Caleb 88 – Meet & Greet.

“Morning,” I sent to the girls. “Did you have a good night?”

I felt a rush of positive responses. I also noted that Arnie’s response was in there too. I’d expected him to be working.

“We made up to Arnie for him missing Sunday,” sent Sarah.

“You have a good time?” I sent directing this at Arnie, but including the others also.

“It was intense,” he said. “What about you?”

“Amazing coincidence,” I told them, “I met a power user, a telepath, whose brother works for the FBI up here. He might even be who I’m meeting today. I don’t know.”

“Way to make a good impression,” sent Amanda. “You DID make a good impression I hope?”

I sent them the memory of the night. I felt a rush of arousal from all of them. Especially Amanda.

“WOW,” she said. “I don’t suppose you can persuade her to stop by Portland on her way to New Orleans, can you?”

“I’ll ask her when we have breakfast,” I told them “I’m heading down there in a few minutes.”

“Tell her we’ll make it well worth her while,” said Amanda. “She’s delicious.”

“She’s a busy woman,” I said. “But I’ll ask.”

“Let us know when you’re setting out for home,” Mary said.

“I will. See you later tonight hopefully.” I told them before allowing the connection to quiet, and throwing the rest of my stuff in my bag.

I went down to the lobby, checked out, and put my stuff into my truck. Then it was time to go for breakfast.

Hadiza was waiting for me just outside the restaurant.

“Sorry,” I said. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Just got here,” she said. We headed into the restaurant and gave our room numbers. We were shown to a table and asked if we’d like to order breakfast or just take from the buffet.

“I’ll go for eggs benedict,” I said.

Hadiza’s eyes lit up. “OOOH!” she said. “I’ve not had that in years. Me too please.”

We sat and surveyed each other for a few moments over our coffee.

“My girls have asked me to ask you if you’d like to stop by Portland on your way to New Orleans.” I told her. “They’d really love to meet you.”

She sighed sadly.

“I wish I had time,” she said. “The party is tonight, I know. . .a strange night to have a party, and then I’m on a red eye flight to New Orleans. I have to register on the course I’m taking at nine AM the day after tomorrow. I have some pre-reading to get done before then, which will take me some time.

I thought for a few moments.

“Do you still have your room?” I asked her.

She grinned at me. “Still not had enough?” she asked.

“No,” I said smiling, “but I think I can help you. I figured something out, but you’d have to trust me for you to use it. It’s how I went from a 3.4 student to a 4.0”

“Really?” she said.

“You’d need to let me through your shields though,” I said, “to show it to you.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Letting you into my bed is one thing, but into my mind…”

“I know,” I said. “But I promise you it’s worth it.” I thought for a few moments. “You know any healers?” I asked after a while.

“A few,” she said.

“Do you know Jeevan Patel?” I asked.

“Who doesn’t,” she said. “He’s practically the leader of the Healer network. We’ve spoken a couple of times.”

“Would you trust him?” I asked.

“Probably,” she said.

I picked up my phone and dialled.

“Bhaiya,” he said. “How are you.”

“Hey Jeevan,” I said. “I’m with someone who wants to say hello.”

I handed Hadiza the phone.

“Jeevan?” she said, and then spent fifteen minutes talking to him on the phone. I heard my name mentioned once toward the end of the conversation. Our breakfast arrived and I was half way through mine before she finished talking to him.

“He thinks highly of you,” she said.

“And I of him,” I said. “He’s my brother.”

She tucked into her breakfast, sighing in pleasure.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you show me.”

“I can show you the effect in ten minutes,” I told her. “To teach you how to do it will take longer, but I promise you’ll be impressed.”

“After breakfast,” she said.

We finished breakfast and made our way up to her room.

Considering she’d not even slept there it looked like a cyclone had hit it. There were clothes and towels strewn everywhere, along with books and papers.

She smiled at me looking a little embarrassed.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said.

I shrugged. “You should have seen my dorm room at college,” I told her.

“Messy?” she asked with a smile.

“Nope,” I said with a grin. “Two twenty year old guys living there and it was still tidier than this.”

She laughed and slapped my arm.

“Asshole,” she said.

She swept some stuff off of the table and indicated one of the seats.

“Okay,” she said. “Impress me.”

“Do you have a journal or book you haven’t read yet?” I asked.

She reached into a bag and pulled out a journal, still sealed in its cellophane.

I read the title. “Journal of Tropical Medicine.”

“That’ll do,” I said. “Pick an article.”

She opened the wrapper and opened the pages at random, selecting an article before handing it to me.

“Frequency of Gastrointestinal Parasites, Anemia, and Nutritional Status among Children from Different Geographical Regions of Bolivia.” I read. “Sound like a page turner.”

“It’s important research,” she said. I held my hands up in surrender. I looked at the article, it was about four pages long.

“I want you to scan the article,” I told her. “Don’t read it, just look at each page, top to bottom, and then the next.”

“Do what?” she asked. I explained again.

Taking the journal back from me she did as I’d asked. Then looked up at me.

“Now,” I said. “Here’s where the trust comes in. Let me in for a few minutes.”

It took a little while for her to make the decisions, but she’d come this far, so in the end she dropped her shields.

As I had with Sarah and Melanie, I went into her short-term memory, and sorted the memories of her scanning the article. I kept my attention on the journal and ignored everything else. Once I’d seen it filed away to Long Term Storage, I backed out of her mind. Her shields were up instantly.

“That was quick,” she said.

“Strange,” I quipped. “Lots of girls tell me that.”

“I doubt that very much,” she said with a grin.

