Drew Karpyshyn: Ascension

In contrast, her father looked old. His mind — and tongue — were still as sharp as ever, but his body seemed dry and withered. His skin was leathery and hard, his features sunken and drawn, his face lined from decades of dealing with the pressure and stress that came with being a living icon. Grissom's thinning hair was mostly white, and he moved with the slow, deliberate actions of the elderly, even walking with the hint of a stoop.

Picturing him in her mind, it was hard to imagine the great hero the media and history books portrayed. Kahlee couldn't help but wonder how much of that was intentional, a facade Grissom maintained in order to keep others at bay. Her father had turned his back on his fame, unwilling to allow himself to be held up as a symbol for Earth or the Alliance. He'd refused to attend the consecration of the Jon Grissom Academy, and over the past seven years he'd declined dozens of invitations from the board of directors to visit the facility, despite the fact it was orbiting the planet where he made his home.

Probably for the best, Kahlee thought to herself. Let the public cling to his memory; it served as a better symbol of nobility and courage than the misanthropic old bastard he had become. Besides, she had plenty to keep her busy here at the Academy without having to deal with her father.

She pushed the thoughts of Grissom aside as she reached her destination. She rapped once on the closed door.

"Come in," a young boy's voice grudgingly called out, and a second later the door whooshed open.

Nick lay on his back in his bed, scowling up at the ceiling. He was twelve, though somewhat small for his age. Despite this, there was something about him — an almost unconscious air of arrogance and cruelty — that marked him as a bully rather than a vic-tim.

Kahlee stepped in and closed the door behind her. Nick stubbornly refused to look over and acknowl-edge her presence. His school computer sat, closed and ignored, on the small desk in the corner of the room. It was obvious he was pouting.

"What's the matter, Nick?" she asked, coming over to sit on the edge of his bed.

"Hendel put me in lockdown for three weeks!" he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. His expression was one of outrage and utter indignation. "He won't even let me play on the 'net!"

Students at the Grissom Academy were well taken care of, but when they misbehaved certain privileges— access to games on the Extranet, watching favorite shows on the vid screens in their rooms, or listening to popular music — could be taken away. Nick, in particular, was very familiar with this form of punishment.

"Three weeks is forever!" he protested. "That's totally not fair!"

"Three weeks is a long time," Kahlee agreed with a somber nod, struggling to keep the hint of a smile from playing across her lips. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" There was a pregnant pause before he continued. "I just… I kind of. . pushed Seshaun."

Kahlee shook her head disapprovingly, her urge to smile completely gone. "You know that's not allowed, Nick," she said sternly.

All the students at the Grissom Academy were remarkable in some way: mathematical geniuses, technical savants, brilliant artists, world-class musicians and composers. But Kahlee only ever dealt with those students involved in the Ascension Project — a program designed to help children with biotic aptitude maximize their potential. Once fitted with microscopic amplifiers wired throughout their nervous system, it was possible for biotic individuals to use electromagnetic impulses generated in the brain to create mass effect fields. With years of training in mental focus and biofeedback techniques, these fields could become strong enough to alter their physical surroundings. A powerful biotic could lift and throw objects, freeze them in place, or even shred them apart with nothing but the power of the mind. Given such dangerous potential, it was no surprise that there were strict rules against the students using their abilities outside of properly supervised settings.

"Did you hurt him?"

"A little," Nick admitted, grudgingly. "He banged his knee when I knocked him down. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal," Kahlee insisted. "You can't use biotics on the other kids, Nick. You know that!"

Like all the Ascension Project students in his age group, Nick had undergone his implantation surgery a little over a year ago. Most of the children were still struggling to access their newfound abilities, practicing the drills and lessons that would allow them to coordinate their new biotic amps with their own biological systems. In the first two years, the majority could barely lift a pen a few inches off the surface of a desk.

Nick, however, was a quick learner. Based on initial testing, most of his classmates would almost certainly catch up to him over the coming years; several might even surpass him. But right now he was far more powerful than any of his peers. . strong enough to knock another twelve-year-old down.

"He started it," Nick protested in his own defense. "He was making fun of my shoes. So I just pushed him. I can't help it if I'm good at biotics!"

Kahlee sighed. Nick's attitude was completely normal, and completely unacceptable. The Ascension Project had two primary objectives: to work with biotic individuals in an attempt to maximize human potential in the field, and, more important in her eyes, to help biotics integrate themselves into so-called normal human society. The students were not just trained in biotic techniques, they were also exposed to a curriculum of philosophical and moral instruction that would help them understand the responsibilities and obligations that came with their remarkable talent.

It was important the children didn't grow up with a sense of entitlement, or the belief they were somehow better than others because of their abilities. Of course, this was often the hardest lesson to teach.

"Seshaun's bigger than you, isn't he?" Kahlee noted after a moment of thought.

"All the boys are bigger than me," Nick mumbled, crossing his legs. He hunched forward to rest his elbows on the bedspread, then balanced his chin on his hands in an amazing display of the flexibility that all young children possess.

"Before you got your implants, did he pick on you? Did he push you around just because he was bigger than you?"

"No," Nick answered, rolling his eyes as he sensed a lecture coming. "That would be wrong," he dutifully added, knowing it was what she wanted to hear.

"Just because you're bigger or stronger or better at biotics doesn't mean you can do whatever you want," Kahlee told him, knowing he was only half-listening. Still, she hoped enough repetitions might get the message through someday. "You have a special gift, but that doesn't make it okay to hurt other people."

"I know," the boy admitted. "But it was mostly an accident. And I said I was sorry."

"Saying sorry isn't always enough," Kahlee answered. "That's why Hendel put you in lockdown."

"But three weeks is sooo long!"

Kahlee shrugged. "Hendel used to be a soldier. He believes in discipline. Now let's check your readings."

The boy, still resting his chin in his hands, tilted his head further downward to expose the nape of his neck. Kahlee reached out and touched him gingerly just above his collar, bracing against the tiny spark that jolted the tip of her finger. Nick jumped slightly, though he was more used to it than she was. Biotics often gave off small, sharp discharges of electricity; their bodies naturally generated static, as if they had just walked across a carpet in wool socks.

She pinched the skin on his neck between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, while her right drew out a small needle from the pocket of her lab coat. There was a tiny, ball-shaped transmitter on the needle's head.