Academy #4 - "Call of Duty" - copyright 1994 by Dave Van Domelen
                A Coherent Comics UnIncorporated Production
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[cover shows several of the students taking cover behind a rock outcropping
as an energy cannon blasts at it.  The energy discharge almost totally blinds
the viewer to the shape of the crashed starship firing it.]

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     One of the main modifications that had been necessary to turn a penal
facility capable of holding 3000 superhuman inmates into a school capable of 
holding 3000 superhuman students was the necessity of larger rooms.  The cells 
could be converted to dorms easily enough, expanding the living space to hold 
as many as 10000 if need be (security apparatus takes up a lot of space), but
if any general classes were to be taught, they needed more rooms capable of
holding 100 or more at a time.
     Most of this space was made up by expanding the surface structures, being
cheaper to build aboveground than below.  But a few rooms already in existence
were well suited to use as auditoriums, and were put to that purpose.  This
room was one of them, a former mustering room where guards about to go on duty
would receive new orders and news of promotions.  Since the floor was already
sloped and set with chairs, it was decided not to turn it into another training
room.
     Unfortunately, unlike the new classrooms which had been constructed
underground, this one hadn't been fitted with light pipes.  Therefore it felt
more oppressive than the other rooms, set students on edge.
     This was why Dr. Willis always requested it for his Gen Psych lecture
sections.
     One such section was just about to come to order, and the last students 
were slipping in the door and sitting as far in the back as they could.  Many 
looked nervous, more so than usual, as if expecting some bad news.  The mood 
got even tenser when Dr. Willis came in and plopped a pile of papers on the 
desk at the front of the room.
     "No, the midterms are *not* graded yet."  There was an audible sigh.  "And
no, I won't say how the ones I've already graded look.  Today we're going to 
start a short section on Paranormal Psychology...Psi talents.  Some of you may 
find it interesting enough to take the seminar course on it taught by staff 
from Metapysch, but none of you are required to.  Only the Psi talents are, and
they don't take this general course.  However, this week's lectures should give
you a fairly good picture of how Psi talents work and hopefully dispel all the 
incorrect information you may have learned about them from movies and TV."
     He pulled out a stylus and began writing on the surface of his podium.
The words were projected onto the screen behind him.  Given the amount of money
sunk into the Academy, it was felt that the minor savings gained by using
chalkboards was not enough to justify using anything less than state of the
art.
     "MetaPsych was founded in the mid 1980s.  During the decade and a half of
operations before the Causality Wars, it took incredible amounts of raw data.
Other duties of the organization kept it from properly studying most of this
data, but when all the Psis died, MetaPsych suddenly found itself with a lot of
time on its hands.  After getting back on its feet during the reconstruction of
the nation, they launched into intensive analysis of their data, so as to be
better prepared when Psis started appearing again.
     "Although the clinical classification of various Psi-endowed subjects is
complex enough that there are no more than one or two individuals in any one
section, as early as the 1990s it started to become apparent that the way Psis
sensed minds could be compared constuctively to the operation of the normal
five senses.  Sight, sound, touch, smell and hearing.
     "Now, the popular media almost inevitably uses the hearing paradigm,
even though it is known to be the rarest one in fact.  A 'listener' Psi hears
minds like we hear sound.  And like hearing, it cannot be shut off.  This
forces the Psi to erect barriers to the outside, learn how to ignore what he's
sensing.  And it generally means that the 'listener' is feared and mistrusted,
becoming a rather antisocial individual.  But as you know by now, all powers
require some act of will to violate the laws of nature.  Theoretically, any 
supernatural sense can be turned off.  In all known cases, the 'listener' has 
some underlying neurosis or even psychosis that subconsciously keeps the sense 
all the way on.  Most frequently it's a deepseated paranoia that makes the 
subject unable to let down his guard and not hear people's thoughts.  Once this
problem can be overcome, the 'listener' usually becomes a 'sight' telepath,
although sometimes a backlash effect can keep the subject from using his senses
at that high a level.
