Chapter 7

She would have noticed, she thought, if she’d seen him before.

He appeared average in most ways, not particularly tall or muscular nor yet overly thin. But there was something about the way he walked. His gait was athletic, almost bouncing, as if there was too much energy inside to be contained, and when she got closer there were the eyes. They were not blue, not really gray, but something in-between. His gaze was sharp, as if he could see things other people couldn’t. She would definitely have noticed the eyes. She had some of that quality too, visible in the mirror; she saw a lot of things now that she’d not seen before. How much more could he see? Was his vision different, maybe even better than her own? The differences were obvious now, knowing at least a little of what he was.

He was young for his rank and his emotions were guarded, more than anyone she’d sensed before, and her paranormal ability barely registered his feelings. She would have wondered what he was hiding had she met him before, but now she knew who he was, and more importantly what he was: a fellow esper who had completed his course early and been assigned to the Army as a way to evaluate his Talents. So different! She’d discovered her abilities by accident, and envied the ones Surfer had told her about, the people who’d attended the School. They would have had people like themselves to share experiences with, and always the stimulation they would have gotten just from being around others who were like themselves.

She wondered for a moment what she might have done with her own Talent had she had that help or lived in an environment such as those students had known. Maybe there would have been exercises to try, suggestions, or at least advice about how to deal with the changes she was experiencing. If nothing else, there’d have been someone to explain the changes! But she’d been alone, no one to turn to, no one to share her doubts and fears.

The early manifestations of her own Talent had terrified her, left her fearing that she was no longer sane. She’d had to develop the deep feelings of empathy by herself, to learn to depend on them until they became something more. Now she understood not just emotions, but even some of what people were thinking. She could gather that just from being around them for a while.

She’d found herself waking up often during that troubling time and wondering if it could all be a fantasy. Could she trust her own judgment, continue to care for patients without knowing whether the things she sensed were real or only delusions? Almost ... almost, she’d decided to report her problem to the chief surgeon; but at the last minute, unsure even then, she’d turned away and gone back to her quarters. Then had come the mental call from the man who called himself Surfer. It was almost like picking up a telephone, except there was no ring, only a tingle. She didn’t understand at the time how she’d been able to hear him with such clarity, but after the call she could say to herself, You’re not crazy after all! Even so, there had been that nagging little question in the back of her mind: is this real, or only another delusion?

After the first few ‘conversations’ with Surfer, called ‘comming’ as she now knew, she had gotten his phone number and placed a call. Finally, she’d known that if it was a delusion there was no way she’d ever be able to tell; it was too complete and there were too many corroborating details. This meeting was another confirmation; it was impossible to believe this was a delusion. “Mr Tagliaferro? We have a mutual acquaintance, I believe. He calls himself Surfer. He says I should call you ‘T’.”

“Shezzie?” He blinked in recognition. It was the female officer he’d noticed in the dining facility.

“Surfer calls me that. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Sandra Schmidt, Army Nurse Corps.” After completing introductions, the two made the short walk to her office, a perk of her administrative duties and also recognition of what she could do for the surgeons. They were unaware of exactly how she did what she did, but she inspired confidence. Surgeons, even good surgeons, need all the confidence they can get.

Shezzie scheduled which nurse would be working with which team of surgeons. She did this, while maintaining slack in the schedule for her own preferences. They could not do what she did, the other nurses; twice, she’d detected patients who were paralyzed but not under anesthesia, able to feel but unable to move. It happened more often during surgery than people realized. She’d be terrified if she ever needed major surgery, knowing what she knew now. She would be afraid the scalpel would begin to cut while she was still able to feel pain, unable to let anyone know because the paralyzing agents left the patient unable to move or even breathe; that was part of what the anesthesiologist did, keep the patient breathing during the surgery and early post-operative recovery.

“I’ve made contact with Surfer several times, once by telephone, and the other way is getting easier all the time,” she said. “But I’ve never contacted anyone else that way. I can pick up their emotions and a few thoughts, but they can’t hear me. Surfer says you can.”

<I can, Colonel, so long as it’s someone like Surfer. It works better with some, not as good with others. People have more TP Talent or less, depending on how their training went and how much native Talent they had to start with. I’m not nearly as good at telepathy as Surfer is.>

<I can hear you! Surfer says you have other Talents.> She hesitated before explaining, <I’ve only recently come to understand I have this ability. I know very little about it.>

She hesitated again, then vocalized, “I thought I was going crazy. It was really difficult, at first. Then one day I picked up something during a surgery; I could hear the patient and he was ... well, he was terrified, and I thought he was screaming. Then I noticed that the surgeon hadn’t realized the patient wasn’t under the anesthesia and had started to cut. He was opening up the abdominal cavity. I said I’d noticed something, and the surgeon stopped and conferred with the anesthesiologist. He took another look at the brain waves, an EEG, you know? So he increased the medications, the brain waves went back to what was expected. That was the first time, but it’s happened again. That was the first time I had objective evidence that I wasn’t really crazy!”

“My talents aren’t in communication, Colonel,” T said. “I can manipulate objects at a distance. Psychokinesis is the term I prefer, although some call it telekinesis. We refer to it as PK, a kind of shorthand. I have fairly good strength and really good control, but not as good at a distance. T hesitated, but Shezzie/Schmidt was interested so he continued.

“It’s a tradeoff. I have limited communication abilities but good PK. I have other Talents too. I get feelings that I should or shouldn’t do something. Old timers called them ‘hunches’. They’d say, ‘I’ve got a hunch... ‘, and my version is better, just not reliable enough to be precognition. I also have a kind of protective field that’s part of the PK. I’ve thought I might be able to generate and hold two layers of air using the PK; maybe I’m pulling one tight against the other, compressing the air between them, or maybe the layers are ionized. Whatever I’m doing, nothing solid gets through as long as the bubble is in close to my body. Anyway, it’s only an idea. I’ve noticed a flash when the field forms, and that might come from compression heating. Maybe the ions happen because the air is heated.