Na’tan knew was a Remote Viewing Inhibitor. Why would Travis need a RVI with him? Nothing they talked about was that serious. He couldn’t help notice the base of the antique lamp was not exactly flush to the corner of the desk, so he reached forward and fixed it.

Na’tan watched Travis. He was a tiny gray-haired man who moved with an easy grace that defied his age. But one look at his narrow, wizened face, armed with those sharp gray eyes and you knew you were dealing with a man much brighter than yourself. His mind could move at the speed of light. Na’tan was always impressed with the workings of Travis’ intellect. Travis planned more than a hundred years out in multiple scenarios for the teams he created. The Fathis teams consisted of seven people with varying degrees of a mental capacity that used the Ethereal. The Tor on a Fathis team was considered the strongest and most controlled with the Ethereal.

There was a test, which measured an individual’s strength of the Ethereal called the Olchen Test, or the O test. It was created over 150 years ago by a Harry Olchen to determine who had the most capable mind to defend Earth. It was now given every year, to children and adults worldwide. It rated individuals from zero, no ability, to 100. There was only one person on the planet that was in the 90’s and he was a 200-something year-old Elite.

Na'tan clicked his wrist monitor on; this held his list of Tor candidates. A small illuminated list appeared embedded in the skin of his forearm. He scrolled the display on his skin with his free hand while he glided through the list of contenders. They had fifteen they wanted to invite to tryout. He tapped a finger on one name and it expanded on his arm to show details about the individual, along with his picture. Na'tan wanted John Meyers. He’d be a good match; strong, cool and collected during a fight. Na’tan had always been impressed by the man. Cornac, the Peregrine's Master at Arms, wanted Marla Shannon but Na'tan suspected it was because she was gorgeous. Cornac was quite the ladies’ man. Na’tan had said it before; no dirty laundry on his team, which meant no dating within the team. That was a sure way to create ugly chaos, something which he vehemently wanted to avoid.

Yes, Jared. Travis said, I will speak with her. Look, Jared, I’m late for a really important meeting. Yes, I will see you for lunch in a week. Ok, ok. Bye. Travis tapped his ear bud and popped it out. Na’tan stood with respect, while Travis eyed him on his way to his desk. He was maybe half Na’tan’s height and a third of his width. Without any preamble, he pushed the smooth blue surface of the Remote Viewing Inhibitor in the center of his desk, and a blue wispy charge whipped out all around the room. Travis then turned and went to a step stool near a small antique safe on a shelf. So Na’tan, how’s your team?

It felt like a loaded question, but he kept the answer simple. Getting along.

Really? Travis peered over to Na’tan, I’ve heard that all of you have had to do tag team interventions.

Na’tan shrugged. Great! Everyone knew how unstable they were. We’re doing the best we can, sir.

Travis made a tsk noise. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Travis? Well, we’ll try and rectify your severed bond as quickly as we can, which should help. We just couldn’t do it too soon. The little man started spinning the numeric wheel on the safe until, with a resounding click, it popped open, gliding easily. He retrieved two folders and shut the safe in one swift spin and headed back to his desk. Sit! Sit! You know I hate formalities. Na’tan did as commanded. He looked at his electronic list on his arm.

I think you’ll like our list.

I bet I would have.

Na’tan’s eyes snapped up to the older man’s face, ‘would have?’

Travis smiled. The tiny man sat slowly behind the enormous desk. Let me just start by saying; I have good news and bad news. Na’tan’s worrying mind immediately started spinning through possibilities. Travis tapped his chin in thought. Actually, I should start from the beginning, he glanced down at his old wind-up wrist watch, "or the best place I can.

Seven months ago, heavens! I was in a real bind. See I was ordered, more than nine years ago, to place this five-year-old on a team.

Na’tan’s brows came down and he powered down his list. I’m sorry I don’t foll—

"I know, I know, it gets confusing. I suppose I should start there. So, nine years ago I get this call about a pair of wild children in the northern mountains. Normally, I wouldn’t have even noticed something like that, but it seems one of them had healed a man having a heart attack. Long story short, their father was carted away and an observant Watcher noticed the children running away. So, he tried to stop them. The children ended up being boxed in between a group of Watchers and a boulder. To the utter amazement of the Watchers, the children then put up an Ethereal Dome, a terrifically strong one. And that is where I come in.