     "The 'sight' telepaths, or 'Psights' as they're sometimes called, are the 
most powerful and versatile.  Like our vision, the sense can be turned off 
fairly easily, and can make out a great deal of detail.  However, similar to 
vision, the 'Psight' will sense most clearly what is being focused on, less 
clearly people with similar mindsets, and not at all those completely unlike 
the focus.  So, if a 'Psight' is focusing on a human mind, any aliens will be  
on his 'blind' side.  With training, a telepath can learn to extend his 
peripheral senses so as to close the blind spot.
     "'Touch' telepaths are the most common true telepaths, and also the 
weakest.  They can sense thoughts directed at them, usually only at short 
range, or read the minds of nearby subjects with some concentration.  It takes 
more effort to make out distinct thoughts as opposed to vague impressions,
especially when the subject isn't cooperating.  Now, most of you are aware that
there are passive powers, ones that don't need conscious will to remain active.
The mere knowledge that you have the power is enough to keep it going even when
you sleep, which is helpful for those with defensive powers.  'Touch' telepathy
generally works this way, and since it isn't as disruptive as 'Hearing' 
telepathy is, few Psis bother with the hypnotic regimen needed to be able to 
turn it off.  However, because they do hear thoughts directed at them, they 
still engender some unease, and they still suffer from the occasional 'cold 
fish' personality.
     "The other two senses are less discriminatory, and the Psi talents they 
apply to rarely use the sense analogy, since they have their own names.  Smell 
is a fairly distinguishing sense, but not as finely tuned as touch or sight.  
Hence it describes what are called Telempaths, a sort of halfway step between 
true telepathy and empathy.  With intensive training and talent, a Telempath
can pick up individual thoughts and tell who thought them.  But generally they 
get a melange of images from all around, from which they can pick out 
prevailing moods and some occasional strong word-thoughts.
     "Finally, our taste buds can only distinguish a small set of stimuli, and 
thus it is with 'Taste' telepaths, or Empaths.  An Empath cannot ever sense 
exact thoughts, but with experience can deduce them from context and the mood 
of the subject.  The analogy with taste breaks down, however, in that not all 
Empaths are short-range.  But since the talent is less useful if you can't 
connect the emotion to a person, empathy is functionally limited to sight 
range.  Extreme-range Empaths can sometimes lock on to the emotional state of 
someone seen on television or talked to over the phone, but this is a trick few
master."
     Dr. Willis paused and took a sip from his coffee.  "Of course, there are 
always-on Empaths and touch-range Psights to a degree, but the five senses are
a fair classification of most types of Psi sensing.  Sending is another matter,
and is slightly harder to reduce to some cute mnemonics.  And in general, the 
type of sender a Psi is can change with training more easily than the type of 
receiver.
     "Generally, the less training a Psi has, the less able he is to make 
himself heard by normals.  Those with extremely high Tesla Indices can, and 
sometimes do, broadcast to everyone in their area at first, and have to learn 
to hold back.  But most have to learn to break down the natural barriers of 
normals through practice.  One method used to rate sending is the level of 
receiver needed to get the thoughts clearly.  The stronger the receiver needed,
the weaker the sender is.
     "In addition to who *can* hear the message, there's a rating on who 
*does*.  Some can only make one person at a time hear them, and are known as 
Narrowcasters.  Others will be heard by everyone sensitive enough to pick them
up in the general area, and they're called Broadcasters.  Those able to send to
whatever number of people they chose don't generally have a separate name, 
since most Psis are trained to get to this level.  Nicknames for this level 
include Conference Callers, Screencasters and Omnicasters.  For fairly obvious 
reasons, it's considered more important to train Broadcasters to this level 
than it is Narrowcasters, since the former can be a public nuisance if 
untrained.  Yes, a question?"
     A young woman near the middle of the room stood up.  "I don't get the 
Screencasters nickname...where is it from?"
     Dr. Willis smirked and replied, "In the movies, a screencaster decides
who gets in and who doesn't.  Now, if you'll look at your monitors, I'm
downloading some additional material I want you to read over by Wednesday.
I'll be covering some of this today, but mainly glossing over it.  And I want
all of you familiar with more than a 'gloss' of this before I move on to the
next part of the section."

