Beyond Reproach

Mark Daley was a senior, seventeen, a stocky one eighty-five, five nine and a half. Too short for basketball, too slow for running back, but sheer murder on the wrestling mat. Judo holds were his trademark, and he often wore his brown belt in competition. Nobody messed with him; most everybody liked him. He stuck up for the weaker kids and held his own with the thugs. One Saturday in October 1996, his whole life changed.

Mark was at the arcade, flashing his colors. Literally. Four belts slung loosely across his shoulder, signifying past ranks: yellow, orange, blue, green. He’d started a new craze with this, so that half those in the arcade now sported belts, mostly yellow or white.

“Hey, Jes,” Mark called.

“Marko.” Jes’s hand went high, slammed Mark’s raised palm. “Looking for some tokens?”

Mark pointed back across the crowded room. “Got two punks in tow,” he said. “Gonna show them how to fly the F-15.”

Jes squinted over at Mark’s companions, the two star offensive tackles from the senior team. “Shit. Raymond and Michaels. Don’t beat them too bad, Mark. Last time they were here they almost tore up the place. I had to call security.”

“No sweat. I’m with them this time.” Mark turned to look lazily at Raymond and Michaels, lifting a hand in greeting. His other arm slid across the counter of Jes’s booth, palm down.

“Six do you?” Jes asked.

“Enough for a show,” Mark answered. He swept his arm back in one smooth motion, scooping up the tokens as he did so. Then he touched two fingers to his forehead in salute and pushed back out into the crowd.

The huge mirror along the east side of the arcade was always a temptation for Mark. On his way past he stopped to admire himself, bristling his brush-cut at the front, shaking out his shoulder-length brown hair at the back. He rubbed his chin speculatively, proud of the stubble. In the mirror’s reflection he watched for and saw the attention his posing drew. One group of kids stopped even feigning interest in their game and gazed in Mark’s direction, their eyes wide with admiration.

He threw his shoulders back and drew himself up, almost ready to move on. Then he saw her. A girl, maybe nineteen, with short dark hair and cold grey eyes, walking directly towards him. He turned slowly to face her, smiling wickedly.

“Looking for me?” he asked.

She snorted, tossed up her head in disdain. The brash indifference on her face set Mark’s blood racing. A thrill of excitement ran through his body, quelling his anger.

“I need to talk to you,” the girl said. “Now.”

Mark’s throat was suddenly dry, and he was conscious of a growing silence in the arcade. They were all waiting for a show. He had to give it to them.

“You got an appointment?” he said. It came out a little forced, but there were several cheers from the audience.

The girl glared at him. “No, but I can easily make one.” She put a hand on his collar, the traditional judo grip. He noticed for the first time the suppleness of her movement, the balance in her stance, the shapely strength of her body. He swallowed hard.

“That’s a challenge,” he said icily. “Meet me in the Ideal Parking lot in half an hour. I’ll see if I can fit you in.”

“You’re coming now.” The girl tugged on his collar, one gentle pull, and Mark felt his balance go. The arcade became a blur, faces and machines flashing past, the world a rush of colored motion. He struck hard, hardly able to break his fall, and his lungs emptied with a loud ‘oof.’ Then he lay gasping, pressure on his chest, grey eyes glowering down at him, the finishing blow poised.

“You – win,” he croaked.

She was off him in an instant, twisting clear and pulling him to his feet in one swift movement. Then with an arm through his to lend support she threaded the crowd and led him out into the street. It was only once he saw daylight that it struck him: nobody had been watching them as they left.

They moved off south, away from downtown. As they walked the girl shifted her grip to that of a female companion, the arm-in-arm stroll. It was at least a minute before Mark recovered enough to talk.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Your attention. And your cooperation. Preferably in that order.”

“I don’t get it. If you just wanted to talk to me, why humiliate me in a public place? I would have listened to reason.”

“No time for that. Anyway, from what I saw in there a threat to your pride was the fastest way to make you take notice.”

Mark eyed her up and down, feeling again the thrill of that first sight. “You didn’t have to worry about that,” he said.

A slight smile touched her mouth. “That’s not what I meant. I had to get you moving, and there was no time to stand arguing.” She turned him into an alley and Mark tried to pull away. Her hand shifted to grip his elbow, and she clutched his arm firmly to her side.

“Where are you taking me?” Mark asked.

“We’re on a fast ticket out of here, Mark. If you value your life.”

Again the thrill, an icy tingle of excitement that started in his belly and ran up into his throat. He dragged her to a halt and her piercing eyes locked onto his.

