Drew Karpyshyn: Ascension

Kahlee liked Hendel, but this was an example of his pessimistic, often bleak view of life. Of course there was some truth to what he said — there were biotics who acted as if they were indestructible, blessed with super powers. But there were limits to their talents. It took time to generate a mass effect field, as well as intense mentalconcentration and focus. Fatigue set in quickly. After one or two impressive displays a biotic was drained, leaving them as vulnerable as anyone else.

There were several documented cases of biotics flaunting their power: cheating at dice or roulette in a casino; altering the trajectory of the ball in the middle of a basketball game; even playing practical jokes on people by yanking their chairs out from under them. And the consequences for these actions were often severe. Enraged mobs had been known to assault or even kill biotics in retaliation for such minor offenses; driven to extreme overreaction by their ignorance and fear.

"That's not going to happen to Nick," she assured him. "He'll learn. We'll get through to him eventually."

"Maybe one of the teachers needs to hit him with a stunner," he deadpanned.

"Don't look at me," Kahlee objected with a laugh, taking two quick hop-steps to keep from falling behind. "I never carry mine."

The stunners — small electroshock weapons manufactured by Aldrin Labs and capable of rendering a student unconscious — were standard issue to all personnel on the Ascension Project; a precaution in case any of the students ever unleashed a serious biotic attack against a staff member or classmate. For legal reasons, all nonbiotic personnel were supposed to carry a stunner while on duty, but Kahlee openly defied the rule. She hated the stunners. They seemed to hearken back to the mistrust and fear prevalent during the days of the BAaT program. Besides, in all the years of the Ascension Project, no staff member had ever needed to use one.

God willing no one ever will, she thought. Out loud she asked, "So where are we headed in such a hurry?"

"To see Gillian."

"Can it wait?" Kahlee asked. "Jiro's taking her readings."

Hendel raised a curious eye. "You're not supervising?"

"He knows what he's doing."

For some reason, Hendel had never warmed to Jiro. It could have been the age difference — Jiro was one of the youngest members on the staff. Or it could have simply been a clash of personalities — Jiro was cheerful, extroverted, and talkative, whereas Hendel was, in a word, stoic.

"I've got nothing against Jiro," he assured her, though she knew that wasn't completely true. "But Gillian's not like the other students."

"You worry about her too much."

"That's funny," he replied, "coming from you."

Kahlee let the comment slide. She and Hendel both spent a lot of extra time and attention on Gillian. It wasn't really fair to the other students, but Gillian was special. She needed more help than the others.

"She likes Jiro," Kahlee explained. "He'll do fine without you hovering around like an overprotective parent."

"This has nothing to do with getting her readings," Hendel grunted. "Grayson wants to come for another visit."

Kahlee stopped and grabbed her companion by the elbow, knocking the bigger man off stride and spinning him halfway around to face her.

"No," she said firmly. "I don't want her hearing that from you."

"I'm in charge of security for this wing," Hendel replied defensively. "All visitation requests go through me for approval."

"You're not seriously thinking of denying his request?" Kahlee asked, horrified. "He's her father! He has rights!"

"If I think the visit poses a danger to the child I can deny a parent's request," Hendel replied coolly.

"Danger? What kind of danger?"

"He's a drug addict, for Christ's sakes!"

"You can't prove that," Kahlee warned. "And you can't deny his request based on suspicions. Not without getting fired."

"He wants to come the day after tomorrow!" Hen-del objected. "I just need to see if Gillian's up to it. It might be better if he waits a few weeks so she can get used to the idea."

"Yeah, right," Kahlee replied sarcastically. "It's all about what's best for her. Your personal feelings about Grayson have nothing to do with it."

"Gillian needs routines and consistency," Hendel insisted. "You know how upset she gets if her schedule's disrupted. If he wants to be part of her life, he can come see her every month like the other parents, instead of once or twice a year whenever it's convenient for him. These unexpected visits are too hard on her."

"She'll cope," Kahlee said, eyes narrowing. "I'll tell Gillian her father's coming. You just go back to your office and approve Grayson's request."

Hendel opened his mouth to say something else, then wisely closed it.

"I'll get right on that," he muttered, then walked off in the opposite direction, heading back toward the administrative wing of the building.

Kahlee watched him go, then took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Gillian was surprisingly perceptive; she tended to read and react to other people's emotions. And the girl looked up to Hendel. If he'd delivered the news of her father's trip, she almost certainly would have picked up on his disapproval, and had a sympathetic negative reaction. That wasn't fair to Grayson, or his daughter.

Gillian's room was at the far end of the dormitory, where there was less noise to disturb her. By the time Kahlee reached the door, she had plastered an expression of cheerful expectation on her face. She raised her fist and rapped lightly. Her knock was answered not by the girl, but by Jiro.

"Come in."

Thedoor slid open to reveal Gillian sitting at her desk. She was thin and angular, the tallest child in her age group by several inches. She hadfine black hair that hung down almost to her waist, and eyes that seemed too wide and too far apart for her long face. Kahlee suspected she took after her mother, as apart from her slender build she didn't bear any real resemblance to Grayson.

Gillian was twelve, the same age as Nick. In fact, almost half the children in the Ascension Project came from the same approximate age group. Thirteen years ago three major industrial accidents, each at a different human colony, had occurred over a four-month span. The circumstances were suspicious, but investigations had uncovered no connection between the incidents. Of course, this had done little to quell the conspiracy theorists on the Extranet who refused to believe it was all just a tragic string of negligence and coincidence.

The third accident was by far the most devastating; some reports had initially called it the worst toxic disaster in human history. A fully loaded Eldfell-Ashland transport ship had exploded in atmosphere, killing the crew and spewing a deadly cloud of element zero over the entire Yandoa colony, exposing thousands of children in utero.

While the majority suffered no long-lasting harmful effects, several hundred of the unborn children developed significant symptoms ranging from cancer to organ damage, birth defects, and even spontaneous abortion. However, some good did come from the otherwise tragic statistics: thirty-seven of the exposed children had been diagnosed as not only healthy, but also with significant biotic potential of varying degree. All of them were now here at the Grissom Academy.

Gillian was staring with a disturbing intensity at the assignment on her computer screen. Sometimes she would sit like this for hours, motionless. Then, as if some undetectable switch went off in her mind, she would explode into a flurry of action, typing out answers so quickly her fingers were nothing but a blur. Her answers were, without variation, 100 percent correct.