The Search for Artemis

Chapter FOUR

ORIENTATION


Sofia escorted Landon into a small room. It was simple and sterile with a bed covered in white linens and a small white table with a single chair pushed under it.

“Landon, you’ll be staying here tonight. Tomorrow morning, after you’ve rested, there will be another session where you’ll get a few more questions answered. Think of it as an orientation. . . . Also, Dr. Márquez was telling me that you have a severely bruised shoulder, so we are going to have someone treat that for you tonight before you go to bed to help with the pain. . . . And I will get you some dinner too.”

Sofia explained all of this with generous pauses, allowing Landon an opportunity for questions or comments, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked like a zombie. His arms limply lay at his sides, and he blankly stared at the ground.

She led him over to the bed, where he curled up in a familiar and comforting fetal position atop the sheets, turned away from the door and his guide. She stood beside him for a while, looking down on the broken boy she had collected.

This was the worst case she’d experienced since her time at the company. She was the Collector. It was her job to acquire the subjects after their apocratusis and bring them to the Gymnasium. It was also her job to make them comfortable and convince them to stay. Each time she received a dossier on her target detailing their background. She knew their name, age, appearance, family history, school grades, and even their favorite food. But there were always gaps in the file. She didn’t know the exact events that triggered Landon’s apocratusis, but she’d seen pictures and a detailed report documenting the scene afterward. It was terrible to see. He was the sixty-fourth subject she’d collected and the sixty-fourth she’d convinced to attend the Gymnasium, but something was different about him. He was the first she feared would only find his gifts weren’t gifts at all.

Before turning to leave the room, she gently placed her hand on Landon’s arm, but he just lay there.

“Oh, and I’ll get you some new clothes too. . . . Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” Sofia said as she shut the door.

Landon was alone in the room.

• • • • •

At nine in the morning, Sofia knocked on the door to the small medical quarters where Landon stayed. When he didn’t respond, she hesitantly opened the door to find him lying in the same position from when she left him the night before. He hadn’t even pulled the covers of the bed over himself to stay warm. Next to a tray of untouched dinner she brought him the previous evening and a stack of new clothes, she set a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast and a glass of orange juice. She circled around to the other side of the bed, expecting to wake Landon, only to find him with his eyes wide open, staring off into the blank white wall. Had he slept at all?

“Good morning, Landon. I need you to get up and get ready for today. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes to take you to the orientation room,” Sofia said. Landon didn’t reply, but he did look at her, and that was all she needed to know that he’d heard and understood.

After she left the room, it took Landon another ten minutes before he moved an inch. He had little desire to go anywhere or do anything. He’d much rather just stay in that room until he died and could be free from the terrible memory, but he knew anything was better than sulking in the medical wing all day. And maybe the planned activities would get his mind off things. As he rose to his feet, his face winced. His shoulder felt sore and stiff even though Dr. Longfellow treated it the night before. Over the next half hour, Landon cleaned up and put on the clothes they provided: a new pair of dark denim jeans, a solid red t-shirt, and a brand new pair of white sneakers. As he sat at the table, waiting for Sofia to return, he stared at the plate of food.

The night before, he never even paid attention to the orderly as she brought him his dinner. At the time, he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and his stomach rumbled loudly when he smelled the hot food sitting on the table, but he had no appetite. The mere idea of eating had nauseated him. Now, true to form, his stomach began to resound with boisterous guttural gurgles and grumbles, and Landon couldn’t resist his abdomen’s command.

As Landon brought a piece of crisp bacon toward his mouth, the smell transported him back to his first day of school when he was five years old. After his mom got him ready, she sat Landon down at the kitchen table and laughed as Landon excitedly talked about all the things he was anticipating. All the while, the smell of bacon frying on the stove consumed the air. As he thought about it, he realized it was one of the few memories he had of her where she seemed truly happy.

With the first bite, Landon thought he was in heaven. As he chewed, he couldn’t help but let out a soft groan of pleasure. Afterward, his stomach paid no mind to his current emotional state. Instead, it drove him toward the plate, causing him to ravenously consume ever last morsel of food and drink the orange juice dry. If Sofia hadn’t knocked on the door, Landon would have moved over to the plate of cold food from the night before and devoured it just as fast.

“You ready to go?” Sofia asked after poking her head out from behind the door.

Landon stood up, still not uttering a word, and walked out of the medical quarters, following Sofia.

They walked briskly through the Gymnasium, not taking a moment to pause along the way. Unlike the day before, Landon paid no attention to his surroundings. He followed Sofia blindly, disconnected from the world around him. Eventually, after passing through a secured door, Landon entered a small room.

With beige walls, dark wood wainscoting and four rows of wood tables, it was nothing too impressive. Each table had along one side a set of four chairs with green leather cushions and a pair of brass desk lamps with green glass light shades. At the head of the room a large whiteboard covered the wall and tucked away in the corner was a second door.

