Psiarch: Rising: The Psiarch Chronicles, #1

By Pierre H. Vachon (PHV)

Somewhen else, in another somewhere...

 

The world of the 2070s is one dominated by the five Consolidates. It is also a world in which the advent of 'aptitude-enhanced humans'—or alihumans—was predicted some three decades earlier by 'Gardiner's Genomic Extrapolations'.

 

Trajan Valence is a unique, dual telepath-telekinetic among his fledgling alihuman race. He is also better known for his life-saving deeds as the anonymous Samaritan called 'Psion'. However, the scheming human supremacist Umbra Domini organization, as well as the radical alihuman supremacist Children of the Dawn movement, want Psion out of the picture. Permanently.

 

Between finding himself caught in the harrowing crosshairs of these two opposing factions, and with the notorious 'Greys' of the Secret Service of his Consolidate casting their probing attention on him, Trajan will have to confront his past and the worst of what he could become. Above all, he will have to discover and embrace his true nature if he is to save all he holds dear, let alone survive…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Psiarch Press
• Release date: Jul 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201784959

Pierre H. Vachon (PHV)

After a successful career of some 22+ years as a tenured university professor and research scientist, PHV opted to take his early retirement and plunge head-on in his (other) passion: writing. Reader of science-fiction/fantasy books, graphic novels, and comic books since his pre-teen years, he is currently enjoying his life as a retiree while focusing his creative energies into putting down in words a hero’s tale—Trajan Valence’s—that has been bouncing around in his brain for too many years. In between, he can be spotted on Twitter (@PHV_Mentarch). For news/updates about The Psiarch Chronicles novels, or more information on the Consolidate World, visit Psiarch’s Hideout (https://realphvmentarch.blogspot.com/).

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PART I

Tomorrow’s Prelude

Somewhen else, in another somewhere...

WORLDNET ARCHIVES ADVISORY: the following is an excerpt from a transcript of an archived video file. Opinions voiced in interviews or discussions cannot be construed as factual.

Title: Laymanizing the future—Episode 9: Dr. Ian M. Gardiner.

Author: SciFiNow (pseudonym; real name unknown due to partial data loss during the upheavals of the 2043-2044 Amazon Disease Pandemic).

Source: video posted on the channel ‘Fiction Today, Science Tomorrow’ of VidForum (defunct online video-sharing platform).

Date of original upload: 02/21/2042 (pre-WorldNet internet).

Date of WorldNet upload: 01/18/2055.

[Beginning of excerpt] (...) SciFiNow (SFN): And so, we’ve arrived at what I feel is THE subject of interest in our talk: your latest peer-reviewed paper.

Dr. Ian M. Gardiner (IMG): To be specific, it was published almost two years ago in the second issue of the sixth volume of the Journal of Theoretical Genomics, on March the 2nd, 2040.

SFN: Yes. Strangely enough, there has been little interest in this paper, despite its far-reaching implications.

IMG: Indeed. The study has been dismissed overall for being ‘speculative without evidence’. All a load of codswallop from blinkered nitwits, I say. Although, to be honest, I did find myself rather gutted by such rejections at first (laughing).

SFN: (laughing) It’s understandable. As a quick aside, I have to say you’ve got a peculiar way of speaking—and I don’t mean your British accent.

IMG: (laughing) It has often been pointed out to me that my patter carries excess verbiage tosh. I find solace in the fact I am not alone in our grand world with such an idiosyncrasy. I once heard that elocution characterizes the individual: hence, I am purely being my usual bloody-self (laughing).

SFN: So noted (laughing). Now, returning to the crux of the matter: the title of the paper in question is ‘Evolutionary human genomic extrapolations: pseudogene-to-gene emergence within human chromosome 9’. Quite ominous and captivating. Please laymanize its meaning.

IMG: It denotes that I arrived at predictive multi-factorial and multi-variance probabilistic assessments—‘extrapolations’ if you will—concerning the emergence of novel genes, which, by definition, should give rise to aptitude-enhanced human beings.

SFN: That’s amazing. Although, if you could simplify this a bit more for the viewers?

IMG: Apologies: that was a right bodge job on my part (laughing). I used anyon-quantum computing to perform simulations of mutations in various combinations in a specific region of human chromosome 9—one which happens to bear much of what is colloquially known as ‘non-coding junk DNA’. Along with the help of cutting-edge probabilities and statistics calculations, I was able to identify potential ‘new’ genes and make predictions about their possible occurrence in the global human population over time.

SFN: Incredible. Do walk us through this—again, in layman’s terms.

IMG: Gladly. To summarize, my mutational simulations revealed the likelihood of two novel, complementary alleles to be carried by our chromosome 9.

SFN: Alleles? Complementary? Also, why chromosome 9? Please explain.

IMG: An allele is one of two or more versions of a gene, or group of genes. Individuals inherit one allele from each parent. If the two alleles are the same, the individual is ‘homozygous’; if they are different, the individual is then ‘heterozygous’. When they are different, the expressed one is ‘dominant’ whereas the other, the ‘recessive’ one, is masked.

SFN: So, it’s like brown eyes versus blue eyes: one can inherit both alleles but have brown eyes anyway because the brown allele is dominant over the recessive blue one.

IMG: Nice example. Thence, two alleles are considered as ‘complementary’ when both are recessive and one requires the other for expression.

SNF: I see. And why chromosome 9?

IMG: Out of the other chromosomes which are either smaller or already filled with ­genes, chromosome 9 is rather sizable in addition to, again, bearing a large portion of ‘junk DNA’: thus, I considered it a bloody smashing candidate for carrying a substantial number of additional genes arising through mutational events (laughing).

SFN: (laughing) Understood.

IMG: Hence, my simulations revealed two complementing alleles I named ‘A’ and ‘E’. The A stands for ‘Actualizing’ whilst the other stands for ‘Effector’. The A-allele encodes what is called a ‘transcription factor’—an ‘activator’ that turns genes on. This activator, which I named ‘Actualizing Factor, Aptitude-Enhanced-1’ (or AFAE-1), binds a unique DNA sequence found only in an E-allele. Thus, the genes in any given E-allele are turned on if the A-allele is also present.

SFN: What do you mean by ‘any given E-allele’? And what, exactly, activates the gene for this AFAE-1 factor in the first place?

IMG: My findings indicate the A-allele is turned on by either estradiol-responsive or testosterone-responsive transcription factors—meaning, AFAE-1 expression begins during puberty and remains throughout adulthood.

SFN: That’s very interesting. And what about the E-allele?

IMG: To reiterate: if there is both an A-allele and an E-allele, then the E-allele will be expressed during puberty and onward.

SFN: This is why they are ‘complementing’ alleles.

