Altered Children

A partly cloudy mid-morning on Thursday, September 23, 2027 found Phil Demakis lackadaisically monitoring the thoughts of Henry Charles, the problem child in California whose street name was Little-C. Suddenly, Phil was jarred alert by Little-C’s excitement over the imminent execution of plans he had cooked up with his gang.

Phil would have asked Kathy Haller to help because of her previous experience with Little-C, but she was one of the twenty-five children who’d gone to Admiral teDanon’s spacecraft carrier. So, he asked Peter Starkey and two other children who were in the Discovery Bay school with him. One was Susanna “Suz” (pronounced “Sooz”) Olsen, a pretty Arkansas girl with glasses and short blonde hair colored with red highlights.

The fourth child was Stephen Ulis who hailed from South Dakota; he was a bit shorter than Phil and Peter, with a square, dimpled chin. He had black hair like Phil, but his eyes were brown where Phil’s were blue.

They got together outside the cabin where Phil roomed, and barely noticed the pleasing scent from the clump of wild rhododendrons blooming nearby. Passing clouds often veiled the warm sun. The four children sat at one of the small patio tables scattered around the area. A doe and her fawn munching on other rhododendrons momentarily distracted them.

“It was my shift to check on Little-C,” Phil said, running a hand through hair he wore in a flattop. “He and three others in his gang are on their way to rob another gang. They’re gonna steal drugs, weapons and money, and kill whoever tries to stop them.”

“So what, it’s only a street gang,” Stephan countered.

Peter stood and paced. “But a lot of innocent people could be nearby. What about them?”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “Now though, Little-C is starting to think he’s invincible, and he believes he can get away with anything. He needs to be knocked down a rung or two.”

Susanna grew impatient. “Let’s stop talking about it and link up,” she urged them. “Phil, please guide us into his mind.”

Phil straightened up in his chair, shut his eyes and began deep breathing. Peter sat down again. Soon, Pete, Susanna and Stephen followed suit while Phil led them into Little-C’s mind.

Little-C and his cohorts observed for twenty minutes the home used by the targeted gang as their headquarters. It was an old craftsman with a wide porch along the entire front. They determined there were only six gang members inside. The time was right to make their move.

An African-American woman in her late twenties—nicely dressed in a brown shirt and pants, hair in neat cornrows—drove up in the UPS truck they’d stolen a short time earlier and parked in front. She strolled to the front door carrying a package under one arm and a clipboard in her hand. Little-C and his crew sneaked up on the porch. They hid on both sides of the door flattening themselves against the house. After the woman rang the doorbell, they heard people inside scrambling around before someone approached and looked out through the peephole.

“What yo’ want?” a harsh voice from inside asked.

“Package for Mr. Jordan,” she announced pleasantly with a smile on her thin face.

“Leave it outside.”

“Can’t. Gotta get a signature.”

“Okay . . . just a second,” the harsh voice said.

Seconds passed before the home’s owner came to the door. Deadbolts clicked open noisily. A tall black man slowly opened the door. The delivery woman dropped the clipboard, reached through a hole in the side of the package she had been carrying and pulled out an automatic pistol. At the same time Little-C and the others rushed the door with guns drawn and slammed it into Mr. Jordan, knocking him back into the room where he stumbled and fell. Two men lounging on a couch looked up in surprise and started to rise.

A commotion ensued with one of Little-C’s gang yelling “Ever’body on the flo’, now!”

The door to another room burst open. A man popped out with an Uzi and moved it until it was pointing at the newcomers. Little-C stayed outside at one side of the door and knew this was what he was there for. He concentrated on the man with the Uzi and the man began to waver and lower the machine pistol. Perspiration broke out on the man’s face, his wide lips pressed tightly together, as he struggled against Little-C’s growing control over his mind.

Suddenly, Little-C lost his concentration as he sensed Phil’s voice in his mind. “Little-C, we’re ba-ack.”

That was all the man with the Uzi needed. As soon as he got his wits back, he opened up on Little-C’s gang members still crowded together near the front door. Little-C’s gang managed to get a few shots off, but most went wild.