Sofia ushered Landon into the room, telling him to sit wherever he liked and that she’d return with someone else who would also be attending the orientation. Landon walked up to the second table from the front and began to move down the row. He ran his hand along the top of the table, his fingers gliding over the grains of the wood. Before reaching the chair, Landon stopped abruptly and turned to Sofia.

“Do you know what they did with my clothes?” he asked her as she turned to leave.

“Your clothes?” Sofia asked, looking a bit surprised to hear his voice. It was the first time she heard him speak since the examinations. “Well, I believe we were going to throw them out. Why?”

“Can I have the jeans? I don’t care about the shirt, but I’d really like to keep the pants.”

“Well, typically we would dispose of clothes that looked like yours upon arrival,” Sofia said.

“Oh,” Landon replied, dejected.

“But, let me see what I can do. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll do my best to see that you get your jeans back.”

“Thank you . . . for everything,” Landon said and then turned around and sat down at the table.

Before leaving Landon alone in the room, Sofia stood against the doorjamb and stared at him for an extended moment, trying to figure out what was so different about this kid.

After about five minutes of Landon sitting patiently and looking off into the distance, Sofia returned with a girl around his age. She was tall and had long, wavy brown hair and tan olive skin. Sofia ushered her into the same row as Landon and gestured for her to sit down beside him. She had a kind demeanor about her, but there was an unspoken strength that came through in her posture.

“Landon, this is Celia Jackson. Celia, this is Landon Wicker,” Sofia said.

Landon rose out of his chair, never taking his gaze off Celia’s face. Both their appearances were strikingly similar. In addition to their hair color and skin tone, Landon recognized a familiar shape to her nose and lips. They were also identical in height and build, and they shared the same grey, stormy eyes.

“Hi, Landon. It’s nice to meet you,” Celia said. Her voice was confident but soft. Celia tossed her hair over her shoulder before sending him a furtive glance. He could see other guys falling easily for this type of charm, but he sensed the façade of the gesture. Celia had a feline quality about her. He would hate to be her prey.

“Good morning.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” Sofia interjected after a prolonged period of Landon and Celia staring at each another. “If you will take your seats, the session should be starting momentarily.”

Celia and Landon sat down in their chairs and looked ahead at the whiteboard. While waiting for the session to start, Landon kept peering at Celia out the corner of his eye, attempting to pinpoint what it was about her that intrigued him. Eventually, his head rotated toward her, only to snap forward when she turned toward him. After a couple of awkward exchanges of eye and head gestures, the room went dark and a light on the whiteboard brightened as a hidden projector’s lamp warmed up.

The white screen shifted to a video of a man standing in what appeared to be an empty room. The film looked like it was recorded around the time Landon was born. The image emitted an alien glow that made it seem as if it was filmed in a room overpowered by fluorescent lights, and the picture appeared to be slightly out of focus to the point that it was almost uncomfortable to watch. In the background, Landon heard the humming sound of the tape in the projector as the man on the screen turned to the camera and began to speak.

“Welcome, I am Dr. Harold Greyson Wells, and this is the orientation film for the Gymnasium. In a moment, I will explain to you the reason for your being brought here and how you can benefit from this facility. But first, a little history,” the doctor began in an articulate, deep voice.

Dr. Wells was tall and thin. He had thick, salt-and-pepper hair that he combed to the side and a pair of wide, horn-rimmed glasses. On his pale cheeks, Landon saw deep acne scars, and the doctor wore a blue oxford shirt, a pair of khaki pants and a white lab coat. On the left breast pocket of his coat, Landon recognized an eagle clutching an arrow embroidered in golden thread. It was the same image he’d seen in the carving on the outside of the building.

“The original Gymnasium was built in 1983 after its founders, Drake and Ainsley Harper, came across a small group of children who displayed unprecedented psychokinetic abilities. To help develop these unique individuals, they constructed a facility with the intention that it serve as a training center for students learning to control and hone their extraordinary abilities, while also continuing a normal scholastic education with specialized tutors. All they asked was that the students return to the world as contributing members of society once their training was complete.

“Since 1983, the number of psychokinetic cases has increased dramatically, resulting in the Gymnasium, which completed construction in April of this year, 1992. If you are watching this video, it means you have displayed similar psychokinetic abilities and have chosen to join the many others like you at this facility.”

Landon watched intently as the doctor walked past large mounted photos of Drake and Ainsley Harper in well-tailored suits, at construction sites, and with teenagers standing beside floating objects. Then he reached a scale model of the first Gymnasium. As he continued to speak, he ended up standing next to a model of the current Gymnasium, a large Grecian-inspired facility with a massive glass dome constructed inside a deep, isolated valley.