“I was sent to get you to safety,” she said quietly. “Right now we have a bit of a head start, but I can’t say how much. Let’s not waste it.”

Mark stumbled forward as she pulled him along. Half-way down the alley a beige VW bug was parked, hidden in behind a dumpster. The girl unlocked the passenger door, propelled him inside, slammed the door shut. He tried the handle without results. The same went for the window control. As he reached across to hold her door closed, she yanked it open and slid into the driver’s seat.

“OK, Mark. Don’t give me any shit.” She started up, then turned to him again. “You tried your door?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Watch.” She tapped a button on the dash and Mark saw her side of the car go suddenly blue, as if he were looking at her through a pair of cheap sunglasses. “The barrier’s as solid as a wall. Just so you don’t get any ideas while we’re driving.”

“Sure,” he said shakily. “Who are you, Jane Bond or something?”

She smiled again as she drove off, this time a real smile that touched her eyes. For an instant, the coldness was gone, and Mark felt his heart lurch.

“In this car?” she said. “No, I’m no spy. And I’m not in the habit of just picking up random teenagers off the streets. Even good-looking ones with big egos.”

“Listen, if I’m going to be kidnapped by a beautiful woman, at least tell me your name.”

She shot him a quick glance. “I deserved that,” she said. “One compliment deserves another. My name’s Robin.” With her eyes still on the road, she held out her right hand. Mark gripped it fiercely, almost desperately, then let it go. She had both hands on the wheel again before he realized what had just happened. He tried to reach out and touch her arm, but the barrier held him back. One-way, then. And effective.

Mark sighed and looked about him. They were following Main Street South, heading out of town. “Where are you taking me, Robin? And why?”

“Where depends on a lot of things. Why is a little more obvious on the surface, but runs much deeper.”

“Well? I suppose you know my parents will call in the cops as soon as they hear from those guys at the arcade.”

“They won’t hear anything from the arcade. Unless I’m getting feeble. But we’ll skip that for now. I guess you’ve figured I’m not out to kill you. I had my chance. And let’s say for argument’s sake I’m not kidnapping you either. What does that leave?”

Mark smiled at her. “You’re looking for some action?”

“Yeah, in all the wrong places.” She took the turn onto the Interstate and caught his gaze as she did so. “Mark, I’m trying to save your life,” she said.

Mark tried to scoff in reply, but it didn’t come out right. More like a whimper of acceptance than a snort of defiance.

“Remember that big test yesterday,” Robin said, “the Statewide assessment?”

Mark nodded.

“Instant results. The database was updated last night.” She glanced at the rear-view, and Mark saw the brief hesitation before she looked forward again. Was that a flicker of worry on her face? “So here I am. There were a few questions on it that were not intended to evaluate general student competence.”

He thought back. Those Statewides were weird. Half the questions made no sense and had nothing to do with what he took in school. He’d always been good at trivial knowledge, able to identify obscure prize recipients and sports stars, unknown politicians, second-rate authors. Now that he thought of it, there had been a lot of questions on the test dealing with stuff like that. Scientists that worked as assistants to famous inventors; producers and directors that had made screen icons out of little-known actors; lawyers who had won (or lost) cases for notorious criminals, propelling them into the public eye forever. How many people, especially high school kids, would ever know any of that? And, come to think of it, how did he know it? He realized that without specific questions in front of him, he could not think of a single name from the questions asked on the test. It spooked him.

“I – think I see what you mean,” he said shakily. “What’s it all about?”

“Gifts, Mark. It’s about gifts.”

There was a sudden squeal of tires, and a Chevy just ahead veered across three lanes and almost took the front of their car off. They lurched sideways into the railing as Robin hauled frantically on the wheel, fighting for control. Then she had her foot flat on the floor. The rolling wreck was in front of them, a ball of fire, yet she was accelerating.

“Robin!” Mark shrieked.

There was no collision. They went through the flaming hulk as though it did not exist. Cars behind them swerved, screeched to a halt, dodged into the ditch to avoid the smash-up. Robin drove their car away to the scream of rubber on pavement, the ‘crump’ of heavy impact. A highway in chaos. Mark was stunned.

“Take the wheel, Mark,” she ordered. “Now.”

He hesitated, then noticed that the blue barrier was no longer there. “What…”

Robin pulled him over onto her lap and wriggled out from under him. In his confusion all Mark could think of was the warmth of her body against his. A moment later, he was holding the wheel of the car, pedal to the metal, in full flight. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Robin lying back in the seat, head slumped, eyes closed, her breathing deep and regular.

“Robin?” he asked.