IMG: Precisely. Now, and in contrast to the A-allele which is a single gene, the E-allele comprises a group of genes. Depending on the specific combination of mutations, different clusters of genes can emerge, with each being expressed in specific tissues like the brain, the skeletal muscles, or the skin.

SFN: So, we’re talking variations of this E-allele with different roles?

IMG: Indeed. Moreover, I identified between two and three sub-groups per each specific cluster, thus opening the possibility of further distinctions in functionalities. A single sub-group of genes may emerge at a time, however. At this juncture, it is not possible to assign specific physiological roles to each potential gene sub-cluster I identified.

SFN: To summarize it: someone with both A- and E-alleles would begin expressing new, previously unseen genes in their brain or muscles, for example, once they underwent puberty?

IMG: Rightly put. And by simple logic, these novel genes would enhance the physiological functions of the target tissues or organs: hence, the term ‘aptitude-enhanced human being’.

SFN: This brings us to the astounding conclusions of your paper.

IMG: In a few words: I found the A- and E-alleles may have already penetrated the human population gene pool in significant numbers of heterozygous carriers of either allele worldwide. All the more interesting, however, is that my calculations revealed a definite likelihood A/E heterozygous individuals with enhanced aptitudes are already walking among us.

SFN: Again: this is incredible—and this raises an ominous question, doesn’t it?

IMG: Yes. Verily, one should wonder whether such men and women are indeed living among us, and, if so, why they are yet to reveal themselves (...) [End of excerpt.]

ONE

Digital Shades

Sitting in her appointed mahogany chair, she put her clasped hands on the large oval rosewood table in front of her while waiting for the other nine to arrive.

A dim radiance permeated the familiar boardroom in which she found herself, even though no source of light could be discerned. As always, the concrete floor, ceiling, and walls were bereft of any type of adornment. The same applied to the usual complements expected to compose the decor of a business-type of space like the present one. And as if to crystallize the austere atmosphere of this place, there were no windows on the walls and not a single door to be found.

She remained unmoved by her dismal surroundings, though, because they were nothing more than the default settings for virtual boardrooms.

Pressing a button under the table above her lap, she called forth a computer keyboard and a floating pointing device, both being made of soft green light. She caused a green-hued, pull-up menu to appear by clicking the pointing device; after selecting one of the menu items, a digital clock showed up on the table to her left.

02:27 hrs; almost time. She took a deep breath to center her mind. Of course, she did so whilst sitting in her RL workplace.

With a few key hits, she activated a small strip of green-hued scrolling symbols and numbers beyond the keyboard, the displayed streaming flow of data meant to keep her apprised of the status of the encryption algorithms and tracking countermeasures that she never failed to deploy on security-sensitive occasions, such as this one. The primary purpose of this advanced encoder and reporter software was to thwart sniffer programs, data-collecting systems, and various snooping software plaguing the WorldNet.

Throwing another quick glance at the clock, she crossed one leg over the other whilst straightening her back, setting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands anew—this time to let her chin rest on them.

It was at this moment when the virtual shapes of her expected attendees materialized, each one sitting in their usual seat.

On time, she reflected with satisfaction.

With her sitting on one side of the oval table, the chairs of the nine others stood arranged evenly on the other side. The avatars for each attendee were dark, nondescript, gender-revealing human shapes with generic features—just like her own. In addition, their digital voices were modulated to further conceal their identities—again, like her.

Overseer, one of the new arrivals greeted her in his formal, if not regal, manner. Known to everyone in attendance as First, his chair faced hers. According to his position of primacy among the others, he sat in the middle of his colleagues who were designated and seated by hierarchical prominence: hence, Second, Fourth, Sixth, and Eighth convened to his right, whereas Third, Fifth, Seventh, and Ninth did likewise to his left.

Of all of them, three were women, and the remaining five were men.

Welcome to one and all, the Overseer replied. "Thank you all for attending this ad libitum conference."

It’s par for the course, Overseer, First said with a frown. Adopting his favorite assertive posture, he leaned forward while settling his clasped hands on the table. However, I hope meetings in the middle of the night won’t become the norm.

Not wishing to verbally commit to anything, and not missing the implied warning behind the cryptic wording, the Overseer nodded once in silence whilst locking her gaze with First’s. In concert, she let her virtual eyes show a lack of fear mixed with a touch of aloofness.

Let’s git ‘er done! an irritated Second interjected, to a dismissive flourish of her hands. We’re all busy people that can’t be whistling up the wind, even more so at this ungodly hour of the night.

With the seven others voicing their agreements, First gestured to the Overseer in polite, unspoken permission to begin the conference.

Thank you, she responded, unaffected by the other’s pompous antics. "The reason for my unexpected summons lies in an event of note that took place earlier this evening. This event is of historic significance for Humanity, in addition to being of indisputable interest to this Umbra Domini."

"I assumed this was the reason, a concerned Third interrupted. Brace yourselves, people..."

Indeed, the Overseer chimed in with deliberate gravitas, the others sending quizzical looks her way as she tapped keys on her console. I hereby give you October the fifteenth, 2066: the day when the Gardiner Genomic Extrapolations were revealed as a reality to the world with an aptitude-enhanced human being making himself known to the public for the very first time. At those words, she hit one final key.

Virtual eyes focused on the holographic rendering of a digivid capture running a mere meter above the center of the table.

Observing the others to gauge their reactions as they watched the displayed footage, the Overseer saw Third keeping his eyes lowered to advertise his lack of enthusiasm in viewing something he had already seen. She also noticed he didn’t bother to hide his despondency.

An astonished Seventh looked at her. Is... this real telekinesis we’re witnessing?

She nodded. This is the case.

Sixth, Eighth and Ninth shook their heads in incredulity at her answer, their attention glued to the displayed footage.

The Overseer seized the opportunity to provide a necessary reminder: A subset of the computer-simulated mutations ran by Gardiner did indicate the potential for small clusters of new brain-specific genes, among other things. However, he stopped short of ascribing specific ‘enhanced aptitudes’ to any tissue-specific gene cluster revealed by his simulations.

This happened earlier tonight? Where? Fourth demanded in his customary authoritarian and gruff manner.

The city of Sherbrooke, in the Estria District of QuébecDiv in our northern neighbor, the CanadaSec of the TransAm Consolidate, she informed.

At this, the attendees turned to her in surprise—except for Third, who maintained a downcast gaze.

An unconvinced Fifth experienced difficulties in containing her indignation. How’s this possible? I mean—I concede my understanding of Gardiner’s Extrapolations is rather limited, but I thought America had the higher likelihood of seeing aptitude-enhanced humans emerging?