I get this call, asking for the use of one of the Fathis teams to bring down this Dome. Nothing could penetrate it and the children started retaliating against the Watchers. Travis grinned. "I was intrigued. So, I sent a team, along with myself.

"When we got there, the team of course tore it down because the children were ill and hadn’t eaten for days. The Tor on the team that I brought, had said ‘one child was in control of this’. When we rushed in, we discovered it was the girl. She was maybe five years old; the boy was about ten. She was such a small thing, unconscious from the tear down. The boy was near death with illness. He didn’t even wake.

They were in the hospital for months. The boy almost didn’t make it, Travis sighed, it was a terrifying time. But, Travis smiled slowly, my mind started working. I knew that if this little child was that gifted with the Ethereal, then she would need protection. There was no other parent or relative to be found, so I devised a plan. Gloria was on board: she had always wanted children. Did you know Gloria and I were the first family of the Western American Fathis League Corporation to ever foster children? No, I didn’t think so. Well, we were. The Council saw what I saw. Everything was hidden to keep her and her brother quietly safe. Their Olchen scores, where they came from, and so on…

Travis shook his head remembering, I’ll tell you, she was five going on forty. Really still is. Smart as a whip; don’t let her looks fool you. But we didn’t tell the children the truth either, for their own safety. Currently, she believes that her ‘O’ score is 85.

Na’tan raised his eyebrows. 85 was well above average. How old is she? Five and nine is… They’d never put a fourteen-year-old on a... At that rate, she’ll break 100 somewhere in her lifetime. Somewhere in his lifetime! Then, what is her real score?

Travis merely smiled and went on, Gloria and I had to convince her and her brother to let us sponsor them as foster children. They think all their special treatment is because of who I am and I let people run with their own conclusions. No one thinks twice about it.

Why not tell them the truth?

Imagine some gun-running slaver from Lalagox getting a hold of either one. He could bore into their mind and take whatever he wanted, and then sell them to the highest bidder. Travis shrugged his thin shoulders. "I try to think of every scenario.

I digress… So, as agreed upon by the Council, after her college graduation she is to be placed onto the highest level team possible, as a Tor, and trained by said team. Na’tan’s mouth fell open.

The child is fourteen, right? Na’tan asked, and Travis nodded. That’s sending that child, and her team to their death. Travis better not be considering… I thought you were all about protecting her?

Oh, I am. That’s why she’ll be your new Tor.

Na’tan’s guttural, wordless response echoed what his mind thought, ‘I can’t breathe…’ Nausea rolled over him in a black cloud of trepidation.

Travis explained, See six months ago, I was stuck with putting her with the Blue Jays. And then… Rollins died. He heard Travis say this, and it struck a painful cord within Na’tan. Your team is perfect. You’re experienced, calm, careful, wise, patient, you’re almost too careful. You are one of my proudest match-ups. That is exactly what she needs and…she is exactly what your team needs. He smiled. Na’tan felt his stomach drop another floor. Travis tossed Na’tan one of the two folders he took from the safe. Now, what you’re about to view I must get your guarantee you will never ever open without one of these, activated. He pointed to the RVI. There is a reason only eight, soon-to-be-nine people know about her. Don’t leave it out on your desk; don’t show any of it to your teammates.

I’m sorry— Na’tan cleared his throat. How are we supposed to train her, without my teammates knowing—?

Travis sighed. You can tell them… parts of it. He motioned for Na’tan to open it. He did, and in front was a rundown on her specifics, all handwritten. Travis continued while Na’tan read. His eyes bulged for a moment ‘My god! They really wanted to put a fourteen-year-old as a Tor, on my team? Were they insane? Maybe this was a bad joke…’

For example, she can’t heal anything, so Henry will have his work cut out for him. Also, there is this thing she can do where she can open what she calls ‘doors’ and in one step go from here to, Travis motioned over his shoulder, the City. It’s amazing. They say she doesn’t even use the Ethereal to make them either. Her entire history is all right there. But, don’t let your team know her score. That shouldn’t come out until she can defend herself. The WACP contract will delineate what you can, and can’t tell them. Promise me you will not let anyone see this. Don’t make copies. Don’t write it down. Promise me.

