Chronicles of Han: Preserving Creata: Part 1: Learning Curve
Chapter Sixteen

It was not.

I dreamt the whole night of procedures and paperwork and woke up drenched in sweat. After a shower I dressed straight into my uniform. It was a waste of time getting dressed at HQ.

I also did not want to spend more time in the locker room than necessary, having to face people who shun me because of what I am. Driving one-handed, I finished my light breakfast on the way to the office.

I arrived at our cubicle at exactly 06h00. Tucker was not there, neither were the case-files. I waited, at a loss as to what to do. The place seemed deserted with the shift change rush only starting at 07h00.

Hearing voices in the passage, I went to see who it was.

Tucker was talking to someone. The person was standing out of my view and it seemed to be a rather heated discussion.

Tucker noticed me watching them and closed the door to the office. I went back to our desk and sat down.

I somehow knew that conversation was about me. I had a really uncomfortable feeling regarding today. It bordered on premonition, when you knew something was going down, and it was not going to be good for you.

I waited quite a while, trying to keep my mind blank. The way I normally do it is by visualizing a blank page. It was really hard not to let any thoughts enter that page.

Tucker eventually joined me. He sat down, sighing. Then stared at me for so long I started fiddling. It seemed as if he was trying to make up his mind.

“I want to go show you something,” he said at long last. “Come.”

He stood up and I followed him to our squad vehicle. This time he did not hand me the keys, but drove us in pre-occupied silence to Dunn Cove.

Just before we reached the parking space at Dunn Cove, we turned east onto a dirt road with a huge ‘Private - No Entry’ sign. The road was in acceptable condition, indicating that it was in regular use.

We were soon driving in a lane with brush on both sides. The brush turned into thorny brambles that grew as high as a man’s head. I could make out the spikes on a fence to our left, beyond the brambles.

Tucker parked the vehicle in front of giant, wrought iron gates that were bolted and locked from the inside.

Beyond the gate was a huge facility that could have been a prison.

Glancing over at Tucker, I patiently waited for him to say something.

He glared at the facility with hatred.

“I need you to understand the situation you replace yourself in,” he started. “This is a rehab for psychics. It is to places like these that the Government sends the ones that might be rehabilitated after cracking on the job. Post Traumatic Stress they call it.

The specific psychic skills that you presented yesterday are extremely rare and, unfortunately, like with all rare items, much sought after.

What makes your situation more difficult is that you are showing incredible healing skills too. And worse, all of this without any formal training. This makes you unique.”

I sat like a statue, staring at the facility in front of us.

“I had a long, hard think last night,” Tucker said. “I need you to answer my questions honestly. Can you do that?”

Okay, so no more games, absolute open cards.

I nodded.

“Were you in the Government Forster Care system as a child?” he wanted to know.

“Yes.”

“Did anyone, at any time pick up on your psychic abilities?”

“Yes, I was sent to a private Psych teacher for a few weeks when I was about six.”

“The Government will probably have a record of that.”

It was not a question. I did not interrupt his chain of thoughts.

“Do you think your name would be flagged?” he asked.

“I honestly do not know.”

“Can you try and ‘see’ something regarding this?”

“I currently work on spontaneous visions, I do not know if I can induce an event around a specific question or subject.”

Where that mouthful came from, I did not know.

Not from Han Storm.

Tucker raised an eyebrow, thinking.

“Let us hope not. In the meantime we’re going to continue as usual.”

It was now my turn for questions.

“How do you know so much about psychics?” I started.

“It is my job to know.”

I had to be satisfied with that. It probably was part of his job requirement at some or other stage.

“You said this place is a rehab. What does the Government use psychics for? As far as I understand, psychics are taken in by the Government for training in using their skills safely.”

“That is exactly correct. They take them in and start the training in having control over their skills. As soon as the psychic achieves the necessary control, the Government starts taking advantage of their abilities. They do not give a crap about the person, only the end-results.

Mind reading and control through telepathy, manipulation of events, crowd control, heightened sensory perception, to name but a few. All of these are abused by the Government for their own capitalistic gain and to keep absolute control over every living entity on Creata.

In short, POWER.

And you. With your skills. What do you think they will give to be able to see the future?

When I said that you are unique, I really meant that. There have been people previously with pre-sight, but that only happens once every few generations, none since the creation of the Planetary Government,” he concluded bitterly.

I was suddenly glad that I was still flying under the radar.

“What are my alternatives?” I wanted to know from him.

“There are psychics in a semi-private environment. They function normally, except when their abilities are needed by their specific companies that, shall we say, sponsor them.

These people are still considered Government property, but are so much in the spotlight and such huge investments for their companies, that it is highly unlikely for the Government to interfere in their lives.

At the moment, you are considered a free-lance psychic, somebody that shows potential, but only came into their abilities later in life. Most psychics show abilities as children and start their training at ten, when there seems to be a sudden opening up period.”

It seemed to correspond with my development, so I was not so different from other psychics.

“You said I’m showing incredible healing skills. What did you mean by it?” I asked him.

“The old man you worked with yesterday. His hip is almost healed. The doctor said a few more days in hospital and he should be ready to go home.”

“I really did nothing to help him heal. I just . . . took his pain away.”

I sat thinking.

Tucker allowed me to.

Could it be that I somehow healed the man while taking his pain away?

It must have been, but I had no conscious recollection of wanting to heal him, except that at the time I had thought of him as my patient. That might have been it. I turned to face Tucker.

“And if it turns out to be true, how will that concern the Government?”

“Think further than your nose, Han.

Why would you need to pay doctors or pharmaceutical companies if you can have your own healer that heals by touch alone?

Someone that can see your future and can make you well. That is the ultimate replace!”

“Are you thinking of keeping me for yourself?”

It was meant as a joke, but it came out so innocent, I surprised myself.

“No, but you are putting ideas in my head. Let’s give it some time and see what else you can do. Just take it easy on me.”

We sat staring at the place a minute more before Tucker suggested some coffee at Luke’s. He was paying.