The Overseer shook her head. "In actuality, the calculations he published in his twenty-six-year-old paper indicated the probability as being high in North America, which, I remind you, still includes present-day MexicoSec and CanadaSec of TransAm. This said, his computations did identify Asia—or rather, the PanAsia Consolidate, as it is now known—with the highest overall prospect worldwide."

I don’t get this, a perplexed Ninth interjected. Setting aside the pandemic of twenty-two years ago, don’t we still stand at about ten times CanadaSec’s population? I know none of us here are science eggheads, but since we’re talking about population genetics... He left the thought hanging for effect.

Yes, we do hold our present-day two hundred-and-eighty-five million over their twenty-nine million, the Overseer acknowledged. The holographic footage having run its course, she pressed another keyboard key to make it vanish.

However, she carried on, the fact remains these calculations of Gardiner encompassed several complex variables such as immigration rates, frequencies of mixed ethnic pairings, birth rates, and so on and so forth. In addition, he accounted for numerous known factors inherent to the dynamics of human population genetics, such as chromosomal mutation frequencies. And all of this further included, of course, his computer-rendered mutational simulations within human chromosome nine.

She paused before delivering the crux of her explanation: "And yes, the probability he calculated indeed stood higher for our nation in comparison to CanadaSec. Yet, we are speaking of probabilities here, not certainty. Also, it must be emphasized the Gardiner Genomic Extrapolations could not account for random catastrophic events; two glaring examples of this are the Amazon Disease Pandemic of ’43-44, which wiped out some forty-five percent of the world population at the time, and then our Second Civil War waged in its aftermath.

"As a consequence, their impact on the surviving human gene pool threw a lot of those calculations up in the air. In any event, it doesn’t matter where it first happened. What does matter for our Magnum Consilio is that it did happen."

Agreed, an imperious First intoned, preventing any further discussions on the matter. Tell us, Overseer: is this the sole footage available on the WorldNet?

I tallied more than fifty digivids of the event in my last count, with each one from various angles, she explained. Several more are expected to be posted over the next few days. This aside, those news reports and personal digivids already accessible went viral shortly, following their WorldNet upload. As we speak, sectors of the UniOceania and PanAsia Consolidates are nearing the end of their business days. By noon today, our time, the event will be known on a global scale.

A pensive First nodded, absorbing the information. All for the best, then. However, this particular aptitude-enhanced fellow does pose a potential problem for us, even if he’s the very first one to come out in public. He settled a stern virtual gaze on her.

Third emerged from his dejected mood at this. That’s what I meant earlier, people.

Eighth shifted in his seat. How so?

Because he does the fucking ‘good Samaritan’ act, that’s why! Third shot back. "You just saw it: he saved lives in this hotel inferno—civilians and firefighters alike—and he even keeps a fucking anonymous identity! Don’t you know what our plans require to be successful? Jesus H. Christ!"

He threw his hands in the air to emphasize the proverbial rock and a hard place that, he was convinced, he and his co-conspirators were stuck between. "He. Is. A. Fucking. Samaritan! Don’t you all understand? What we worked for and risked in anticipation of this very day: it’s all going downhill, already!"

First banged his fist on the table. ENOUGH! He glowered at an unrepentant Third, whereas a scowling Eighth crossed his arms and looked away.

If I may? the Overseer spoke, her polite and calm, rhetorical question drawing everyone’s attention. Granted, the apparent altruism of this first publicly known, aptitude-enhanced human runs against any sociopath behavior we anticipated and counted upon.

She stared at Third, seeking to re-engage him in the conference. Letting out a heavy sigh, he looked at her with renewed dejection.

Even so, she insisted, I submit to you all this does not constitute a problem. A minor hindrance? Perhaps. Yet, one that can be resolved through the implementation of countermeasures without significantly affecting the overall objectives and time-tables of our Magnum Consilio.

All the same, Overseer, First cut in, you must admit that showing such altruism makes it difficult to stir up the kind of mob-mentality passions we need to achieve our objectives.

The eight others muttered their agreement with this assessment.

She smiled with confidence. Not really. I am convinced a predictable, as well as anticipated, religious-driven backlash will begin the process within a month or two.

Second nodded. You can’t beat that with a stick. I reckon this ungodly spawn, and whatever of his ilk that may be out there, stand as far apart from God’s creation on this good Earth as evil does from God’s heavenly kingdom.

Praise the Lord, Eighth said, inciting Second to raise her head high in righteousness.

A little circumspection, please, Seventh countered, annoyed once again by Second and Eighth’s habitual attestations of their religious faith. We all know this has everything to do with Nature and nothing to do with the De–

Suffice it to say, the Overseer interrupted to forestall yet another derailing religious debate, the process will begin, although its growth must henceforth be expected to advance at a somewhat slower pace than estimated at first. In the interim, there are many ways for us to further stir up passions among those less religiously inclined. In fact, we already possess the necessary resources in preparation for boosting the process. At this, she tapped more keys on her console.

I just sent each of you an encrypted data package, she continued. "It contains proposals for the manipulation of public opinion, which we will discuss further in our forthcoming scheduled conference. You will also find in this package all the digivid captures of this ‘Samaritan’ available for now; I encourage you to peruse them. Of particular interest are the two files titled ‘Interview One’ and ‘Interview Two’.

"In a nutshell, this ‘Samaritan’ had no other choice but to answer a few questions from insisting reporters at the scene of the hotel fire. Aside from the trivial name-handle he adopted, he revealed that he considers himself to be—and I am quoting him verbatim—‘a member of the phylogenetic race Homo sapiens alisapiens or, if you prefer, an alihuman’."

What in the Nine Hells is this nonsense? a grumpy Fourth barked.

The better question is, an insightful First amended, what do our scientists for hire at the Antrum facility say about this?

They were elated and frustrated, a deadpan Overseer informed. "Elated, because they consider the designation Homo sapiens alisapiens to be as scientifically appropriate for ‘alihumans’ as Homo sapiens sapiens is for humans. It is, according to them, a near certainty that the global scientific community will accept this designation proffered by this ‘Samaritan’."

Seeing an evident lack of understanding among most of the attendees, she shifted to a didactic mode of delivery once again: "Remember, according to the phylogenetic classification system used for all life-forms on Earth, the term Homo indicates the genus, sapiens indicates the species and the second sapiens or, in the present case, the word alisapiens, indicates the subspecies—or race, if you prefer."

She paused again, this time to allow the others to absorb the information. "It is easy to forget Homo sapiens sapiens is its own species and race; hence the common usage of the term ‘human race’. As an aside, Homo sapiens sapiens means ‘the human most wise’; by juxtaposition, Homo sapiens alisapiens means ‘the other wise human’. And thus, we now must take into consideration a human race and an alihuman race."