I held my hand out for the journal.

Then I turned to the article.

“How many children were included in the study and what ages were they?” I asked her.

“What?” she said. “How would I know, I haven’t even read…”

“Think,” I said. “How many children and what age range?”

She sighed and then her eyes widened.

“Cross sectional data were collected from 790 children, 5-13 years old,” she said.

“Wait, how did I know that?”

“And what percentages were infected with protozoa and Helminth Parasites?” I shot at her.

“Over 60% and 20% of children were infected with protozoa and helminth parasites, respectively. Infections caused by pathogenic Hymenolepis nana (15.7–5.2%), Ascaris lumbricoides (41.9–28.5%), Giardia lamblia (30.1–11.2%), Entamoeba histolytica (5.7–0.7%), and nonpathogenic Entamoeba coli (48.9–16%), Blastocystis hominis (40.2–28.5%), Iodamoeba butschli (16.1–2.5%), Chilomastix mesnili (19.2–7.3%), and Entamoeba histolytica/dispar (7.4–5.5%) parasites, were more prevalent in the highlands than the lowlands.” She replied, her eyes wide in astonishment.

“So,” I said “Now you have it memorized. Have you ever read your own mind?”

I spent the next hour talking her through the process of filing her short-term memory so that she’d remember important things, and then showing how to use her telepathy on herself to give herself instant recall of anything she’d ever read, heard, inferred, or calculated.

“Fuck me,” she said. “If I’d known this when I was in med school…”

“That’s exactly what everyone says when I show them.” I told her. “It only works if you have telepathy. You can do it for someone else to help them memorize something but its not as effective. Also, once you use the memory sorting a few times, it will become second nature and your brain will just do it naturally. Like I said I went from a 3.4 GPA to 4.0 and I go to one class per week in my school. I only go there because attendance is mandatory.”

“What time is your appointment?” she asked.

“Eleven why?” I asked looking at the clock. It was five after ten.

“Damn,” she said. “I was going to fuck your brains out by way of a thank you,” she grinned. “Would you mind if I shared this with David? I’ll tell him where it came from.”

“Would David mind if you told him we’d spent the night together?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He’s been a Power user long enough. He knows what we need. He needs it too.”

“Then by all means,” I said. “It can’t harm my chances with the FBI.”

She snorted. “As a Power user,” she asked, “isn’t this just a formality?”

“I think so,” I returned. “But it never hurts to be certain.”

“Give me your phone,” she said. I did, and she put her number in, and then dialled it. Her phone rang and she hung up.

“There,” she said. “I have your number, and you have mine.” I looked at my address book and found she’d entered it under ‘Dr. Booty Call’. I laughed.

“If,” she said. “When I’m done, I have any time before I’m sent out again, I’ll see if I can get to Portland, that is if your invite still holds.”

“We’re going away over Christmas,” I said. “But if we’re at home, then definitely.”

“I’m not going to be going out before the new year in any case,” she said. “I’ll call you when I know.”

“That would be perfect,” I said. “And now, if I can find my way out of this wilderness, I need to go.”

“Asshole” she said again, swatting my ass as I stepped past her. Then she stood up and followed me to the door.

I opened the door and turned to say goodbye. She pulled me into another hot and steamy kiss.

“It was good to meet you Caleb,” she said. “I hope we can do it again sometime.”

“Likewise,” I said smiling down at her for a second.

I turned away coming face to face with the young man who’d been gearing up to say something to us the previous night at dinner. His face screwed up and he opened his mouth to speak, just in time for a squelchy squeak to escape from his rear. His eyes widened again, and he dashed off down the corridor. I heard Hadiza laughing as her door closed.

+++++

The FBI Seattle office was only ten a minute drive from the Hotel, and I arrived in plenty of time. I pulled into the parking garage.

“This is FBI only,” said a guard sitting in a booth on the entrance. I showed him my FBI ID.

“Where you from?” he asked. “I’ve not seen you before.”

“Portland,” I said.

“There’s no spaces,” he told me, “but if you leave your keys, you can park anywhere. I’ll move it if you’re blocking anyone in.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Thanks.” I parked the truck, hopefully where it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, and dropped the keys into him as I passed. He hung them on a peg in a key cupboard and then closed and locked it.

I walked down the block and in through the main door of the office, went through security, and approached the reception desk. I’d looped my ID over my belt as had become a habit, and I was holding the invitation letter in my hand.

An older lady with the name tag ‘Barbera’ was sitting behind the desk. She looked up as I approached.

“Good morning,” she said.

I handed her the letter and she nodded.

“Ah yes,” she said. “I was told to expect you.” She glanced at my ‘Consultant’ ID. And nodded.

“If you’d take the elevator up to the sixth floor, there’s a second reception up there. Check in with Amy there and someone will be along to collect you.”

“Thank you,” I said. She smiled at me.

I followed her instructions and by ten minutes to the hour, I was seated in a reception area waiting to be collected.

There were low tables with a couple of magazines which looked to be at least three or four years out of date, a water cooler, and a couple of potted plants, presumably to make the area look less sterile. The fluorescent lighting was completely destroying that effect though, and the whole area had the vibe of a dentist waiting room, but not the smell. The place smelled like an office. Paper, air conditioning, that strange electrical hot smell that photocopiers and old computers give off, and people. Lots of people.

“Caleb Stott?” I looked up to see a middle aged man approaching me. I stood.

“Special Agent Garry Abbot,” he said holding out his hand. I shook it. “Please, follow me.”

I followed him down a hall and into an office, where a man sat waiting.

He didn’t rise as I entered.