When the shooting stopped—four seconds since it started—one of the gang in the house was wounded and the members of Little-C’s crew were dead. Bullets that penetrated the wall hit Little-C in the stomach and left shoulder. He ran away in pain as sirens sounded in the distance.

Phil sat gripping the chair’s armrests, a shocked look on his face, his blue eyes open wide. Stephan tried to stand, but fell over backward in his chair. Susanna yanked her glasses off, held her head in her hands and tried to hold back tears.

Peter jumped up and yelled “dammit! It almost happened again. I definitely don’t want to feel someone dying again. Not like when Tom and the others died.”

Susanna shook her head. “But some did die. We’d better tell someone what happened.”

“Right,” Phil said.

“Let’s go see Dr. Gupta,” Peter suggested. They hurried off.

Ramaraju Gupta looked up to see four excited and distraught children burst into his office. They told him what had just occurred.

Phil’s voice faltered. “Maybe . . . if . . . I’d picked up . . . sooner on . . . what was . . . was . . . being planned . . .”

Peter stomped his foot. “Or if we had more kids there to help—”

“—we could have stopped them” Susanna finished.

“Listen guys,” Rama said, “it was not your fault, just bad timing. There’s no way you can monitor the problem kids twenty-four hours a day. You did the best you could.”

“Maybe we could get more kids to monitor them, even in shorter shifts,” Peter suggested.

“What if we tried harder to persuade them to join us?” Stephan asked.

“It’s something to think about,” Susanna admitted.

“Hold on, let’s not try to solve this problem right now,” Rama advised them. “You need to talk it out with your counselors and take some time off. Pete, you and I will get together at four o’clock and I’ll get the rest of you scheduled. For now, I think it would be best if you go to your rooms and do some serious meditation.”

Peter shook his head. “Can’t we hold off a bit on the counseling sessions, Dr. Gupta?”

“Right,” Phil added. “We’re awfully busy with our mind link to the kids on the flotilla. And we should keep checking on Henry Charles.”

“I know you’re working in shifts and can take time for counseling,” Rama said. “It is important. I’ll make sure the sessions don’t interfere. I’m also aware it’s almost October and classes have started; you already have some catching up to do. Go on now, to your rooms.”

Rama watched them leave. He informed Dennis Murphy, Karen Pacheco and JoAnn DeVry, and arranged to have Phil and the other two children meet with their own psychologists to discuss the dreadful event. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he entered into their website the basic facts of the wounding of Henry Charles—Little-C. Rama thought, It is a shame to lose one of these kids, but he is one very dangerous bad seed who we may not have to worry about any longer.

Little-C got a block away before he passed out and collapsed onto his back on the sidewalk. Within 45 seconds, a police car screeched to a halt next to him.

“Poor kid,” one officer—an African American—exclaimed. “He must have been hit when those gangbangers down the street blasted each other.” His white partner nodded in agreement.

An ambulance soon arrived. As the EMTs carefully lifted Little-C to the gurney, a snub-nose.38 caliber revolver fell to the sidewalk from the back of his pants. An EMT called the officers over and pointed to the weapon.

The white officer shook his head. “Well this kid doesn’t seem so innocent now, does he.”

“It looks like we’ll be following you to the hospital,” the African-American officer told the EMTs as he picked up the gun with a pen he stuck into the barrel, and placed it into an evidence bag.

Once at the hospital, Little-C was evaluated in the emergency room and quickly taken to an operating room. After four and a half hours of surgery, both bullets were removed and he was moved to the ICU, with an officer placed at the door to his room. The police department did not want to risk retaliation by the gang Little-C’s crew had attacked, or any kind or rescue by his own gang. The department knew they did not have to worry about this boy escaping on his own.

The top-secret messages from the General Staff were posted to the personal tablets of both admirals, the priority beep interrupting the meeting. They stepped into the passageway outside the shuttle group ready room and read their messages. Then they exchanged them.

Admiral teDanon spoke first. “They are basically the same. What do you think?”

“They go too far, Spuvi,” the new Eighteenth Independent Battle Group commander said. “I’ve been around long enough to know how far the government might actually go. Though there may be an element of truth to this assertion by the General Staff, it is likely an exaggeration.”