“In these past nine years, we have made numerous strides in understanding the full extent of your abilities and how they manifest themselves. Through extensive genetic research, we have isolated a particular gene outside the normal human genome that is unique to psychokinetic-capable individuals like yourself—we call it the Prometheus gene. We are still unsure of its origins, but we do know the gene remains dormant until one’s apocratusis. This event typically occurs during the pubescent phase of development at a time when the subject experiences a moment of heightened stress. We theorize that the increased hormone levels coupled with the release of surplus emotion-controlling neurotransmitters, like dopamine or serotonin, activate the gene and trigger the abilities.”

He rattled off biology-laced, jargon-filled information with such casualness that it sounded like he was talking to a friend over a cup of coffee, but the speed of his delivery and the sheer quantity of scientific terms made it nearly impossible for Landon to process and comprehend. Nonetheless, Dr. Wells continued without a pause.

“As far as we have been able to ascertain, the gene amplifies the brain’s neural network and extends it into the space outside of the physical body, allowing the subject to interact with objects in their general proximity. At its most basic form, subjects can telekinetically move objects with their mind and hear outwardly projected thoughts, but we quickly discovered that with training, one’s abilities can strengthen and evolve to a point that allows for innumerable possibilities and applications. Who knows what we will discover together with you.

“So congratulations, you have made the intelligent decision to attend this training facility and develop your unique abilities. On behalf of Drake and Ainsley Harper and all of us at the Gymnasium, welcome, good luck, and remember—you are all that is holding you back from reaching your full potential.”

Following the conclusion of the video, the lights in the room turned back on and the projector flicked off. Landon and Celia sat bewildered in their seats, silently working to sort through and understand the bastion of information with which they had been bombarded. While still deep in concentration, a loud and sudden noise caused Landon to nearly leap to the ceiling in surprise. Celia seemed unaffected. Out of the door in the corner, a man in a lab coat entered. Once Landon saw his face, he realized it was Dr. Wells. The past fifteen years were good to him. Apart from his hair turning completely grey and the development of some considerable crow’s feet, he appeared to be exactly as he was in the video. He even wore the same blue oxford shirt and khaki pants under his lab coat.

“Hello, Landon Wicker and Celia Jackson. As you may have realized, I am Dr. Harold Greyson Wells, and I am the gymnasiarch, or director, of the facility,” he began in his low, eloquent voice. “I hope that the orientation video was comprehensive and provided enough context to explain why we’ve sought you out and brought you to the Gymnasium. You both have gifts that only a select few in the world are capable of experiencing.”

“Wait,” Celia said. “Are you telling me that we have some extra gene in our bodies? Umm, what was it? The—”

“The Prometheus gene,” Dr. Wells interjected.

“Yeah, this Prometheus gene. . . . And that’s what’s causing all of this to happen? But you have no idea how it got there? How does someone randomly get brand new genes?” Celia’s voice was loud and combative as she vocally sorted through and organized her thoughts. Landon sat silently, staring wide-eyed at Dr. Wells.

“Yes. We don’t have all of the answers, but with you and others like you, we’ll be able to work collaboratively to learn and discover more about your abilities and how they work,” the doctor replied.

“And this thing works because our nervous system can, what did you say, ‘extend into the space outside of our body?’ So basically, we can feel the space around us?” As Celia continued to talk, her voice moved from combative to inquisitive.

“Exactly. We call it your tactometric sphere. . . . It’s your sphere of influence that extends into the space around you. With a few exceptions and limitations, you can use your abilities on everything in that space. We generally see subjects with a reach of about ten meters in every direction. This distance we internally refer to as your extensity, but with proper training, one’s extensity can expand and grow.”

“Okay. . . . And you said something else about an ‘outwardly projected thought?’ Celia returned.

“Well, you were listening carefully. Because of our work with students like yourself, we’ve developed a theory that thoughts are more than just electrical impulses in the brain. We believe they’re more tangible than that. When you speak, you can either talk to yourself or converse with someone. You see, psychokinetics hear thoughts, but this ability is limited to hearing those that are broadcasted, or as we refer to them—outwardly projected.

“Try and think of it like computer networking. An internal—personal—thought is like a stand-alone system. It’s isolated and protected from intrusion or unauthorized access. Whereas an outwardly projected thought is akin to an open LAN network where if people are in range, they have access to the information.

“Prayer is the best example of this. When you’re praying, you’re projecting your thoughts, your hopes, your wishes, outwardly—to your god. But should you be in a psychokinetic’s tactometric sphere, they could hear your prayer as if you posted an audio file to the Internet. It is in learning to turn this ability on and off, however, that proves to be much more difficult. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” Celia responded. She turned to Landon and found her silent companion staring blankly at the whiteboard. “Are you even with us?”