The seldom talkative Sixth chose this moment to speak: What was it that ‘frustrated’ Antrum’s scientists, then?

The Overseer smirked. Simply put: their failure to think of such a designation for aptitude-enhanced humans in the first place.

Everyone chuckled, except for a dejection-wallowing Third and a solemn First.

The purpose of me telling you all of this, she pursued in an unperturbed tone, is I trust you see how a ‘human versus alihuman’ apposition can be of tremendous utility for any public opinion manipulation strategy we settle upon? She leaned back in her chair, waiting for their responses.

An approving First nodded as realization set in. Third, finally buoyed, shook off his pessimism to do the same. In turn, each of the other attendees imitated First and Third’s silent comings to understanding, straightening in their seats with rekindled enthusiasm.

"Alihuman, a sneering Second intoned at length. Truly, this is a godsend for us; and it’s all sweetness and light that this gift was delivered by none other than that very same ungodly spawn. She snickered as Eighth threw in a soft-spoken Praise the Lord Almighty" for good measure.

The Overseer shot a furtive glance at Seventh who, this time around, contented herself with a curt roll of her eyes.

Excellent, Overseer, the appreciative First said, shedding any remnant of the irritated mood he had brought with him at the onset of the meeting. You did your homework and justified our trust in, and reliance on, you.

She accepted the compliment with a dignified bow of the head.

"Now, it’s our turn to do homework, First continued in his habitual, authoritative tone. We must familiarize ourselves with all that is contained within the Overseer’s data package in preparation for our scheduled conference in three weeks. He looked at each of his colleagues as he spoke. This said, I hereby call this Umbra Domini meeting adjourned. We all need to get some sleep."

The nine conveyed their courteous regards to the Overseer before dematerializing out of the boardroom.

Alone once more, she smirked with satisfaction.

This went extremely well, she reflected while pressing the button on the table’s underside once more, this time triggering the simultaneous disappearance of the keyboard, floating pointing device, and scrolling data. With the Gardiner Genomic Extrapolations now an undeniable reality, the time has come at last to get the wheels turning.

Excitement and eagerness filled her. I must keep in mind that things need to proceed in a methodical manner. It will take years for it all to be realized—patience and I, however, are quite old friends. In the interim, I shall endeavor to consult about this ‘Samaritan’ and his problematic intrusion on the playing field. He may require the implementation of corrective measures to our plans.

As for the ‘alihuman’ label he put forth, it will assuredly become a divisive wedge on account of the usual culprit: human nature. She savored the irony. I should be thankful to him, however: after all, he provided a proper name, an identity, for all aptitude-enhanced human beings to latch upon henceforth. All the better for our designs, indeed.

She stifled a snicker. He called himself ‘Psion’... What a jejune alias to adopt. I would find this disappointing if it was not risible on its face.

At this last sardonic thought, the Overseer’s avatar dematerialized.

Less than a millisecond later, the virtual boardroom returned to the digital nothingness from which it came.

PART II

Tomorrow’s World

WORLDNET ARCHIVES ADVISORY : the following is a transcript of a news opinion segment. News commentaries and discussions are not to be construed as factual news reports.

Title: What will be the ultimate price for our ‘alihuman exception’?

Author: Clara Thibeault; chief editor of WorldNet News-Estria District (QuébecDiv, CanadaSec, TransAm Consolidate).

Source: WorldNet News-Estria District weekly news commentary ‘Opine and Decide’; transcript of the 02/09/2071 streamed segment.

Date of original WorldNet upload: 02/10/2071.

[Beginning of transcript] An orderly society proclaiming to be governed by the rule of law can’t allow exceptions to fly in the face of such a noble value, even for the sake of the equally noble principles of acceptance and inclusion. To wit:

In order to become a firefighter, one must undergo extensive training courses at accredited facilities. Even when one has graduated as a firefighter, one must continue training while being subjected to periodic certification/re-certification processes.

This is what our society asks of those who put their lives at risk for our safety. These are the rules and regulations that oversee the recruitment and employment of competent firefighters by the Fire Protection and Extinguishment Departments of the Consolidate world.

In the same vein, to become an Urban Security Officer, one must undergo military training and additional college-level instruction in a recognized martial Policing and Urban Tactical Intervention Technology program. Again: even after graduating as a USO, one will always face recurrent certification/re-certification processes and continued training.

This is what our society asks of those who accept the burden of law-enforcement authority, all the while putting their lives at risk for our collective security. These are the rules and regulations that oversee the recruitment and employment of competent, authority-exercising USOs by Urban Security Departments the Consolidate world over.

But we in the Estria District—that is, the city of Sherbrooke—allow one baffling exception to all of this.

As I outlined in my very first commentary about him (‘No ID equals no accountability’, 10/19/66—NetEd.), I won’t use this man’s self-given nom de guerre to refer to him: and yes, this editor remains dedicated in her refusal to validate him. For this reason, I will continue to refer to him as he has already boasted himself to be:‘alihuman’.

So, we allow this alihuman to be exempt from all rules and regulations concerning firefighters and USOs. Now, I keep asking myself a simple question: why? Really. Why do we—and I specify here, this isn’t in any way a criticism of our sectorial, divisional or district authorities—allow him to act as if he’s a trained and certified first responder, when he obviously isn’t?

I know, I know. Many people out there keep harping that he’s not dangerous, that he’s not a vigilante, that he does nothing but save lives. A good Samaritan, they cry, who uses his fantastic aptitude to help, despite the fact that he's so unlike us! Thus, they weep with joy and gratitude, raising their hands to the sky as they plead to our better angels: How can we be anything but welcoming and accepting of him?

Oh, please, you fuzzy, warmth-craving, sanctimonious, deluded fools.

If this is about acceptance and inclusion, then we’ve set ourselves up with a bad and potentially catastrophic precedent, folks. What’s next? In the event of anyone feeling ‘left out’ by our community, we should allow them to perform any function despite the absence of actual credentials, just to feel good about ourselves and our all-inclusiveness?

See how ridiculous this sounds? Yet, it’s what we’re doing with this alihuman.

And no, it doesn’t matter that when he ‘helps out’ he always does so under the direct supervision of first responders. At  the  end  of the day,  whether he’s ‘supervised’ or not, another question remains: who will take the blame if someone comes to harm—or worse, dies—because he ‘helped’?

Would you shoulder such a responsibility, along with the liability that goes with it? I dare you to ask this question of your conscience.

Well, I’ve opined. Now, you decide. [End of transcript.]

TWO

Enter Psion

Sondra Benjamin watched with satisfaction as her firefighters of the Fire Protection and Extinguishment Department of the Estria District confronted the animal they were faced with, on this hot and humid Sherbrooke July evening.