A slight movement of one hand was her only acknowledgement, yet Mark understood the message. He turned his attention to the road, scanning his mirrors for signs of danger. Farther back along the freeway, smoke rose from the lane they were traveling. He caught movement in the rear-view, up above, as if… He twisted, glanced up in the sky. There was nothing. Yet he could have sworn…

“Robin, what’s going on? What are we running from?”

“Look again, Mark,” she replied softly.

He looked. The traffic behind them was moving normally. There was no spiral of smoke, no greasy black pall over the highway. But in the air was a helicopter, sleek and fast. It was tailing them about a hundred yards back, no more than twenty feet above the road.

Mark’s mind raced. He glanced again at his companion, but she had not moved. The accident, the rolling car. Had he imagined it all? And the helicopter. How could he not have seen it? Then it came to him, slowly, as if the thought had been planted like a seed in his brain and grew rapidly to full bloom. Illusion. Images projected into his mind, into both their minds. Their helicopter pursuers were trying to force them to stop.

And he sensed more. Knew it was Robin that was feeding the information to him, though she lay back half-asleep in the seat beside him. Knew she was working even now to hide their real location from the ’copter. Acknowledged her silent instructions.

He scanned the road ahead, saw the sign for the next exit. Two miles. As calmly as he could, he swung the little car away from the exit lane, out towards the middle of the highway. With concentration, he could see Robin’s illusory duplicate car move in the opposite direction, slowing to turn off. He reached the passing lane and put on speed, outpacing the other cars nearby. Less than a minute later they raced past the exit and as Mark watched, the helicopter turned aside, following the illusory car up the ramp.

“Shit, Robin,” he whispered. “What do we do now?”

Once more she gestured for calm with her hand, and Mark steadied himself. The thought came. At the next exit he pulled off, crossed the bridge, and found a space in the service centre parking lot. Before he had turned off the engine Robin was out of the car, scanning the vehicles around them. She fixed her gaze on an old pickup truck.

“Out of the car and stand back,” she said over her shoulder. Mark complied. He watched in amazement as the VW was slowly transformed into a copy of the old truck.

“Give me your hand, Mark.” Robin’s voice was weak, distant. Mark gripped her outstretched hand tightly, and felt his knees suddenly buckle. With an effort, he locked them straight and pulled himself upright. Robin was looking at him.

“Thanks,” she said. “Now it should keep for an hour or so. Long enough for us to get away.”

Still holding his hand, she drew him gently but firmly towards the original truck, and they both slid in. Robin took the passenger side and Mark the wheel. She leaned down below the steering column, and sparks flew as the engine caught.

“Drive.”

“What, back the way we just came?”

“More or less. Half an hour, then you switch vehicles again. You know where the train station is in Aberfoyle?”

Mark had never taken a train, but he’d seen the signs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Then take us there. By the fastest route you can.”

“Robin…”

“Do it or lose it, Mark.”

Mark headed out onto the freeway, quickly passing the exit where the helicopter had been. There was no sign of it now. Robin was resting again, as she’d been doing the last time they’d passed the spot.

“Robin, at least tell me what’s going on,” Mark pleaded. “This is some really weird stuff, you know?”

Her eyes flicked open a slit, and she nodded slightly. “You’re right. Some weird stuff. But you’ll get used to it.” She closed her eyes again. “Like I said, it’s about gifts. Let’s leave it at that for now. I need a rest.”

He drove in silence, reaching the Aberfoyle station in just over half an hour. He remembered nothing of the drive itself. Only the racing thoughts running through his mind, jumbled and unclear, and the presence of the woman in the seat beside him. Mostly that.

Robin was awake and alert as soon as the engine stopped. With a quick glance she surveyed their location, turned to Mark.

“Thanks again,” she said. “I was a bit drained after that ’copter incident.”

“You? What about me?”

“Whatever. I got you out. That’s all that matters.”

“I guess you trust me now?”

“I trusted you from the beginning. Don’t let my bark worry you. My bite’s a lot worse than you’d expect.”

“You mean, if you hadn’t trusted me you could have shut me up? While you rescued me?”

“Something like that. Listen, don’t go all grateful on me. I wouldn’t want your ego getting damaged.”

Mark blushed. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“Don’t bother.” She pointed out the window. A tall lanky man in motorcycle leathers was approaching the truck. “He’ll be taking you on from here. You can discuss me with him.”

“Taking me on where? I thought you were going to…”

Robin waved at the motorcyclist, opened the truck door and hopped down. They exchanged hurried words, and the man stepped up onto the running board.