Admiral teDanon shrugged his shoulders. “And if it is true? You know as well as I the military budget has been a big drain on our government’s resources. And who are we at war with? Nobody! Who are our enemies? No one!”

“Yes, it appears to be a simple grab for power, mainly because the General Staff believes the government’s policy regarding Jeritha to be contrary to Silkar’s interests.”

“The timing of the message makes that all too clear,” Admiral teDanon added. “The government must have uncovered information on Operation Pacify, Operation Chaos, . . . or both. Maybe they confronted the General Staff.” I am not ready to tell anyone I disclosed the information to the prime minister, he thought. I want to gain their trust first. They might not listen to anything else I say if they consider me a spy.

“Well,” Admiral gePetral said, “at least we are now under orders not to execute Operation Chaos!”

Admiral teDanon rubbed the amulet through his tunic. “Hmm, this order to return immediately to Silkar and take up a defensive position, . . . yes, that could give us a clear tactical advantage.”

“Everyone in the meeting should have a copy,” Admiral gePetral suggested. “Do you agree?”

“Absolutely.” Admiral teDanon e-mailed a copy to everyone in the meeting. When they returned to the ready room he said, “All of you, take a minute to read those messages I e-mailed you, and which we just received.”

“Read them carefully,” Admiral gePetral added. “Take a half hour to digest their content and then we will resume.”

There was an initial buzz of conversation after the message had been read. Then, most officers sat in shocked silence while two wrote hurried notes and another whispered to her neighbor. As the second meeting resumed, the children began to monitor the officers’ thoughts to determine whether or not their words represented their true feelings.

“Well,” Admiral teDanon said, “here it is in plain language. If this does not prove to you the General Staff has gone over the edge, I do not know what it will take.”

“If the government is planning to leave our people defenseless by what amounts to a dismantling of our space forces, what choice do they have?” one of the destroyer captains asked, his voice raised as he twiddled one of his thick braids of dark brown hair.

The Vartrop Nebula’s captain jumped to his feet and stared at the destroyer captain. “How naive can you be?” The orange tint of his reddish skin betrayed his nervousness and anger. “I used to believe in following orders—all orders I was given. But now . . . now . . .” His gaze fell on Mack. “I am beginning to think the Jerithan principle of adhering to only legal and ethical orders has merit. I for one do not wish to be part of a . . . a sedition of this magnitude.”

Admiral gePetral rose. “Captain, please sit down. Admiral teDanon and I are of the same mind.” He looked around the compartment. “The members of the General Staff may truly believe they know what is in the best interests of Silkar more than the government, especially on the issue of what to do concerning Jeritha. But, the General Staff has already violated Silkaran law and decisions made at the highest levels of the league. The General Staff does not . . . I repeat, does not have the right to usurp power.”

Throughout this entire part of the discussion Mack remained silent unless asked a direct question. The children sat quietly and continued to read the thoughts behind the statements of the Silkaran officers. One by one, officers affirmed their acceptance of the admirals’ arguments and committed their support to stopping the government’s overthrow.

Finally—with subtle nudges by the children—the last two destroyer captains, who had been the most reluctant to oppose the General Staff and go against the orders of their highest ranking officers, committed themselves and joined the others.

When it appeared to the battle group’s commander there was nothing left to say he got to his feet, followed by Admiral teDanon who called, “Attention on deck!” Every officer present, including Mack, sprang to attention. Even the children stood at some semblance of attention.

Admiral teDanon turned, faced his new commanding officer and saluted. “Admiral gePetral, I stand relieved. The Operation Pacify Flotilla is yours.” Admiral gePetral returned the salute and then extended his hand. The admirals’ firm handshake was accompanied by heartfelt smiles. Admiral gePetral made Admiral teDanon the battle group’s executive officer. Their executive officers were given command of their respective flotillas within the battle group.

The former Operation Chaos flotilla was now designated Flotilla 18 IBG 1 and the Operation Pacify flotilla became Flotilla 18 IBG 2.