As the FPED’s director, Benjamin seldom performed on-field supervisory functions for her troops. The relentless creature they faced on this night, however, already constituted a three-alarm fire—and not only did it not show any sign of retreat, it kept on growing in sheer defiance of the watery onslaught being thrown at it. This was why ‘the Chief’, as she was called by most first responders, had discarded her office uniform and put on her firefighter protective gear.

The ebony hue of her hands and face contrasting with the predominant beige and yellow ones of her attire, she tucked a protesting lock of her curly salt-and-pepper hair under her helmet and turned her intense amber eyes to the ten-story, forty-unit apartment building under assault.

As if waiting for her return of attention, the fiery beast roared from the eighth floor it had conquered, spewing gusts of flame and thick smoke out of smashed windows and balcony doors.

The Chief noted with pride how none of her troops flinched at such a furious display. Her warm feelings were dispelled fast, though, as windows on the building’s seventh and ninth floors shattered. A blink of an eye later, smoke trickled outward from the created breaches with tongues of flame dancing coyly behind escaping plumes. In an immediate response, each station captain ordered some of their men and women to aim a watery counter-strike at the endangered floors.

Benjamin nodded to herself in approval.

She redirected her sights at the roof of the apartment complex where seven people remained trapped by the fiend that nested underneath, its rising fire and fumes having snared them without any standard means of escape or rescue. A few of them were already afflicted by smoke inhalation and the debilitating, ambient heat.

Benjamin’s amber eyes glared in challenge at the beast, her teeth clenched. So. You think you can turn into a badass monster on me, just like that?

Entrenched on the eighth floor with further destructive tendrils deployed to the stories below and above its conquered lair, the burgeoning malevolent monster increased its intensity. The trapped citizens clamored in fright at this, as did many of the one hundred, or so, onlookers standing at a safe distance behind the established holosecurity cordon guarded by watchful Urban Security Officers of the district’s Urban Security Department. The usual coterie of accredited news crews also joined in, at the same time making sure that every moment was recorded for their WorldNet live streams.

The Chief threw a quick glance at her ewatch, which read ‘07/10/2071—21:14’.

Call the last two Sherbrooke stations for an all-out, multiple-alert fire, she ordered to her administrative assistant, hardening her smooth and smoky voice to emphasize the urgency. We’ll need them to conduct intensified preventive hosing of the buildings on each side of that burning one.

Considering the increase in the blaze’s intensity despite the best efforts of her troops to extinguish it, she didn’t wish to run the risk of the emerging monster extending its reach to other buildings. It’s a good thing standard protocols required the preemptive evacuation of these adjacent apartment complexes from the onset.

Receiving her assistant’s confirmation that the call had been made and acknowledged, Benjamin looked to the cloudless evening sky.  Even though the broken moon’s waxing gibbous shone brightly and its tilted ring shimmered, and despite the flashing flares of emergency vehicles, the blaze’s fiery radiance, and its rising smoke, she spotted many of the specks of light that peppered the blanket covering nighttime Sherbrooke.

Her eyes searched the evening sky with exigency. God—I hope you can come soon.

This was when she spied a man-shaped silhouette gliding against the backdrop of flickering stars.

The Chief allowed herself a smile of relief.

Benjamin kept watch of the incomer as he undertook an angled descent in her general direction. A curious oddity in the eyes of the world at large, this man had made numerous appearances over the past five years; all the same, the sight of him and his telekinetic aptitude never failed to evoke in her a sense of wonder.

True to form, he soared headfirst in a planking posture. He didn’t fly, in actuality: rather, he used his telekinesis to lift and move himself. He once quipped that what he did was ‘TK-gliding’; as a result, the term had become the choice descriptor for his type of ‘flying’.

The Chief saw the TK-glider dive down before coming to a near-standstill; shifting his body stance to a relaxed vertical one, he continued on a slow descent. As always, an onyx motorcycle helmet covered his head, one fitted with a mirroring, full-face visor and set with small grated openings at the level of his mouth and ears. A gray-hued, stylized six-pointed North star with a black dot at its center adorned the protective gear’s forehead.

The fellow also donned his customary ebony leather jacket with shoulder sides bearing smaller versions of the same six-pointed star-like symbol. He kept the jacket open, exposing his onyx-hued chest-and-shoulder protector worn over an ashen coverall. And in keeping with the lackluster color theme of his attire, he sported black padded gloves and kneepads, an onyx belt at his waist, and lastly, charcoal-hued, steel-toed boots into which the ends of his coverall were tucked.

The newcomer then landed with as much impact as a falling leaf, to the enthusiastic cheers of most bystanders. A minority of onlookers booed him instead.

Of course. Dumbass protesters were waiting for him to appear before coming out in the open, the much-annoyed Chief surmised. She held a low opinion of people who harbored such ill feelings for this man, despite the hundreds of lives he had saved to this day. As USOs ensured the demonstrators remained separated from their cheering counterparts to preserve orderly peace behind the holosecurity cordon, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the anonymous alihuman Samaritan called Psion in the face of this hostile lack of appreciation for his selfless deeds.

It’s beyond me why USOs keep tolerating this illegal rabble rousing, instead of arresting their sorry asses...

As it were, the alihuman in question appeared rather unaffected by it all, seemingly oblivious to the crowd of onlookers and the assembled news crews. He walked toward her, lowering his head to remove his helmet and uncover the mask he wore underneath. As expected, the mask concealed his head and neck, except for openings for his ears, eyes, lips, and tip of the nose; the top of his cranium was also exposed, revealing a net of wavy brown hair. Of course, the hue for the fabric of the face-covering was none other than black.

Keeping an unperturbed pace in her direction, Psion raised his head anew to reveal at last his well-known attribute: the bluish glow emanating from the irises of his eyes—his glaring poker tell, as he once characterized it in self-effacing humor.

Numerous people reacted adversely to his glowing irises, however, perceiving such a trait as unnatural and frightening. Benjamin took pride in not being counted among them.

Good evening, Chief, he greeted her in his throaty-forced voice, offering his free gloved hand.

Good evening, Psion. She accepted the handshake with her plump lips spread in a warm smile. Of the same height, she liked how the two of them spoke at direct eye-level whenever they interacted. You’ve no idea how much of a godsend you are.

He glanced in the direction of the apartment complex under assault by the raging inferno. My help’s required, then?

This monster’s misbehaving badly and it’s getting worse. She offered him an ear-communicator like the one she donned. Most urgent, there are those citizens stranded on the roof of the building. This fire spread very fast; while all the other tenants and their families left the building unscathed, these poor seven souls ended up cut off from any safe exit.