Seated, he looked to be over six feet tall, and, if indeed it was Mbisi, I was surprised. Where her skin had been dark brown, his was black, like jet black. I wondered at that.

“Caleb Stott,” said Agent Abbot, “This is SSA Mbisi.”

He nodded in my direction, but made no effort to rise nor to hold out his hand.

“Sir,” I said in his direction.

“Please,” said Abbot, “take a seat.”

As I sat, I felt Mbisi probing at my shields. I looked at him for a moment, wondering how to respond. Since I was fairly certain he wouldn’t get through I ignored it for now.

Abbot sat and pulled a file in front of him and opened it.

“You’ve been quite busy,” he said, “since you came into your powers.”

“Just in the right place at the right time,” I said. “Mostly.”

“I can see that,” he said.

“You have four letters of commendation in your file,” he said. “And you haven’t even joined the agency yet.”

“Four?” I asked wondering what they were about.

“There’s one from a captain in the state troopers,” he said. “Something about stopping an attack on one of his men? Then there’s one about the white supremacist compound in Montana, another one from a SWAT sergeant regarding a hostage situation in a bank, and finally one from the US Marshall’s office.”

I grimaced at that final one.

“That one didn’t end ideally,” I said.

“According to this, you saved the lives of a family in WitSec, including that of a two year old girl,” he told me.

“It’s never a good outcome, when someone ends up dead,” I told him. “If I could do that again, there are so many things I would do differently.”

I felt Mbisi press on my shields hard. He was trying to remove them.

I’d had enough, so without even glancing in his direction I tore down his shields leaving him completely open to me. I did nothing more than that. His eyes widened slightly but other than that he gave no reaction.

His shields were back up instantly, but his attack on mine ceased.

“Dianna told me you were strong,” he said. “How strong are you?”

“I don’t exactly know,” I said. “I’ve not come across anyone who’s shields I can’t take down though.”

“Will you drop your shields so I can see?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as you get a court order.”

Finally, his face cracked, and he smiled slightly. “She also said that you were not one to be bullied.”

“I made some mistakes,” I said. “No, scratch that. I made LOTS of mistakes when I first came into my powers. I learned a lot from those mistakes and am hoping not to make too many more.”

“That’s all we can ever hope for,” he said. He reached for the file, taking it from Abbot, who’d sat back in his chair leaving the interview with Mbisi. I got the feeling that his questions were merely something to occupy me while Mbisi did what he did.

He flicked through the file.

“You’re a Healer too,” he said. “Saved the life of an agent who’d been shot multiple times.”

“That wasn’t just me,” I said. “Jeevan Patel did most of that, I just helped.”

“Not what it says here,” he said. “There’s a statement from Jeevan saying that he wouldn’t have even attempted Healing without you there.”

Then he changed tack.

“Why the FBI?” he asked.

“I’ve always wanted a career in Law Enforcement,” I said. “That’s what I’ve been working toward all my school life. I did well enough to get fairly good grades in my major in college, but it was only when the Amulet came off that I realized how much better I could have done if I hadn’t been hobbled with it.

“Then all of a sudden, I had relatives I’d never even heard of. One of whom was an ADD in the FBI. She and Dianna, sorry SSA Everson, showed me how the FBI were working to stop wild power users from abusing Norms. That seemed like a really good use of my powers and talents, and far better than, say, the NSA where I’d be spending my life spying on my neighbors, or the CIA, where I’d have to work overseas.

“I have a family in the US that I really don’t want to spent time away from, so the FBI made sense. I’m not one hundred percent set on the ESP section although I’m pretty sure that no matter where I get posted, I’m going to get pulled into dealing with rogue Power users, especially stronger ones.”

“Looking at your file,” he said. “Everything you’ve done so far, has been you. The Lone Ranger riding in and saving the day. That’s not how the FBI works. We’re a team. Can you work as part of a team Caleb?”

“Definitely,” I said. “If you look at the event at the hospital where Owen Booth was taken down, that was definitely a team effort. All I did was neutralize his powers. The rest of the team went in and took him into custody.”

He flicked through the file until he found the relevant page.

“Also,” I continued, “look at the Montana compound event. Again, all I did was neutralize the nut with his finger on the detonator. Once that was done the bomb squad went in and defused the devices and the rest of the team swept up all of the others in the compound.”

More flicking through the file.

“You might also notice,” I went on, “when I’ve come across situations, whenever it was possible, I always ask for direction from SSA Everson. Unless immediate action was required, I have and will continue to do so, until such times as I have the seniority to make those decisions independently.”

“And you think there will come a time when you will have such seniority?” he asked.

“We live a long time,” I said. “If I don’t progress to such a degree after an appropriate time, then I’ll obviously be in the wrong career and have some decisions to make as to where I’d be better utilized using my skills.”

“And if not in the FBI, where do you think that might be?” he asked.

“Possibly as a Healer,” I said. “I have the utmost respect and love for Jeevan and what he does. I doubt I have his ability to work in the shadows though. All the major healings I have done, have been felt by the patient, and recognized for what they are. If I were to go that route, I’d have to do a lot of work to be much more circumspect with my healing.”

“Why hypnotherapy?” he asked. “Were we not paying you enough?”

I smiled. “You were paying me plenty,” I said. “It was never about the money. It was a way to train my Compulsion and Telepathy. I suggested it to SSA Everson after one day when she’d got me in for a telepathy training session. I thought that I could kill two birds with one stone, and also help people at the same time.

“Two birds?” he asked.

“I could train my telepathy,” I said. “The consent form clearly states that I can obtain information from their subconscious mind, and my compulsion in making sure that they achieve whatever goal they are looking for.”