               *              *              *              *

     The alarm klaxon sounded in the Taylor apartment, and in seconds both were
out of bed and throwing on jumpsuits.  Always a bit of a showoff, Sarah also 
made the bed and had a quick bite to eat while Jack was still struggling into 
his clothing.  There were upsides to having a superfast wife, but this wasn't 
one of them, he thought.
     "Suppose it's for real this time, JakZak?"
     "Dunno...but after five," he paused to check the clock, "3 AM drills 
already, this had better be for real."
     "Well, look on the bright side...we're not nearly as in need of a shower 
at 3 AM as we would be at 6.  Well, I'm not.  Here..." she handed him a
deodorant stick.  He smirked and worked it around under his jumpsuit top for a 
second, then tossed it down.
     "C'mon, we're probably already a little late as it iiiiiiiiis!"  His 
sentence ended in a yelp as his wife picked him up and started carrying him at 
a few dozen meters per second.  He quickly regained his composure and used his 
power to lighten her load and speed the pair up.
     They passed Big Sal in the Central Core, where he was running along with 
one leg in his pants and the other out, obviously glad that the halls were 
pretty deserted at this hour.  From the other direction, Essay was zipping down
the spiraling walkways in some kind of rocket skateboard or a relatively close 
facsimile.  Far below, a tubecar carried the Grads that chose to live down in 
the lower levels.
     When they arrived in the briefing room, only one Grad had beaten them 
there.
     "Hi Grind," chirped Sarah.  She turned to JakZak and muttered, "He even 
beat me here the time I left you to fend for yourself.  He must sleep in that 
jumpsuit or something."
     He must have heard her, because he replied, "Actually, if not for your 
metabolic need to stop and eat after waking, you might have beaten me here.  I 
was meditating tonight and took slightly longer than normal to rouse."
     "How do you know I stopped to eat?"
     "The slight smell of orange which accompanied your arrival, and the fact 
that had JakZak been the one to eat, you would have been significantly later.  
Hello, Essay," he turned and greeted the arriving gadgeteer.  "By the way, this
isn't a drill.  I tapped into the NewsNet while on my way up, there's a 
disaster of some sort in the Rockies, with heavy Combine security on it.  Odds 
are we've been called in."
     "Hot damn!  Our first field test!" exclaimed Scorch as he dropped into one
of the briefing room chairs.  "Wonder what it'll be...rescue, assault, 
cleanup...?"
     This sort of chatter continued for the next minute or so as the rest of 
the team arrived.  The eariler arrivals (except Grind) spent some of that time 
adjusting their outfits and munching on hastily grabbed breakfast bars.  Essay 
spent the time putting out the small fire her skateboard had started on the 
room's carpeting.
     The main screen in front lit up, and the Professor's somewhat tired face 
looked down out of it.  "Good morning, students...although for me it's still 
evening.  Your response time was adequate, but is showing a trend for 
worsening.  Please try to take even the drills seriously in the future.
     "However, this was not a drill, as some of you have already guessed.  At 
12:53 Central Standard Time a Pranir vessel was picked up by NORAD radar 
passing over the Rocky Mountains on a launch path presumed to originate
somewhere in the northern part of California District.  It was fired upon and 
its engines disabled, forcing it to ground in Montana District."  The 
professor's face was replaced by an aerial image of the crash site taken from 
satellite.  "The ship was quickly surrounded by Combine troops, but they were 
forced back by a fairly powerful line-of-sight particle beam weapon.  
Furthermore, the Pranir finally broke communications silence and claimed to 
have Terrans on board.  They didn't say what condition the Terrans were in, nor
did they make any threats beyond the obvious one that their beam cannon 
presented.  But the implication was clear: we couldn't simply bomb them without
risking the deaths of Terrans.  Even if the people in question are Pranir 
collaborators, we'd still want them alive for questioning.
     "Your mission is threefold.  One, and this is primary, get any human 
captives out alive.  Two, disable that particle weapon so that normal troops 
can move in.  Three, if possible take control of the ship or at least ensure
that it cannot lift off.  Specific maps and specs will be available to you on 
the helijets.  Mr. Taylor will take the Field Command position for this 
mission, with Mr. Tracey in the second spot.  You will have 15 minutes to 
prepare any equipment you think you will need, then meet at the helipad 
topside.  Good luck, and be careful."  The screen went blank.
     Grind was the first on his feet.  "All right, you head the Professor, 
let's get a move on!"  The room emptied quickly.