“Oh, I’m here,” Landon replied awkwardly. “I’m just . . . processing.” Landon looked as if he were searching for some answer written on the palms of his hands, staring down at them as they erratically moved back and forth in front of him.

“Sometimes this does take longer for people to grasp. It’s a lot to take in,” Dr. Wells added. “But now for logistics. You both will have the rest of the day to get acclimated to your new residence. We have arranged for each of you to room with one of our other gifted students in the Student Tower and I’ll provide each of you with a detailed schedule of your weekly training and tutoring sessions.”

While Dr. Wells spoke, Landon and Celia became distracted. Their attention was drawn away from the discussion at hand to a loud, rumbling noise emanating from outside the room. The orientation room fell silent as Landon, Celia and Dr. Wells looked wonderingly at the blank wall separating them and the hallway. As the rumbling continued, Dr. Wells walked over to the door, and after a large crash from outside filled their ears, he opened the door to see what was the commotion.

Intently watching the hall, Dr. Wells stood in the doorway. Both Landon and Celia rose to their feet and leaned over the table behind them, curious to discover what was happening just outside the room.

“Riley Burton! What are you doing?” Dr. Wells yelled. “And Parker? Both of you come here now. Riley, what is that in your hand?”

“Nothing, sir. We were, uh, going to lunch.”

Landon and Celia could hear the mumblings of an out-of-breath boy in the hallway replying to Dr. Wells’ question.

“Well, this is quite fortuitous then. Please come in and join us,” Dr. Wells said as he moved aside and ushered in a boy and girl, neither looking any older than Landon or Celia.

The boy, who was panting heavily, was tall and gangly with pale skin and sandy blond hair that was buzzed close to his scalp. He had quite a short forehead and dark, perfectly-shaped eyebrows that looked almost as if they’d been waxed and trimmed. The girl, however, who stood slightly shorter than the guy, had voluminous, deep auburn hair that flowed down to her chest, framing her slender face and piercing green eyes. There was a sly, fox-like quality to her that intrigued Landon instantly.

“Landon, Celia, I’d like you to meet Riley and Parker. They’re students here, and they’ve willingly volunteered to show you around and introduce you to the place,” Dr. Wells explained.

As they filed into the orientation room one after the other, Landon noticed the girl shoot a menacing glare at the guy.

“But,” Riley retorted, not noticing the death stare coming from beside him. He received a particularly potent look from the doctor, which silenced his protestations. He dejectedly turned to look at Landon and Celia.

“Yes . . . Landon, you will go with Riley, and Parker, you’ll take Celia. Both Riley and Parker have been with us for just over two years so they know the place quite well. They’re the perfect people to escort you.”

Dr. Wells beckoned for Landon and Celia to move out to the aisle and join their appointed guides.

“And you two,” Dr. Wells continued toward Riley and Parker. “You will graciously take these students and orient them to their new surroundings. You may not leave their sides until you’ve shown them around the facility and taken them to their rooms. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

“Good, now here are their weekly schedules. I would like you to run through them with our new students,” Dr. Wells said as he handed two crisp sheets of paper to Riley and Parker. He turned back to Landon and Celia and adopted a forced, welcoming smile. “It was very nice to meet you both. I hope you’re pleased with your new home and I think we can expect wonderful things from each of you. Remember—you are all that is holding you back from reaching your full potential.”

After what Landon discovered to be Dr. Wells’ trademark departing words, the doctor scurried across the room and exited through the back door. The four students now quietly stood in the orientation room, staring at each other, unsure who should speak first.

“So, Celia was it?” Riley started. He adopted a beguiling smirk. “I’m Riley.”

“I thought she was Riley? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Celia mockingly returned.

Landon unintentionally let out a quick laugh that sounded more like a convulsive cough than anything. He knew that would never work on her.

“No it’s not,” Riley said unconvincingly. “She’s Alexandra Parker, but everyone around here just calls her Parker,” Riley added, attempting to save face. “I’m Riley . . . Riley Burton.

“Don’t you dare say my name,” Parker barked as her head turned sharply toward Riley. “And you better give it back now . . . before I finish what I started in the hallway.”

Riley sighed and begrudgingly pulled a small item out from his back pocket and handed it to Parker. Landon wanted to see what it was but never got a good look at it.

“She isn’t playing around, huh?” Landon whispered to Celia.

“She doesn’t look much like a kidder,” Celia whispered back through her teeth. Landon cracked a smile. All this activity was stealing his mind away from his gloom and grief.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay? It was just a bet, and you know I can’t pass up a challenge,” Riley half-heartedly apologized.

“Whatever,” Parker snidely returned. “Come with me, Celia. I’ll show you around.” And with that Celia and Parker exited the orientation room, leaving Riley and Landon standing beside one another.

“So,” Riley said, breaking the awkward silence.

“So,” Landon returned.

“Uh . . . you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Awesome. Let’s go.”