“Surely you could do this in one session,” he said. “Why are you making them come back so many times?”

“Cover,” I said. “Nobody would believe that I could stop people smoking or get them to lose massive quantities of weight in a single session. It has to be believable.”

He nodded at that.

“Is that all you’ve done, Smoking cessation and weight loss?”

“I’ve treated a couple of PTSD patients successfully,” I told him, “A couple of sexual dysfunction cases, and also a cocaine addict.”

“Who was the cocaine addict?” he asked.

“I’m afraid the confidentiality agreement prevents me from disclosing anything without a court order,” I told him.

He grunted.

“You’re not a qualified counsellor, but you’re treating PTSD?” he asked.

“I consulted with SSA Everson on those,” I said. “She coached me through the process, and I had her in reserve if needed. Given my range of powers, it’s actually fairly easy to treat.”

“And yet you suffered it yourself following the shooting.” He stated.

“It’s hard to look in a mirror and see the truth,” I told him. “It took someone pointing it out to me to make me realize I had a problem. Once that was evident, I was able to successfully get help.”

“Would you be willing to let us read you,” he asked. “To make sure you’re okay?”

“I’d be willing to undertake a psych evaluation,” I said, “as all the Norm agents do. I’ve been informed that that is the standard practice.”

He nodded again.

“If you do join the bureau,” he said, “you’ll have to do the same 16 week basic training as all agents do, and you’ll have to pass the fitness evaluation exactly the same as other agents. Do you think you can do it?”

“I’m certain I can pass the fitness evaluation,” I told him. “I’ve been training in martial arts since I came into my powers and, since I found out the details of the PFT, I’ve been training for that and can consistently score a passing grade in all five tests.

“You’re training the at the Tactical Recruitment Program level?” he asked “Why?”

“Dianna told me,” I said, “that with my powers, I was pretty much a shoe in. But I know that if I am successful then I’m going to be taking a slot from someone else who really wanted it too. I wanted to be worthy of that slot not just because I had powers, but because I could qualify even without them. Yes, I’m claiming an exemption on my age due to my powers but, other than that, I want to deserve the position I’m taking.”

Mbisi’s eyebrows rose.

“You’ve been training martial arts?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Which ones?” he asked.

“Karate, Aikido, and Krav Maga” I said.

“And you’ve had weapons training?” he asked.

“My future father-in-law is a Marine Corps veteran,” I said. “He taught me everything I know about shooting, although I’ve only practiced with hand guns so far, no long guns.”

“I was wondering if there was going to be anything left for us to teach you,” he said a little cynically. I chose not to respond to that.

“There’s no mention in your file regarding foreign languages,” he said. “Do you have any proficiency in any foreign languages?”

I wondered for a fraction of a second how I should answer that. So far, I was fluent in several languages, but I wasn’t sure if I should reveal that information.

“I have a little Spanish, sir,” I told him after a second.

“Verbal or written?” he asked.

“Both,” I said. He made a note in the file.

“That might come in useful,” he said. “Do you think you’re proficient enough to pass a test in the language?”

“I should think so sir,” I said.

He nodded. “That will be added to your file, and you’ll be tested on it then. Failing the proficiency will not negatively affect your application but passing it will certainly positively affect it.” Then he barked a laugh. “Who am I kidding. You’d have to be a deaf mute with one leg and the I.Q. of a ping-pong ball not to be accepted with your powers. But it speaks well of you that you are striving to meet all the criteria for entry that you’d have to meet as an unpowered applicant. There is a BFTC starting in late July. Maggie wants you in that. That means that we have to get through the processes before that date, we have just under eight months to get everything squared away. We’re taking shortcuts, and obviously your college graduation is a key part of this process. Do you anticipate any problems there?”

“I’m currently maintaining a 4.0, sir,” I said. “I’m not anticipating any problems.”

“The biggest time soak,” he said, “is the background investigation. However, given your rather unique family and the fact that the Everson Council has been basically looking over your shoulder since you were born up until last year, I’m confident that even that can be done quickly. I’d like to get your CAO out before the end of February, which means that we’re going to have to get your phase 2 test done in January. Ideally, we’d like to complete your PFT as soon as possible. Do you think that would be possible?”

“Yes sir,” I said. “I’m ready now, I’d just need a time and a location.”

I realized that I might regret saying that when Mbisi grinned.

“It just so happens,” he said, “that we have a PT instructor in the office today. There is a recreation center across the road with a running track and gymnasium. What do you say?”

I thought for a moment. I had some sweats in my bag, although they were probably creased up since I’d worn them after my shower yesterday, and I had some trainers in there too. There was really no excuse.

“I’m not exactly dressed for it,” I said. “I have some training clothes in my bag, but they’re not in the best state.”

“It’s not a fashion show,” he said. “Can you do it or not?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said. “I’ll need ten to get my bag from my truck.”

“Go get it,” he said, “then meet us in the foyer of the rec center once you have your gear.”

“Sir,” I said standing up. He nodded to the door, and I took that as a dismissal, heading for the elevator, and back outside. Needless to say, it was raining, hard.

The parking guard was helpful, giving me back my keys so I could retrieve my bag. He’d not had to move my truck yet and I handed the keys back to him before crossing the road to the rec center. Mbisi and another man, wearing shorts and a polo top, were waiting for me in the foyer.

“Caleb Stott?” the other man asked.

“Yes sir,” I returned.