Psion took the offered edevice in business-like fashion, quite used to remaining in constant communication with supervisors of intervention teams whilst putting his aptitude to work for their response operations. I take it the intensity of the smoke and flames is making it hazardous for your rescue teams to reach them?

Yeah, that’s pretty much the crux of it. More or less, the same applies to deploying saving nets or even cushions. Anyway, I suggest you forego your usual niceties once you’re up there and just grab them, then bring them as fast as you can to the paramedics over there, Benjamin instructed, pointing to the four waiting ambulances.

Having caught the alihuman’s arrival, EMTs were prepping gurneys and emergency medical equipment in anticipation of the imminent rescue of the trapped people. He also noticed a known golden-haired, ponytail-sporting face among the organizing paramedics.

Got it, Chief. Putting his helmet back on, he TK-lifted himself back into the air.

The alihuman turned to face the ten-story edifice and kept up with his ascension until the fifth floor, when he stopped to hover as if he stood on solid ground. I better coalesce that construct now and make it molecular-tight.

Psion? Is something wrong? a concerned Benjamin inquired through the comlink.

No, Chief. I was just about to generate in advance a protective, molecular-tight TK-dome full of fresh air around myself. I’ll need it to enclose those people if I’m to rescue them safely and as fast as possible.

By ‘molecular’, you mean that air, smoke, or anything bigger like ash or dust particles can’t penetrate it?

Or escape its enclosure, yes.

OK... a dubious Chief rejoined. Although she acknowledged the alihuman’s telekinetic talents, she found it difficult to accept he was able to do such a thing. The sirens of fire trucks and tenders then announced the imminent arrival of the reinforcements she had called for.

Oh well, go on and do whatever you do with your voodoo, she decided. I must go and organize my incoming extra troops. Just bring these folks back alive.

I’ll do my best, Chief, Psion said as she turned around to direct her arriving firefighters.

Closing his eyes, he projected outward what he termed ‘TK energy’ in a concentrated state; at the same time, he pictured in his mind an airtight shell coalescing in a half-sphere around him, its flat bottom just under the soles of his boots. Let’s give it a good four-meter radius: that should be big enough to take in all seven of them at the same time.

Although telekinetic energy didn’t constitute any type of irradiation, it seemed to everyone watching as if a writhing shroud of intense heat encased him.

To think that no one—myself included—still hasn’t much of an idea about what ‘TK energy’ is, came the humbling reflection, as he resumed his vertical ascent and focused on the situation at hand. Hmm. As always, my TK’s useless against heat and fire; so it’s best to give a wide berth to the flames until I get on the roof—at least 20 meters. Same thing when I’ll return with the rescuees.

He overshot the top of the building to get a good look at the stranded people before situating himself and his TK-dome over their position. He first noted an elderly couple; both coughing, the man and woman sat while leaning on each other for mutual support, their haunted looks showing a despair-driven state of resignation. The two appeared to be well into their seventh decade of life.

Close behind them, a younger woman kneeled on one knee whilst holding onto her son, who kept his arms wrapped around her neck. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, whereas the boy seemed past his seventh or eighth birthday. Anxious and fearful, the pair also showed signs of respiratory distress as they eyed the billowing curtains of smoke and ash that surrounded the roof.

Next to the elderly couple stood a younger-looking one, both a man and a woman in their late twenties. The fellow looked on with worry while proffering words of support to their seniors. In concert, his partner did the same for the anguished mother and son. Last, an early twenties man stood somewhat apart from the six others, acting as a lookout for incoming rescuers. It was this younger man who first saw the alihuman coming to them from above.

Heads up, folks: rescue’s at hand! he clamored, pointing at Psion. The others stared in turn, expressing their relief at the sight of their prospective lifesaver.

The alihuman continued his descent while loosening minutely the tightness of his TK-dome to encompass each of the trapped citizens, displacing the surrounding air fouled by smoke and dust while ensuring a minimal loss of the good air trapped within the telekinetic construct. The seven individuals looked at each other in confusion as a fleeting tingle coursed over them, the odd sensation feeling like passing through a thin veil made of some airy and fizzy substance.

Mom! I can breathe better! the excited child said. The others, coming to the same realization, allowed themselves deep intakes of the unexpected fresh air now available.

Please forgive in advance my brusqueness, Psion told his small assembly as he landed. He raised both gloved hands in a silent appeal to remain calm.

He saw the lad and his mother staring with unease at the translucent, wavy, and shroud-like aspects of his enclosing telekinetic coalescence. Some of the others noted with concern the near-complete dampening of the ambient cacophony caused by the burning fire and the activities of the firefighters. Like the Chief suggested: I better make this quick.

There’s no time for me to explain, he continued in earnest. I was told to come and get you all, then bring you to the waiting paramedics.

"Tell you what, dude: you get us to safety first, then we’ll bitch at you for acting terse with us. Deal?" the youngest man replied, deadpan.

Deal, Psion accepted, suppressing a chuckle. Maintaining his airtight TK-dome, he extended his operating telekinetic field to include everyone. He always used this type of field to lift and move himself, people or objects, at will. In contrast to constructs like his dome, a TK-field retained an ethereal-like quality, except when he would ‘thicken’ it to restrain something... or someone.

"Please remain as you are, folks. Just close your eyes if you’re afraid of heights. We’ll be riding fast... Now." At his cue, he TK-uplifted himself and everyone else from the roof, along with the enfolding telekinetic construct. After reaching what he judged to be a safe distance from the searing heat and flames, he angled down before gliding forth posthaste.

Having directed her newly arrived troops, the Chief glanced up and grinned at the sight of Psion and the rescuees as they left behind the beleaguered apartment complex.

The fiery monster chose this moment to increase in intensity once more, seemingly roaring in frustration at seeing its preys escape from its claws.

The alihuman evanesced his telekinetic construct while still descending, its breathing and protective purposes no longer necessary. To everyone watching, the blurring dome-like shroud dissipated to reveal the alihuman TK-gliding in an upright posture, along with seven people in tow.

A subsequent outcry of cheering approval rose from most onlookers, whereas a minority—the anti-Psion protesters—doubled the clamor of their booing. He heard in concert the half-muted exclamations of surprise from his charges as the disappearance of the TK-dome exposed them to their surroundings with complete clarity and sonority, driving home the reality that they were indeed ‘flying’.

Psion glanced behind to assess the state of the elderly couple. Their wet and deep coughs, as well as their ashen looks, filled him with dread. Despite the hurried speed of his TK-gliding, he managed to land himself and everyone else gently in the path of oncoming paramedics.

As expected, the EMTs donned their headbands affixed with yellow-tinted diagnostic visors, the advanced sensing functions of the devices enabling the measurement and display of various physiological parameters.