“At first-watch tomorrow we will form up for the journey home, Flotilla 18 IBG 2 will be moved portside of 18 IBG 1, each in Defense Pattern ‘Triangle 5-B’. Inform your crews of the new battle group, officer assignments and our return to Silkar. But say nothing else until I give permission. Thank you all for your support. Captains, return to your posts.

“The rest of you, please wait a moment.” After the captains left, Admiral gePetral glanced at his new executive officer, then at Captain Wallace and the children. He faced Admiral teDanon once again. “Spuvi, you have had a great deal of direct experience with the children. In your assessment of their abilities, could they help us stop this abomination?”

“Hmm, yes. I think so . . . no, I am sure of it. But they need to have some access to the people they will need to influence.”

Admiral gePetral turned to Mack. “Captain Wallace, you appear to be the primary spokesperson for your people. Please tell me if these children could make the General Staff cease their actions against the government?”

“Admiral, if they can get close enough to them, they can make the members of the General Staff do almost anything you want them to do . . . providing it is not unethical.”

“The children stopped us from making horrible mistakes twice already,” Admiral teDanon said. “Now, Captain Wallace, we must ask for the children’s assistance once again.”

“Both of you are asking a lot. Don’t forget. They are children. They have already risked their lives for our world and—when you think about it—for your world too. Now you want them to risk their lives again—for a world which put ours in grave danger.”

Jason stepped into the tight little circle the senior officers had made. “Captain Wallace, their culture and people don’t seem so different from ours. If they are like the Silkarans we’ve met so far, we think the vast majority of them are basically honest and decent.”

Zahra also pushed her way into the circle. “It is not for their people alone, but will serve Earth well in the long run. You’ll see. Jason and I have polled the others. We all agree this is something we need to do.”

Mack knelt down and hugged both children. He brushed back a tear and took a deep breath. “Damn I’m proud of you children. I would like to think Tom would be telling me the same thing if he were here.” He stood tall and straight, and faced Admiral gePetral. “I must talk to our own people, especially these children’s parents. But I believe they will all agree in the end. It should be safe to say we are at your service, Admiral.”

“I cannot thank you enough right now, but our gratitude will be made very plain in due course. Speak to whomever you need to. Tomorrow, after the battle group has formed up and left the system, I would like to meet with you all again.”

Admiral gePetral called in the ship’s administration officer and said, “Arrange temporary quarters for these Jerithans and see to it they are comfortable. Have their belongings and enough of their supplies transferred here from the Rostvar Cluster.” With a sober expression, his eyes darted from one Human to the next. “It seems you will be with us for awhile, and we have some planning to do.”

The children scurried to keep up with the administration officer as he strode purposefully toward the elevator that would take them to flag country, where the flag officers were quartered.

Making their way down the passageway, Admiral teDanon tapped the admin officer on the shoulder. “Commander, please set it up for the Jerithans to communicate with their people before second-watch.”

“Yes, sir. As soon as everyone is settled in, I will instruct COMCENT to handle it from this end . . . and make sure those on the other vessels can make their calls as well.”

“Excuse me, Commander,” Mack said, “but something just occurred to me. We were prepared to be away from home for four or five days. Now, it looks like the voyage is going to be much longer. None of us have sufficient clothing.”

The commander regarded Mack with a thoughtful gaze. “You are right, of course. Our ships have laundry facilities, and we will arrange for you all to visit the ship’s store and tailor for whatever you need.”

Admiral teDanon spoke up. “Captain Wallace, what if we create a Jerithan—excuse me—an Earth company in our security division? We would give you ranks similar to what you hold in your own services. The children would have cadet status.”

Mack studied the children’s excited smiles and nods before answering. “I believe we would be honored, Admiral.”

“Good. I am glad. The commander will ensure you all have appropriate uniforms and anything else you need.”

They continued on and soon entered flag country. The new Flotilla 18 IBG 1 commander gave his cabin to Admiral teDanon and had three additional spaces set up, a cabin for himself and two spaces with extra bunks for Mack and the children. Mack contemplated the situation. It’ll be crowded, but at least the thirteen of us will be close together.