“Can I see some ID?” he said. I handed him my FBI Consultant ID. His eyebrow went up on seeing that, but he couldn’t really refuse it, it was an official photographic ID. He made a note on a form on his clipboard, and took a photograph with his phone.

He handed me back my ID.

“Changing rooms are over there,” he said. “You can leave everything in your locker, unless you have a weapon?”

I shook my head. “No sir.”

He nodded. “Good enough. Everything else will be secure enough in there.”

I went and changed into my sweats, hanging my clothes in a locker, and stuffing my bag with my phone in it, in the bottom. I closed the door. There was no lock. After that, I rejoined Mbisi and his colleague in the gym.

“My name is Baron Wild,” he said. “I’m a PT instructor with the FBI, certified to carry out the PFT. I’m going to run through the test just so you know what’s going to happen. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“We’re going to start with sit-ups,” he told me. “You’ll have one minute to complete as many sit-ups as you can. Before the exercise, I will demonstrate the technique and what is required for a sit-up to be counted.

“Following that you will have five minutes to rest, and then you will complete a three hundred meter sprint on the running track. Next comes the push-ups. This is an untimed exercise but you must complete push-ups as demonstrated without any pauses. It’s a continuous motion exercise and the exercise will finish the moment you pause. The number of successful pushups completed to that point will be your score.

“That will be followed by a 1.5 mile run, which again will be completed on the track. Your time for completing the run will be recorded and a score assigned. Finally, there is an untimed number of pull-ups. Again we will describe them at the time of the exercise. This is another untimed, continuous motion, exercise so any pauses will signal the end of the exercise and the number of pull-ups completed to that point will be your score.

“Any questions?”

“No sir,” I said.

“Very well. Please follow me.”

He took me over to a mat, and described the criteria for sit ups. I was very familiar with this, having read this information over and over again, and practiced many times.

“Do you understand the test as I’ve explained it to you?”

“Yes sir.” I said.

“Take your position.” I lay on the floor, arms crossed over my chest. Mbisi knelt in front of me holding my feet down.

“Ready?” I nodded.

“Begin. One, two, three, four…”

“Time,” the instructor called. I stopped. My stomach was starting to burn.

“That’s fifty-two scored,” he said. “Seven points.”

“This way,” the instructor said, and I got to my feet. My stomach muscles burned a little, but I wasn’t winded. I pushed healing into them, clearing the lactic acid, and felt as good as new.

“This is the three hundred meter sprint,” he said. “When I say GO, you will sprint around the track as fast as you can. The finish line is over there, three quarters of the lap. Are you ready?”

“Yes sir,” I said getting into a stance ready to run.

“Ready, Set, GO” I set off running as fast as I could. I did consider giving myself a little TK push but decided against. I’d timed myself a few times on the track near my home and I consistently made it in under forty seven seconds, and I was certain that if I pushed myself today, I could do better. I pushed hard.

“TIME” the instructor called as I passed him. It took me a few strides to slow down. I was breathing hard, having put everything I had into it, but I stood tall, hands above my head, and took some deep breaths, and within thirty seconds, my breathing was almost back to normal. Again I pushed a little healing, this time into my legs. Clearing the lactic acid and refreshing them.

“Forty-four point six seconds,” he said. “Six points.”

We moved back to the mat, and he explained the criteria for the push-ups.

“Begin,” he shouted, and I did.

I stopped at seventy-one, knowing that I couldn’t score any higher than that, and wanting to keep some strength in my arms for the pullups.

“Seventy-one,” he said. “Ten points,”

Strangely my arms felt fine. I was certain I could have continued longer even without healing or using my power, I’d got into a rhythm and felt like I could continue forever. Of all things it was my stomach that had started to burn slightly, holding the position. I ignored it.

I completed the mile and a half run, in a little over nine minutes fifty, scoring another seven points. It was then that I’d noticed that Mbisi had also got changed into sweats. I wondered about that.

Then it was over to the pull-up bar.

“Unless you are a TRP candidate, your score here will not be counted toward your total score, although the pass mark for the PFT will be lowered accordingly. You have already reached the required score of twelve or greater in the first four events. Would you like to complete the fifth test?”

“Yes sir,” I said. I was saying that a lot just now.

He explained the test, and I easily completed the twenty pull-ups required to give me a maximum score in this test too.

I dropped off the bar as he told me my score and made notes. Once again, I pushed healing into my arms, something told me that my Physical Exercise wasn’t over quite yet.

“I’m happy to say that you’ve complete the PFT and reached the standard to satisfy the requirements for entry. You will have to repeat the test twice more, once within one hundred and twenty days leading up to your BFTC and again during the Academy itself.

“Do you have any questions for me?” he concluded.

“No sir,” that was a bit of variety at least.

He nodded.

“You said,” Mbisi cut in, “that you’ve been training martial arts. Would you be up for a little sparring?”

I wondered about that. Was this part of the test?

“Sir?” I asked.

“You can stop that now,” he said. “Your interview is over. I’m just curious. And since we’re both here, I’m interested how good you are. Dianna tells me you’re very good.”

“Sure,” I said shrugging.

He looked around. “No powers,” he said in a low voice.

I nodded to acknowledge that instruction, and then stepped back, taking up a fighting stance.

Mbisi took up a boxer’s stance. Somehow that seemed right for him.

I waited for him to make the first move.

He moved in and threw a jab, which I easily avoided, then another also avoided but he followed that up with a cross from his other hand which I blocked, moving back slightly. It was only now that I realized that neither of us were wearing any kind of protection, neither head guards nor gloves. If he hit me, I was hoping he would pull his punches, because otherwise that was going to hurt.