               *              *              *              *

     Helijet Academy-1-A streaked over the dark terrain at several hundred 
kilometers per hour, and was already over the eastern edge of Montana District.
In the passenger compartment sat half the Grad class: Teller, Drake, Popper, 
Essay, Arin, Kleinvogel and Henderson.  Several of them seemed agitated.
     "Pops, I'm sure there's no hidden motive behind JakZak splitting the team 
up along these lines," said Essay, looking up from a particle beam deflection 
device of some unspecified design.
     "I dunno...I mean, it's been getting pretty obvious lately that the seven 
of them," Drake nodded his head in a direction that might have been that of
Helijet 1-B, "have been wanting less and less to do with the seven of us.  It's
not just cliquishness either...some of them seem nervous around us.  What the 
hell is up with them, anyway?"
     "Whatever it is, it probably has to do with the Combine higher ups," 
muttered Popper darkly.  "You've seen how chummy the Professor is with JakZak.
Even puts him in charge of this mission.  Maybe the government has decided 
which of us will make better stooges and is breeding them for the job, making 
them cut contact with the rest of us and teaching them to distrust us."
     Jason Teller snorted.  "Popper, you're just too damn paranoid.  After all,
if they'd wanted to cull us, they'd have done it right after graduation like 
they did to most of the graduates.  I'm still not sure why you weren't culled, 
really...you certainly aren't showing a very good attitude lately."
     "Look, I know you all think I've been taking this all too personally since
my roommate from last year got labelled a security risk...but that really just 
made me realize the price we'll pay if we have opinions too openly.  Hell, 
nothing he said is any more 'seditious' than what I believe in...freedom of 
speech and religion, the danger of too powerful a government, et cetera.  He 
just had the bad timing to say what he believed in front of a touchy official.
But in any case, what I believe or not seems to be less important now, in light
of what I found out before the klaxons went off.  I was getting worried about 
being 'culled' as you put it, so I hacked into my personal records, to see if 
there was any kind of notation in there that would suggest something like that.
Oh, don't look so shocked...half the Academy knows how to break the security on
that stuff.  Save the shocked looks for this: Grind has accessed all of our 
files in the past month, with the sole exception of Arin.  He's even gotten 
into sealed records I can't hack into...fortunately for me, he didn't hide his 
tracks well enough...he hid them from casual inspection, but...."
     "But not from the dogged searching of a paranoid?" interrupted Howard.  
"Still, Grind is fairly obsessive about knowing all he can about all there is, 
it's not too unusual for him to be poking into private files like that."
     "Yes, but why didn't he look into Arin's as well?  Or JakZak's?  Why just 
the six of us?" prodded Popper.
     "Well," started Teller, "what do we have in common?  All six of us have 
been here since the founding of the Academy...so if Grind was doing some kind 
of statistical study we'd make good subjects.  Did you check to see if he 
looked into any staff records?  It might not be just us, Pops.  Maybe he found 
asbestos in the walls and is looking for cancer clusters," he grinned.
     Popper fumed slightly, then raised a finger and pointed at Howard.  "Could
you cast a spell to find out why Grind is so interested in us?  Or find if 
there's some kind of conspiracy within that sevensome?"
     Howard simply stared at Popper with an edge of contempt for a moment.  
Then he spoke in calm, measured tones.  "Leaving aside my lack of training in 
such magicks, that would be unethical, and a foul thing to do to people who are
supposed to be our allies.  If I were to find them innocent of any such 
schemes as you're suspecting, I would have needlessly violated a trust."
     "But if they are...!"
     "Innocent until proven guilty, Sean.  To invade their minds searching for 
proof of guilt would be vile.  However, when this mission is over, I could 
attempt a general scrying to determine if we are being plotted against by 
anyone...it would not say who by, but an answer of 'no one' would calm your 
fears, yes?"
     "Sigh...don't bother, then."  Popper slumped down in his seat and sullenly
reviewed the floorplans for the model of smuggling ship the Pranir were using.