Less than an hour later, all the Humans called their families to tell them about their recent escapades and the latest, unexpected turn of events. Each of the 25 children talked with other children telepathically. The conversations were much the same and, frequently, emotional. Mack spoke with his worried wife and daughter. Roberta’s fears were not allayed to hear he was going to another world to help stop a coup d’état. But, being the wife of a naval officer, she dealt with it stoically. Mack reluctantly ended his call.

With the help of their doctors, Mack and the other military men on active duty arranged to take sick leave for an unspecified period so they would not be considered AWOL or deserters. This was followed by Mack’s report to Dennis.

“So,, that’s where we are currently,” Mack said.

“Who’d a thunk it, Mack? First you help stop an attack on Earth, then you go off to a different planet to help stop a military takeover.”

“It’s really something, all right. Sounds a little like ‘Buck Rogers’ or ‘Star Wars’.”

“I am concerned. Affairs seem to be escalating,” Dennis murmured.

“Right. The kids have been wonderful, but I hope we’re not out of our depth this time.”

“Do you have any idea how long before you’ll be back?”

“Well, from what little I know now—and it’s not much—a few days there, a few back, plus who knows how long once we’re there. You have to figure a minimum of two or three weeks. Maybe longer.”

“Should we expect to hear from you again before you return?”

“I wish I knew, Dennis. If at all possible, we’ll be in touch. Otherwise, . . .” Mack’s troubled voice trailed off.

“Take care, Mack. We’ll see—” suddenly, Dennis slapped his forehead. “Good God! We told the children’s families we thought they wouldn’t be in real danger. Then, a torpedo and injuries . . . and now this. If something happens to any of them, I don’t know what we’ll do,” he said in a dry voice.

When they disconnected, Dennis passed Mack’s report to the foundation’s executive board members, waking some up. Rama dutifully posted a bulletin with this latest intelligence as a news flash on their website.

Jason called his parents and did his best to palliate the danger he was facing. Though they saw through his attempt to minimize it, they reluctantly gave their permission. Then Jason used telepathy to talk with his brother, Peter. Finally, he touched Yuriko’s mind, described what had happened so far and explained what was coming next.

“Jase, please be careful.”

“I’ll do the best I can. But I don’t know what we’ll have to do, so . . . well . . .”

“I know. How long do you think we will still be able to mind talk?”

“We know we can mind talk for hundreds of thousands of miles. But, jeez, we are going such a long way. Let’s find out. We’ll keep trying from the time we leave, and we’ll find out. The mind link you, Peter and Anna are coordinating should give us greater range. But, in hyperspace . . . who knows?”

“When your ships leave I’ll make sure all the kids are up and linked together until we lose contact with you all. And Jason Starkey, you come back.”

All the families had finally been contacted. Mack and the twelve children gathered in one compartment. “All right, children,” Mack said. “What’s the verdict? Do we go or not?”

“As you would expect,” Jason replied in a serious tone undercut by his cheerful demeanor, “all our parents were very reluctant.”

“But, we argued forcefully for their permission,” Zahra added, grinning.

“Some of them were really, really resistant,” Henri said with a smug look.

Mack rolled his eyes. “All right, already. Bottom line, please.” The disapproving purse of his lips belied the glint in his eyes.

Claire stood up with arms stretched wide. “They agreed we could have a ‘fair go’, Captain Wallace. We’re all going.”

Mack shook his head and grinned. “You kids ought to be ashamed, dragging it out like that. I’ll notify Admiral teDanon.”

After surgery, Little-C was moved to the intensive care unit. Luckily for him, no major organs had been hit. About two hours later, Little-C was coming out of the anesthesia. The police officer guarding him was over six feet tall, weighed two hundred fifteen pounds, had red hair and green eyes. He heard Little-C mumbling something, so he ambled over and stood next to Little-C’s bed, turned on his body camera and sound recorder.

“Hmm . . . almost had him . . . fuckers made me stop . . . coulda done it . . .,” Little-C muttered.

The officer bent down a little closer. “What could you have done?” You little bastard, he thought to himself.

“Coulda . . . stopped . . . stopped banger with Uzi.” Little-C rolled his head back and forth. “Fuckers got in my head . . . got in my way.”

“Got in your head?” the officer questioned.

Little-C coughed, then said, “in my head . . . couldn’t use my powers.”