Another couple of jabs avoided and then he threw another cross, but as I went to block it he stepped in and threw a punch toward my gut. I turned my body, and his fist grazed across my abdomen. Since we were so close, I stepped even further in grabbing his arm and folding him into an aikedo hold forcing him backwards and to the floor. I released him and stepped back. He rolled to his feet.

“Hmmm,” he said.

He stepped up again, and jabbed. It was pure luck on my part that I noticed that for some reason his footing was wrong for what he was doing, and I realized almost too late that he wasn’t a boxer, he was a kick boxer. He spun into a roundhouse that would have taken my head had I not noticed his foot placement and reacted. Sadly for him I was ready, and I ducked under his kick, sweeping his other leg out from under him and carrying him down to the mat. I then took advantage and went back to my roots, locking in an ankle hold as I’d done so many times in my wrestling days.

He tapped the mat and I released the hold.

“You didn’t say you were a wrestler,” he said.

“College champion,” I told him. “Undefeated.”

He shook his head.

We sparred for another half hour, in which he failed to land a punch, and I put him on the mat several times. In the end he gave up.

“I’m done,” he said. “I’m too old for this shit.”

I offered him my hand to help him up, and he took advantage.

“I think we can call it a day,” he said. “Are you staying up tonight or are you driving straight back?”

“My plan was to head home,” I said, “as soon as I was done here.”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry I delayed you. You’d better go get changed and get on the road. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Caleb. Everything Maggie and Dianna said about you is true.”

“I hope not everything,” I laughed. He smiled.

“Well, everything they’ve said to me at least,” he said. “I’ll look forward to working with you in the future. Even if you’re based out of Portland, I’m sure that we’ll cross paths in the future.”

He offered me his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I look forward to it.”

I almost dropped the ball then, by wishing him a happy birthday, but managed to stop myself.

“Have a good night sir,” I said, heading for the changing room. I figured I could get away with that.

Without bothering to change, I collected my gear from the locker room, collected my keys from the parking lot guard, and immediately set my GPS for home. I stopped at the first gas station I came across, and filled up, figuring I should get most of the way, if not all the way home on a full tank. I also picked up some snacks and a couple of bottles of drink, wanting to get home as quickly as possible and minimize stops. I was peckish though, having used a little bit of healing during my PFT.

I made it nearly all the way home without stopping. Finally, about fifty miles out, my bladder gave out and I had to stop. Since I was stopping anyway, I grabbed a coffee and gassed up my truck again. I stretched before climbing back in for the final leg.

I turned the radio on for some company, to catch the end of a news bulletin.

“…Police say, the body has been positively identified as that of the missing woman Bobby Frazer, who was last seen hitchhiking out of Vegas. She had apparently been raped and murdered. Police are appealing for anyone who might have any information…”

I turned the radio off, sickened by the thought of that poor woman being hurt like that, and with a niggling thought that I knew her in some way, although I was certain that we’d never met. For some reason the thought of her death made me feel incredibly sad, and for some reason a little guilty.

I finally made it back home just after eight. The weather had been awful and the traffic and construction zones on the freeway appalling. I’d not seen any more accidents but there had been multiple close calls. Some people just had no idea how to drive, especially in bad weather.

I pulled my truck into the garage, and just sat quietly in the driver’s seat after I shut it off, the garage door closing behind me.

After a couple of minutes, the door into the kitchen opened, and Melanie poked her head out. She looked inquiringly at me.

I smiled at her, and climbed out of the truck.

“I just couldn’t work up the energy to get out,” I said. She laughed.

“Oh you poor old thing,” she said. “Shall I get Josh and Arnie to help you in?”

“I think I can manage.”

“I can go get your walker if you need?” she quipped. I grabbed her with my free hand, my other being full of my bag, and tickled her. She squirmed away easily.

“Mary kept some dinner warm for you,” she said. “Since both you and Ness were away, she was the designated cook.”

“I like Mary’s cooking,” I said entering the house. “I’ve always liked charcoal.”

A dishtowel winged it’s way across the kitchen and I dodged it.

“Missed,” I said.

“Next time,” Mary said, “it’ll be a pan, and I won’t miss.”

I laughed before walking over to her and kissing her.

“Ugh,” she said. “You stink. Go shower. Leave everything in the utility room. It all needs washing. You smell like a wet dog.”

I stripped off in the utility room, leaving all my clothes and my bag still full of half wet and half dry gear. I’d sort them out later. Then I headed for the shower.

Despite my predictions, dinner was actually very nice. Mary was a half decent home cook and had cooked a hunter’s chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. She’d done me a double portion since I’d already shared my memory of the day with them while I was on my way home. I was grateful for it and, this time, when I kissed her in appreciation, she snuggled in rather than pushing me away. I must have smelled somewhat better.

“I’m heading to bed,” I said. “Today has been a long day.”

“And you didn’t get much sleep last night,” laughed Amanda. “She was awesome.”

I laughed. “That was all your fault,” I said. “You got me all riled up sharing what you were doing, just as I went to get some dinner. Then, when I ran into Hadiza. I had no defence.”

“That was Arnie’s fault,” said Sarah. “He started it.”

Arnie blushed and stuttered. I laughed.

“One thing you’ll learn to accept,” I said. “It’s always the guy’s fault. No matter what it is. It’s our fault. Learn that lesson well, and you won’t go far wrong.”

All the girls laughed at that, and Josh nodded sagely.

“He’s not wrong,” he said.

I headed to the bedroom. Jules followed me in.

“Hey beautiful,” I said. “How are things?”

“It’s starting,” she said. “I’m horny.”