               *              *              *              *

     Helijet Academy-1-B had slowed and dropped below the horizon of the Pranir
ship to avoid being shot out of the air by an extreme-range blast.  The mood 
aboard had generally been quiet and intense as everyone concentrated on the 
tactical options fed to their consoles from Grind's.
     Aaron flinched momentarily.
     JakZak looked up.  "What is it?  Psychic impression from the Pranir 
already?"
     Aaron shook his head.  "No, I don't have anywhere near that kind of range.
This was from the other helijet...I'm beginning to think it was a bad idea to
split us up like this.  I'm getting some resentment from over there, same kind 
as I've been feeling ever since it became apparent the seven of us were keeping
away from the other seven.  I think they're starting to suspect various awful 
things of us...it might be time to tell them the score, at least that way we'll
only have at most one of them to worry about."
     Grind broke in.  "Not a good idea.  Yes, the divisiveness is bad, but 
letting a prospective mass-murderer know we're on to him could at best scare 
him off...at worst make us all targets.  We need to better narrow down the 
options before we can start letting anyone else in on this."
     "Shouldn't we at least tell Arin?" asked Sarah.  "After all, we know 
*she's* not the killer.  No reason she should suffer thinking that we're 
shunning her...."
     "I've given that some thought, actually," Grind replied, "but I decided 
not to.  Two factors, really.  One, by keeping at least one non-suspect in the
dark, we set up a red herring of sorts...it might delay the realization of the 
common link a little.  If the suspect could be sure we were only worried about 
thse who had been here since founding, he'd have more reason to believe we were
on to him or her.  Two, Arin's upbringing didn't really expose her to too much 
of this kind of intrigue...I neither wanted to force such on her nor risk that 
she'd be unable to handle it and talk to the wrong person.  Still, we do need 
to work harder on allaying suspicions...let's try to mix the groups a little 
more in the assault teams, all right?"
     JakZak held up his notepad computer.  "Actually, the teaming setups are 
pretty well dictated by our powers...but it does mix us a little."
     JakZak continued to describe his plan, but Sal wasn't really listening.  A
cold knot started to form in his gut, and he knew he'd made an error.  At the 
time it seemed like a good idea to slip that note under Arin's door...seemed 
like the nice thing to do.  Let her know what was going on, that it wasn't her
fault she was being ignored more than usual.
     But had he only made things worse?

               *              *              *              *

     Arin sat quietly in the corner of the passenger compartment, her eyes 
pointed at her notepad's screen but not really focusing.  She was going into
battle for the first real time...simulations didn't count...and one of the
people she would be trusting her life to might be a murderer.
     Worse than a simple murderer, if Salvatore was right.  A rapist of powers,
who violated the souls and bodies of his victims before killing them, forcing 
them to burn out on their own powers.  Corrupting them so brutally that they 
died.  The kind of animal that had been the first...and so far only...victim of
Arin's own powers.
     She shivered and hugged her knees to her chest as the helijet started its 
final approach....

[Next Issue: The Grads encounter something all the training in the world can't
prepare you for!  Plus: lead feature describes the known alien races of the ASH
Universe!]