Na’tan looked up from the sheet. The thing he wanted to find, he couldn’t. I promise. But, where is this score? Travis made a flipping motion with his hand, so Na’tan turned the page. Again, his stomach fell down one more floor. This… could not be correct.

When Na’tan’s face lifted up, it must have been written all over his face because Travis nodded with a satisfied smile, he said softly, The Olchen Test is currently being re-calibrated from zero to 200 to accommodate her. The next time she takes it, she will pass 100, and by the time she reaches her peak at twenty-five, who knows where she’ll be? We may have to recalibrate, again.

Na’tan shuddered. That was probably strong enough to blow up our planet… They wanted her to be our Tor? And they want us to train her? Na’tan needed a moment. He flipped back to the front spec sheet.

Applicable: Olchen Test Spec Sheet

Name: Kealin Claire Divol Age: 14 DOB: 324/267 *conjecture

Temperament: -moderate shy playful

Motivations: Ice skating brother -family

Activities: Ice skating College Theater

______________________________________________________

Positives: -unplotted Ethereal strength –intelligent –creative –exceedingly fast learner –adaptable -cunning

Hindrances: -challenges authority -cannot heal – can be unmotivated –perpetually tardy

Undeclared: -creates doors without use of Ethereal

Calming Technique (If applicable): Ice Skates

Test administrator: Jennell Barclay

Date recorded: 157/281

*No birth documents available

She has a problem with authority? Na’tan noticed Travis didn’t answer right away. Maybe this was a bad dream…

Captain Drake, you are an excellent leader. I’m sure you’ll find a way around this hurdle. Besides, it takes time for her to respect anyone who tries to tell her they know more than her. You have to understand, there is no one stronger than her. Even now, with a score like that, who could teach her how to control the Ethereal? Really? There is no one on this planet that I could find and, believe me, I’ve tried. But in the meantime, someone needs to teach her everything else. She’ll listen to you, it’ll just take time.

Great! So she was going to fight me tooth and nail, and take her teenage angst out on me, great! Na’tan shook his head. He scrutinized the spec sheet; it also said unmotivated. And she’s lazy, great! In seven months? Na’tan asked. I’d love to wake up now!

A sheepish grin spread over Travis’ face. Na’tan shook his head in pain. I don’t understand this. Why do we not get to choose? Are we being punished? Did we tick-off someone? This only happened to teams who had made bad choices or were being punished. Had they done something wrong?

You are mistaken. She wasn’t picked because she was the perfect Tor for your team, more you are the perfect team for her, understand? Na’tan shrugged. Not really. His team was going to be crushed. This time period, from now until the end of the year, will be the most dangerous for her. It will be getting out there, Travis motioned to the world outside his window, that a strong young girl has joined a team. People will be curious, and she still will not be able to defend herself.

I’m sorry Mr. Waters, but you haven’t said anything about the safety of my team. What if she can’t be a Tor?

I do not have many worries about that. She did what she did, with no training, when she was five. You should see what she can do at fourteen; her learning curve with the Ethereal is unmatched. He smiled, but Na’tan didn’t buy it. If Peregrine Falcons had another death on the team so soon, there would be no amount of suicide interventions that would stop any of them. Travis stood and came around to lean back on the front of his desk. Kealin’s training will be up to you, but I would start by training her with just enough to get her off the ground, just enough so she can fight back. Her protection will be fully in your court. Do whatever you deem necessary.

I deem we need a longer training.

The little man laughed. I imagine you can use that demand in your negotiation with the Council.

I’m negotiating with the Council? What did the Council have to do with a Level 10 team anyway?

Oh right! I almost forgot, Travis checked his watch again, Good news, bad news. Bad news; the Council feels the way to get your team to be more motivated with this training exercise; that if you fail in training Kealin, then the team itself, will be dissolved. They want to make sure your team is fully dedicated to her training. Na’tan felt ill. He seriously thought he might get sick in Travis Waters office. This was a little harsh. Travis put a steadying hand on Na’tan’s shoulder, his lips made a thin line, he continued, "That is, if for either Kealin leaving, or any other team member leaving, the Peregrine Falcons would constitute a breach of contract. This of course, is