“Robin been giving you some trouble, Mark? You can always count on her for that.” He offered his hand. “I’m Anders. Anders Nielsen. Second in command for this sector. Welcome to the IP movement.”

“Anders, we’re on a tight schedule,” Robin said. “Get him on board.”

“We have a minute. I think Mark should be given his options now. There are only two. First, come with me back to our central operations, so we can fully brief you on your new life. Or second, wait for the government trackers to move in. And like Robin says, you haven’t much time to choose.”

Mark looked first at Anders, then at Robin. He had a strong desire to just start the engine again and drive away, leave this whole crazy experience behind him. But somehow he knew it wasn’t that simple.

“Robin,” he said. “I want to do the right thing. I…” he swallowed. “Will I see you again?”

She smiled. “Who knows? I might consider dropping in on you occasionally. It’s been known to happen.”

Mark felt a surge of relief at that. “What about my parents? I have to get word to them.”

“Robin will take care of it,” Anders replied. “And later, once you’re settled in, we’ll set up a secure phone link so you can talk to them. But first, you have to decide whether or not you’re coming with me.”

“Just who are you?”

“An unauthorized set of misfits. We call ourselves the independent psychics. IP’s if you like. Independent, as opposed to government-controlled, government-manipulated. Once they get hold of you, you do their bidding or else. We’re a little less structured.” He glanced back at Robin. “Still, if you ever get into a field operative position like Robin, you’ve got to come up with the goods. Unorthodox, but effective.”

“Come on. I did a great pick-up on him. Even got him to help. Right, Mark?”

Mark smiled at her. “I think I agree with Anders. But then, I think you’re a special case. Sort of beyond reproach. At least from me.”

Robin returned the smile. “And I think we can take that as a yes, Anders.” She grabbed the helmet from under Anders arm and crossed to where his motorcycle stood. Then with a wave of her hand she was off, leaving them in her dust.

“Are there any more like her in your movement, Anders?” Mark asked.

“Some come close. But I think you caught her spirit well enough.” He took Mark by the arm. “Let’s go. If you want to find out, we better be on that train.”

Mark followed him to the platform. The train was short, only two carriages, pulled by an old diesel-electric like the one from his train set. Anders led him through a door into a private compartment. He indicated a seat and hauled a large case down from the overhead rack. Opening it, he removed what looked like a biking helmet made of dark green metal.

“Put this on,” he said. “It’ll shield you from psychic attacks. When you’re new at this, you can’t protect yourself so well. That can really hurt.”

Mark took the helmet and looked at it sceptically. It reminded him of something. Then it came to him. This helmet was a lot like the one he’d seen Robin take from Anders before she left.

“How come I suddenly need all this protection?” he said. “I was fine up until today.”

Anders nodded. “Until yesterday, you mean. Until you wrote that State test and got the only perfect score. Only a strong psychic could pull all the answers from the minds of the exam supervisors like that, and nobody would know all that shit just by chance.” He waggled a finger at Mark. “Now, you’re a target. The government psychic squads are desperate for new recruits. And the IP’s are your only other option.”

It all seemed reasonable, when put so clearly. Yet Mark was still reluctant to don the helmet. He felt a prickling sensation at the back of his head, as though someone was tickling him inside his skull, where he couldn’t scratch. It was all happening so fast, and he had no experience to draw on. What was the right thing to do? Finally he shrugged, lifted the helmet and snugged it down. The strap was of metal, thick and solid. Anders reached across and helped him with it.

“There you go, rookie,” he said. “Now you’re safe from wayward probes.”

Suddenly the compartment lurched and started moving. Something about the movement seemed unusual, but Mark couldn’t quite place it. After all, he’d never been on a train before. That was it. Trains moved on rails. Smooth, even tracks. The compartment was bumping along, like a car over an open field.

“Anders…”

Anders held up a hand. “I’ll check it out, Mark. You stay put.”

Mark nodded. Anders rose to leave, but just as his hand touched the door handle the whole train heaved violently, throwing the man roughly to the floor. At the same instant, Mark heard a familiar voice.

“The helmet controls, Mark. They’re on his belt.” Robin’s voice, the words distant as though heard through a wall of rock. He could swear it was her. Yet how could it be? And as he paused, frozen into indecision, the compartment dissolved about him and became a cell, a steel-walled cell, with windowed doors at front and rear. Through the rear window he saw the night sky jolting past. And through the front he caught a glimpse of Robin’s taut features as she struggled with an unseen opponent.