I smiled at her. “I’m happy to help,” I told her. “What would you like?”

“I want you to hold me,” she said. “At first at least.”

I undressed and slid into bed. Jules wasted no time sliding in beside me. She snuggled in to me, and I leaned up on my elbow looking down at her.

“Do you remember our first time together?” she asked. I chuckled.

“I do,” I said. “You were so embarrassed, but so horny at the same time.”

“Remember what I asked you to do?” she asked. I nodded, and then leaned forward bringing my lips to hers.

She moaned into my mouth as we kissed. When Jules was horny, she was THE best kisser. Ness and Cheryl were both great kissers, but neither of them were in her league. I often wondered, during her ON times, where and how she’d learned to kiss. I was certain that there was an element of genetic memory, given her mother’s and sister’s skills, but Jules had them both beat.

She deepened the kiss, putting her hand to the back of my head and holding me in place. Her other hand had travelled down my body and she was stroking my cock slowly. I’d also gone a-wandering with my hands, and while one was holding her to me, the other was gently running circles around her clit.

Since she had a tampon in, I’d wetted my finger first, but she was flexing her hips slowly as I drew circles around her little button. Jules was getting much, much, better, not being so much on a hair trigger, but she was still a one-shot gal. Once she came that was her done and, every time I had the opportunity, I wanted to make it last as long as I could and make it as good as I possibly could for her.

One thing I couldn’t do was use my powers too obviously to delay her orgasm. That spoiled it for her, and I’d been devastated the one time I’d done it. She’d told me, very gently, that it had not been good for her. Each time for her was so precious to me that even a single opportunity missed was a tragedy. I was determined never to make that mistake again.

We kissed for a while longer, while we played with each other, and I could feel her starting her climb. Then she moved.

“Lie down,” she insisted. I did as she told. She then slid down my body, taking my cock into her mouth.

I always loved the look on her face when she did that. For some reason the smells and tastes of sex were like poison to her most of the time but, for the short time of the month, when she was in her ‘switched on’ state they were ambrosia.

She demonstrated her lingual talents to the max, sending fireworks up my spine as her tongue wrapped itself around the head of my cock and then flicked across the sensitive underside. Then she’d pull off completely and press her face into my groin, inhaling deeply of my scent. She’d once cum purely from my smell, and that memory had stayed with me, ramping up my own arousal every time she breathed in my musk. Knowing the effect it could have on her, pushed me further along the road to climax.

Jules was far more in control now though, and after taking a long sniff, she ran her tongue up the length of my cock and then once more took the head into her mouth. I could see her hips grinding her pussy into the bed and I guessed what was going to happen next, as she continued to work herself up.

I was proved right when she scooted around, throwing her leg over my head, and bringing us into a true 69. As soon as she was in place, she took my cock in her mouth once more and pushed herself forward until she’d taken it all the way down to the hilt. Her nose was pressed into my balls and my cock head in her throat. She swallowed once, then twice. More fireworks shot up my spine and I knew that unless I did something soon, she’d finish me off before I’d even got started with her.

Gently I parted her lower lips, and, pulling a string to one side and out of the way, gently circled her clit again, this time with the tip of my tongue.

Jules moaned deep in her throat, the vibrations sending even more pleasant shocks down my length. She pulled back applying suction as she did, before swirling her tongue around my cock head once more. I whimpered in need and lapped at her clit, needing to give her as much pleasure as she was giving me.

Jules shuddered in pleasure and forced my cock down her throat once more. I upped the speed and pressure of my tongue on her clit and she started to wriggle, pressing her pussy down onto my face harder. She’d forced my cock right to the back of her throat again and had buried her nose into my balls. She was breathing heavily filling her senses with my musk, which seemed to affect her in the same way most people react to poppers.

She spread her legs more, pressing harder against my mouth, as I finally took her clit into my mouth and started sucking on it, running circles around it with the tip of my tongue and writing I love you over and over and over again on it.

Jules suddenly pulled off my cock, swallowed hard, clearing her mouth of the accumulation of precum and saliva that had been gathering there, and pressed forward again. I felt her mouth twitch into a smile as she felt my balls start to rise. She said she could always tell in this position when I was close, because she could feel my balls moving against her face. She said she loved that feeling, the feeling of power and control over me, knowing that it was her that was doing that to me, her that was giving me that pleasure. She loved it, because she loved me, and I loved her for it too.

That didn’t mean that I was going to give up without a fight though. I put both hands around her, pulling her pussy even harder against my face as I sucked and licked at her clit. I took a second to wet my thumb though, and pressed circled her tight little pucker with it. She moaned and then pulled back.

“That’s… cheating…” she gasped before forcing herself down once more. I did feel her hands start to move towards my ass though. She knew that I was as sensitive to that as she was, and that if we were starting to use those kind of tactics then she was happy to do so as well.

I was way ahead of her though and as I pressed her clit into my mouth hard, curling my tongue right around it and giving it as much stimulation as I could, I slid my wetted thumb into her ass. Pressing forward and down.

Jules screamed as she came. Her face still pressed into my groin and my cock lodged in her throat. That was too much for me, and I lost it too, my cock pulsating as I shot wads of cum straight down her throat. She started to hum at this. She’d managed to figure out how to breathe, even with my meat lodged in her esophagus.She seemed to love the sensory overload of having me spunk straight down her throat as she filled her senses with my smell, felt my balls moving against her face while my cock pulsed in her mouth and throat, all while she was cumming herself. This to her was just about as good as it got, when her pussy was still off limits.