Releasing the rescuees from his TK-field, Psion removed his helmet to throw it aside before rushing to the distressed elders, his glowing irises be damned. You’re safe now. Don’t worry. Let me put you on gurneys, he said. However, neither man nor woman reacted to his words, the pair unaware of their surroundings.

As five paramedics moved toward the other rescuees, he saw two others pushing gurneys his way. With care, he TK-lifted the elderly man and woman whilst extending their legs, laying each one on their respective stretchers. After he stepped back, the EMTs fitted the two patients with oxygen masks and secured them.

Thanks, Psi, one of the responders said. We’re rushing these two, stat! he added, as much to his teammate as the alihuman.

Psion turned around to see the mother and son likewise lying on adjoining stretchers and being fitted with oxygen masks. As they were carried away to their own ambulance, the mother nodded to the alihuman, her eyes expressing appreciation, whereas the kid lifted up his mask and waved at him. Thanks, Psion! That was wowsome! I can’t wait to tell my friends at school!

He waved back with a modest grin. I’m just glad I could help. I’m happy you two are safe.

The younger couple then walked up to him. Close behind, two diligent paramedics followed them with evident professional consideration.

Thank you so much! the woman said, at the same time crushing him in a hug while her sweetheart gave him a heartfelt clasp on the shoulder.

We owe you our lives, the man added, moving tears watering his eyes.

That we do, she agreed with a sniffle, letting go to wipe her own tears.

Touched by such demonstrations of thankfulness, Psion’s smile turned sheepish. Please, no need to mention it. I’m happy I was of help and that you’re all right.

The couple said their goodbyes to him as they were escorted away by their insistent pair of shadowing EMTs. The last rescuee soon replaced them, along with an accompanying paramedic of his own.

The younger man extended his hand. "This is me, dude, bitching at you for acting so brusque with us up there."

The alihuman couldn’t help but enjoy the other’s deadpan humor as he accepted the handshake. And this is me standing properly chastised for it. He did his best to remain stone-faced.

"Thanks, for everything," the other expressed in return, his eyes filled with gratitude as his attending paramedic led him away.

Again, don’t mention it, Psion responded, to a slow shake of his head. It’s always a privilege and a pleasure to be of help.

"Spoken like the stupid boy scout you are," a woman declared from behind. The assured, silvery tone conveyed conviction, discernment, and feigned condemnation in equal measure.

He smirked to himself. Having spotted the voice’s owner earlier, he knew quite well to whom it belonged.

Psion turned to face the newcomer. Stars. If it isn’t Maryse Lapointe, he announced in mock displeasure.

In her early thirties, the golden-haired and ponytail-sporting paramedic raised one of her thin blond eyebrows, her chestnut eyes glimmering as a sly grin pulled at her cheeks.

"And what’re you gonna do about it, boy scout?" the impish Lapointe challenged in return, handing over his discarded helmet.

An amused Psion took back his headgear. It’s good to see you, Maryse. How long has it been? Four months?

Almost five, in fact. The EMT shrugged. "Hey, we paramedics don’t enjoy the luxurious prerogative of our shifts, let alone the picking of the emergency calls we respond to, you know?"

He grinned with an agreeing nod, recalling how paramedics were dispatched by district Medical Administrative and Emergency Departments, the Consolidate world over. So, how have you been?

Tut-tut-tut! Lapointe voiced, raising a waggling finger. First things first: lemme do my job. She lowered her visor to perform an up-and-down examination of the alihuman.

All parameters nominal, including O2/CO2 inhaling/exhaling ratios, she commented at length, before shifting her diagnosing scrutiny to his eyes.

As she did so, the alihuman noted once again how she stood a scant two centimeters below him. Her fit and curvy body shape remained evident despite the unisex uniform she donned. Coupled with her sharp intelligence and wit, her wide and lush lips, as well as her delicate nose and small chin, he found her very attractive. Stars! It’s not like I can walk up to her and introduce myself as ‘Psion’ if we meet in a bar or something...

Bah! the irritated paramedic voiced, raising her visor. Despite their recent functionality upgrades, damn diagnostic sensors still can’t produce a coherent pupillary response reading with you. She pursed her lips in annoyance.

My bioluminescing irises—again? he suggested, maintaining the throaty-forced voice he affected to conceal his real one.

Producing a light stylus, Lapointe sighed in resignation. I guess I’ll just have to do this old school with you... as usual, she said with a wry smirk, her eyes glinting anew with humor. She tested his pupillary light reflexes straight away by flashing a beam of light on one eye to cause the constriction of its pupil, all the while assessing the expected simultaneous response of the other pupil. She then switched to the other eye and repeated the test.

Looks good, she announced before flashing a beam of light anew, this time at his exposed nostrils. After a moment or two of examination, she lowered the beam to illuminate the fabric of the mask under his nose for another quick inspection. With a firm nod of satisfaction, she shut off the stylus and put it away. No signs of nose bleeding. That’s very good of you.

I’m far from having strained myself tonight, Psion countered. As you know, I’m not the reckless type.

Lapointe raised her chestnut eyes to his, showing genuine concern. "Reckless? No, you’re not. But, despite the dangerous consequences you’re already quite aware of, you’ve a propensity to toss caution to the wind and overstrain yourself whenever you feel obligated to... all in order to save lives." Her voice remained kind as she castigated him, punctuating each stressed word by gently poking a finger at his chest-and-shoulder protector.

She’s not wrong, Psion remarked. Four years had already come and gone since the first time he overtaxed himself to the point of endangering his own health. Because the brain was the biggest glucose-consuming organ of the body and since his brain generated his aptitudes, any overuse on his part consumed not only his liver sugar reserves at an accelerated rate but also whatever remained of his blood-circulating glucose.

This blood sugar depletion manifested itself first as a nosebleed trickle, turning into a noticeable and worsening run as said sugar levels kept on dropping. Once his blood became critically low on glucose, a loss of consciousness awaited him—along with the high likelihood of falling into a hypoglycemic coma. Or worse.

It was on a September afternoon four years ago, under similar circumstances as tonight’s present one, when he overstrained himself for the first time to save two firefighters... along with his own skin. As the facade of a burning edifice collapsed, the first responders in question found themselves caught flat-footed by the crumbling hazard. Without a thought, an alert Psion had TK-jumped over several meters to land next to the pair, just in time to raise a dome-shaped telekinetic shield as a tonne of smoking rubble rained down to bury the three of them.