He moved. Sluggishly, as though he were in a giant vat of treacle. His limbs obeyed him, but they were not his. He felt detached, and strangely groggy. Dropping to the floor where the still-stunned Anders lay, reaching for the black remote at his belt, stabbing with unfeeling fingers at the winking blue light, at the button embedded in the housing beside it, and then…

Smash, the world spun. His head whipped back and cracked hard against the steel floor. Only the helmet saved him. Yet he knew he had to get it off. Mark’s hands fumbled at his throat and the catch came free, the helmet rolling away across the canted floor to crash loudly into the rear door. He was himself again, mobile. Only just in time.

Anders lunged, a desperate, clumsy attack. Dodging aside, Mark swung an arm up and caught his adversary by the extended wrist, threw his hip under, and rocked forward. Anders flew over his bent back like a sack with limbs, and when he hit the metaled floor there was a sickening crack. His head hung crookedly sideways, the neck at an impossible angle. The dead face not that of Anders, or at least not the man Mark had called Anders. He turned away in revulsion. Then the cell gave another massive heave, threw him prone beside the still body. This was no illusion. And it wasn’t over.

Scrambling to his feet, he struggled towards the forward door, grasped the handle, and pulled. He was almost bowled over as two bodies fell through into the cell, locked in combat. Mark recognized Robin’s lithe form in the grip of a huge bear of a man. Quickly, before the man could react, Mark had a choke about his neck. Eight seconds was all it took. Robin gasped for air as she pulled free, her face urgent.

“The van’s out of control, Mark,” she wheezed. “Stop it before we really do crash.”

In a trice Mark was inside the cab of the armored car which had served as an illusory train. He wedged himself into the driver’s seat, grabbed the wheel and stabbed a foot onto the brake. With a final careening jolt, the van came to a halt. Mark sighed and leaned back against the seat, a wave of nausea suddenly sweeping over him.

“Feels like shit, doesn’t it?”

Mark could barely turn his head to watch Robin as she sank into the passenger seat. He nodded, very gently.

“Like my head’s ready to split,” he said softly. “And it sounds like you probably know the rest.”

Robin smiled, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. “You bet. Takes a lot to rebound after wearing a suppressor helmet. You did great back there.”

Mark frowned. “They set this whole thing up, didn’t they? The train, the station, Anders. Everything was faked. But how did they do it? One thing, one car, maybe. But a whole station. How?”

Robin tapped the dash of the armored car. “The vehicle is a Government specialty. Full projection gear. They could simulate almost any scene and convince a whole crowd of people. Assuming they had a couple of good psychics to channel and control the illusion.”

He looked at her and noticed for the first time the crumpled body on the floor at her feet. “Uugh,” he said. His eyes met hers. “Robin, I think I killed that guy back there.”

“I’m sorry it had to be such a harsh beginning. But believe me, this was your only chance. Once they’ve conditioned you, you do as you’re told and that’s it.”

“What happened to…” He pointed at the body on the floor.

“I had to throttle this one before I could take on the driver,” Robin said. “Almost didn’t have enough left to hold that big guy while you tackled the leader.”

“And what about Anders? The real Anders?”

“You’d never been to the station, and neither had I. They got wind of our rendezvous site and set up a fake closer in than the real one. Anders is probably figuring we’ve been caught or diverted by now. He’ll get back on his own.”

Mark looked at Robin in wonder. “You realized it was all a fake as soon as we drove up, didn’t you? You never left on that bike.”

She nodded, grinning. “Yeah, I saw through it, but I was too damned drained to do anything. So I let them take you. Stowed away here in the armored car’s cab. Had a bitch of a time keeping hidden as long as I did, so the driver and his buddy wouldn’t catch on.”

Mark sighed and smiled contentedly at her. “So what do we do now?”

“Feeling a bit better, are we?”

“Robin, the way I feel now you could lead me anywhere.” He reached out and put a hand on her arm. “You got yourself a new recruit.”

“Kind of figured as much,” she said. “Though there are easier ways to bring in the catch.” She stood, heaved the body at her feet through into the cell, locked the door. Then she activated an unlabelled black box hanging under the dash and pushed him out of the car. “With that beacon active, their associates will wait for a signal before they move in. We have a couple of hours anyway.” She propelled him in the direction of the bike. “Do you drive?”

“I’d like to learn. But only if you’ll teach me.”

She hopped onto the seat and Mark mounted behind her. With her hand on the ignition key she half-turned. “I think that can be arranged. After all, you deserve some reward for saving my life.” She smiled back at him, for the first time a real smile that sent his heart racing and made him clutch her waist all the tighter. Robin laughed. “And maybe, if you catch me in the right mood, I’ll teach you a few decent judo holds. No telling when you might need to show off.”

THE END