Finally, we both reached the end of our climaxes. Jules shuddered in aftershock as I kissed her clit, letting my thumb slip out of her back door. She jerked backward a little pulling off me, but still remembering to clean the remnants off with her tongue, making me jump in aftershock as well. She giggled as I did.

“Mmmm” she said. “I needed that.”

I sighed working my jaw. It was a little stiff and sore, having held up a lot of her weight for the past few minutes. She scooted around until she was the right way up and lay on the bed beside me.

“Oh you poor thing,” she said with a soft smile. “Let me kiss it better.”

I was then treated to a long and wonderful Jules halfway kiss. It wasn’t as passionate and lust filled as the kisses we’d had before, nor was it her usual loving but almost platonic kisses that were her usual ‘off’ state kisses. It was something in between, but it was so filled with love that it took my breath away. Jules had so much love that she could make anyone feel it no matter that she had no powers. I always felt a mix of awe and privilege whenever she directed that love at me, and she did so often. Sometimes it was so intense my eyes would fill with happy tears and my own heart would ache because I knew I had no chance of making her feel as much love from me as I was feeling from her.

I could only fall back on words.

“I love you,” I told her when she finally broke the kiss. She smiled up at me, her brown pools warm and deep and mesmerizing.

“I know,” she said. “I feel it from you all the time.”

I buried my face in her neck, inhaling deeply of her scent now. This was not sexual, it was needful. I needed to be close to my love, to my heart. I held her to me, enjoying the feel of her, and wishing that this moment would never end.

“Hush,” she said holding me to her and kissing my cheek. “I’m here.” She cradled me gently, lulling me to sleep.

I woke at my usual time. Ness curled up against my side, being held by her big sister. Mary and Amanda were curled up together on the other side of them, and Arnie, Sarah and Melanie were on my other side. Sarah in the middle of the three with Melanie laid beside me, and Arnie on the very edge of the bed. I thought that if he moved an inch, he’d fall off.

I slid out of bed gently, and Melanie, as usual, woke. She slid out too, gently waking Sarah who joined us at the foot of the bed. Arnie was still perched precariously on the edge of the bed, and so I lifted him gently with my TK and moved him closer to Ness. Ness, feeling the movement, opened one eye and seeing Arnie right in front of her, put her arm around him and snuggled in, going back to sleep.

Sarah smiled.

“I sometimes still can’t believe it,” she said quietly as we dressed. “There’s just so much love and acceptance. That could have been any one of them, of you, and the reaction would have been the same. It’s just so…”

“We’re a family,” I told her. “All of us together. Yes there are a few boundaries, but that’s normal with any family, but far fewer than most.”

“When I think back,” she said, “to how I was before… I sometimes look in the mirror and wonder who the girl is that I’m looking at. I’m a different person now than I was then.”

“We all are,” I said. “And in ten years, you’ll be different again. That’s just a part of growing up. The one thing that isn’t going to change is the fact that we – all – love – you.” I spaced the last four words out for emphasis.

Since it was Wednesday, Melanie and Sarah were going to the Dojo to train with Kevin. I was going to run. Since I’d passed my PFT the previous day I was going to take it easier today, and probably only run between eight and ten miles. I had my one and only class of the week this morning and then a couple of hours of flying this afternoon. I was looking forward to that.

I had covered most of the required information for Complex, and Instrument, along with Multi engine and high powered aircraft. I just needed a few more hours and then I could book another check ride. Then I needed Commercial and Instructor before I could take my type rating on the G500.

I’d spoken to Danny about maybe getting a few hours in as an instructor in his school once I was certified. He was all for it. He said it would give either him or Arnie a break from flying. Although it was something they loved to do, you can have too much of a good thing, whatever that good thing may be.

I didn’t argue with him, but I thought there was one thing that you could never have too much of.

Ethics proved to be an interesting debate, which started out discussing the concepts of trial by social media, and moved on to the cancel culture, rights of the accused, and the danger of deleting history. I don’t think we ever reached consensus, but it did give a number of people, me included, plenty of opportunity to vent, and we all took full advantage. It was probably the most lively debate we’d had for some time, and at the end I could see that the Professor had enjoyed the session as much as we had. I’d noticed that he really did enjoy teaching this class, and would often inject contentious points just to ‘poke the bear’ and get us talking more.

We were just packing up when we heard a commotion outside the classroom. There were shouts and a couple of screams, and people running. All eyes turned to the door and the professor started toward it when the unmistakeable sound of a shot rang out in the corridor.

Everyone froze. This was the nightmare scenario that we’d sometimes drilled for at high school, but never here. There had been shootings at colleges all over the country, but for some reason it had never been part of the emergency drills here. Fire drills, sure, but shooter drills, not so much.

“Everyone stay in your seats,” the professor said, moving toward the door. Before he could move more than a couple of feet, the door burst open and a man burst in, spinning immediately, and closed the door behind him. He peered out of the window, breathing hard.

Then he turned realizing that the class was full of people who were all staring at him.

He stood there, hands by his sides, a semi-automatic pistol dangling from his right hand, and what looked to be a MAC 10 hanging on a strap around his neck. There were other weapons tucked into his belt.

The surprise in the classroom was complete. Everyone was frozen, the students were staring at the armed intruder, the professor likewise, probably wondering exactly how he was going to keep his students safe in this situation, and likely more than a little afraid for himself, and me.

Me, not because of the weapons, or for the fact that we had a shooter in our school, but for the fact that I’d reached out to him with my Compulsion, ready to get him to stop still, to take control of him, but, just like Green, I couldn’t see him. He wasn’t there.

He was immune to my powers.