After extirpating the firefighters and himself through a desperate use of his telekinetics, his nose bled profusely and the wisps of unconsciousness sought to engulf him. Recognizing what was happening, he solicited from the attending paramedics a salutary dextrose-water intravenous infusion. Then entered a certain Maryse Lapointe who had obliged him, the half-teasing and half-serious EMT expressing at the same time her ‘requirement’ that he explain his nosebleed once a running IV was set up.

And since that day, there had been one—or three—additional occasions when he felt compelled to overburden himself in order to save lives following unforeseen, yet pressing, circumstances.

Look, Psi: all we’re doing is looking out for you, a soothing Lapointe said, her impishness returning. So, you better be a good boy scout and heed our wise advice... or else!

The alihuman chuckled, his hands raised in surrender. All right, all right. I get it!

She laughed along. OK, then. So, you feel no need to refuel?

He smiled in appreciation of her euphemism for ‘needing a dextrose-water IV’, a Psion-specific creation of hers likewise popular among first responders. Nope. I’ve more than enough fuel aplenty to at least TK-glide out of here and return home—once I go get the ‘all clear’ from Chief Benjamin, that is.

I wonder if those hate-filled idiots realize they’re booing and hissing at the successful rescue of people? she asked in a sudden change of subject, jutting her small chin at the anti-Psion protesters still going on with their loud antics. Her eyes flashed disapproval and scorn.

In response, he put his gloved right hand on the back of his neck, an unconscious gesture he often enacted when uncertainty or perplexity gripped him. As always, he didn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance at the rancorous demonstrators herded within their section of the holosecurity cordon. Well, haters have to hate, I guess, he muttered, his eyes downcast in resigned acceptance.

The EMT waved off his explanation. "Meh; although, I can’t disagree with you. But what concerns me is the obvious fact that USOs, the district’s Justice Administrative Department, or the District Directorate itself, keep tolerating these protesters. I mean, shouldn’t they be dispersed, if not get their asses arrested? This is what’s supposed to happen when people assemble unlawfully!"

He didn’t argue the point: it was indeed a matter of law throughout the Consolidate world for public demonstrations—whether peaceful or rowdy, if not riotous—to be regarded as unlawful and warranting immediate sanction by USOs. The passage of this law had been deemed necessary due to the chaos and violence that accompanied the Amazon Disease Pandemic of 2043-2044, and during the months that followed.

Who knows? He shrugged before carrying on with a rekindled conversational tone. What I’m worried about is the elderly couple, as well as the mother and her son.

Same here, Lapointe said. We transported the old man and woman straight to the ER of Hôtel-Dieu hospital, which is the closest one from here. I heard over our com-network the man underwent heart failure in transit, but he was revived before arrival. In any case, the current conditions of both are critical and unstable; so, we can’t do anything, except to hope for the best. She shook her head in dejection.

As for the mother and son, though, she continued with improved spirits, "we took them to the ER of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul hospital. Their condition remains somewhat serious but quite stable. Chances are they’ll both be released in two or three days."

Psion nodded as he digested the information. Could I have done anything different to achieve a better outcome for them? he wondered, chagrined for the two elderlies. He dismissed the second-guessing question for the time being. And the other three rescuees?

She smirked. They’re treated on-site, right here, since they were afflicted mildly by their inhalation of smoke and dust. We’ll keep monitoring them for a little while, just in case; anyway, we’re gonna send them off to a temp shelter soon enough, for sure.

This was when he remembered something that had slipped his mind. "Hey, you still didn’t tell me how things are with you."

My, oh my, but where do I start? a teasing Lapointe prefaced.

As it would happen, he heard Benjamin call him through their established comlink. Turning around, he saw her standing dozens of meters away in the company of three men. Yes, Chief?

Now that this paramedic checked you out, the FPED director said, I think you should come back over here and join us. She motioned to him in earnest emphasis.

He looked back at a quizzical Lapointe, shrugging at her to convey his own cluelessness as to what this summons could be about. It seems I won’t be going home just yet, he commented in self-derision, throwing a parting wink at the EMT.

Letting out a groan of annoyance, Lapointe crossed her arms. Feels like it’s gonna be Nosebleed City, for sure, she muttered, her concerned frown directed at the back of the leaving alihuman.

With a quick shake of her ponytail, she joined her three colleagues who were attending to their patients.

Ah, Psion, the Chief greeted him with a clap on the shoulder, cutting short whatever instruction she was giving to her assistant. The latter stepped away to carry out some pressing communication on his ephone.

Benjamin’s amber eyes shone with esteem. Damn good show in saving those people. I trust you remember Captains Rousseau and Grondin? She pointed to the two firefighters standing next to her, with both taller men smiling whilst holding out their hands.

Psion perceived an anxious atmosphere looming over the trio, for all they endeavored to distract him from it.

Of course, I do, he replied as he shook the hands of each captain, having dealt with them a few times over the past years. As a matter of fact, Rousseau happened to be one of the two firefighters he had saved from the crushing debris of that building facade four years ago.

Yet, another wowsome job at rescuing folks, Guy Rousseau said, with a wink to underscore his heartfelt gratitude. The younger captain’s soft-spoken and good-natured baritone voice contrasted with the stern and tough appearance projected by his towering height, dark eyes set under hard-angled black eyebrows, thick lips, protruding square jaw, and brawny physique.

Glad to see you again, Psi, Robert Grondin piped, his customary bass voice befitting the man’s tall frame and hefty build. His flat auburn eyebrows almost covered his pale blue eyes, his roguish smirk forcing his thick graying mustache into a lopsided angle on his amiable, oval face.

So, the Chief prefaced, her disposition solemn, the reason I called you over here is that there’s necessary business to attend to. The other two nodded at this.

What is it?

We figured out why this monster just won’t back down from our continuous barrage of water. She glanced at Rousseau as a cue to speak.

In a nutshell, we’re convinced a leaking gas line keeps feeding this bastard, the younger captain said, producing a thin, anyon-quantum computing epad. The pliable, biopolymer-and-graphene rectangular device displayed a building blueprint. We poured over digitized records and certified blueprints from the district’s Urban Reclamation and Planning Department, and it turns out our building in question isn’t supposed to be supplied with natural gas, although the two on each side of it are. As best as we can infer, the contractor who laid down the main gas line wasn’t informed of this; so they extended a feed line in the building anyway.

This is strange, Psion considered as he once again put his gloved right hand on the back of his neck. I’d expect the gas line contractor to remove this superfluous line before the building’s completion, let alone well before the main one went online.

Grondin took up the explanation: The building’s contractor and the one for the main line happened to be two different companies, each on their separate-but-concurrent contracts. Our best bet is that both contractors realized too late they made a mistake and colluded to leave things as they were. We also suspect then-city inspectors had their hands greased in exchange for turning a blind eye.

The Chief injected herself back