“What powers?” the officer asked.

“Powers . . . make ’em do what I tells ’em to do.” Little-C’s eyes began to flutter and he became more alert.

“How do you make them do what you want?”, the officer implored Little-C.

“What, where am I?” Little-C asked.

“You are in the hospital . . . in the ICU,” the officer replied. “You were shot. Do you remember what happened?”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. I want outta of here.” He tried to get up, but was in too much pain and fell back on the bed.

The officer stood up straight and stretched his back. “You can’t leave until the doctor says you can. I’ll let the nurses know you’re awake.” He strode out of the room to the nurses station and told them the child had awoken, and was trying to get up.

Little-C’s mother had wondered where her son was and called around the neighborhood. She was told what happened to him and called the hospital. She was informed about the surgery, that he was now awake, and that she should bring clean clothes for him. After gathering the clothes, she went to the hospital and saw that her son was under guard.

She identified him as Henry Charles. The officer told her what Henry was suspected to have done, that he had been shot, and when he recovered sufficiently be would be taken to the juvenile section of the county jail. He then called his superiors and brought them up-to-date.

Mack and the children woke to the sounds of a claxon, a sound not unfamiliar to Mack and to which the children were quickly becoming accustomed. A voice blared over the speakers announcing the beginning of first-watch and calling the getting-under-way-details to their stations. They rose and washed for the day. Stewards came in, set aside the extra bunks the children had used, and rolled in carts containing several choices of food and drink.

The battle group got under way and headed to the location for its first hyperspace jump. No outward signs were noticeable at first, though a few of the more strongly clairvoyant children could sense the flotilla was in motion. Jason and the other children found they could still easily communicate telepathically with children on Earth.

With first-meal completed, a chief petty officer from the Administration Division came and led them to a smallish compartment used for meetings and classes; it was large enough for the planning session soon to begin. Three tables had been set up with seating for ten. Portable computers and notebooks with briefing notes lay on the table in front of the chairs. A head table formed the base of a triangle with two tables set against each end and angled until their opposite ends touched.

Mack and the Australian Army captain, selected to represent the Human military men, sat at the top of each of the side tables. Jason and Claire had seats next to Mack, while Kamal and Zahra were sitting next to the Australian. The Humans not in attendance were gathered in similar compartments on their assigned vessels, with their own computers and notebooks. They were connected to the meeting by intra- and inter-ship videoconference systems so they all could participate in the planning. Of course, the children had their own special way of communicating.

The new Flotilla 18 IBG 1 commander—Captain kaTorka—entered a couple of minutes later and took his seat. He was soon followed by Admiral teDanon and then Admiral gePetral. The captain stood and called everyone to attention. By now, the children felt they were becoming quite proficient at military protocol and deportment. The meeting began as soon as they were all in their seats. Flotilla 18 IBG 2′s CO participated via videoconference from the Rostvar Cluster.

Admiral gePetral discussed the briefing documents, beginning with a review of the latest information on the disposition of all Silkaran military forces. Admiral teDanon then described what was known of the commanding officers of the various divisions, regiments, fleets and other major military units. They had little information on the character, politics and loyalty of a majority of those officers.

Rising from his chair, Admiral gePetral took over. “The three check boxes by each officer’s name summarize our knowledge about the officer. One indicates certain or likely opposition to an attempted overthrow of the civilian government. The second identifies those who rigidly adhere to military tradition and will likely support the General Staff. The last box is for unknowns.

“As you can see, right now we have mostly unknowns—just under half—followed by military loyalists. Currently we can be certain of less than a quarter of the commanders to actively resist an overthrow. We must determine how many unknowns are leaning our way and can be convinced to join us.”

Admiral teDanon presented what they knew about the quasi-military forces under the Home Affairs Ministry. He concluded by saying, “We can be reasonably sure these unit commanders will be loyal to the government—with a couple of possible exceptions. Unfortunately, they represent a maximum of twenty percent of all the military forces and generally are not as heavily armed.”

When asked, Mack offered his opinion. “I’m sure I am not telling you anything you don’t already know. As it now stands, you could be facing a civil war. You need to contact the senior commanders and feel them out as quietly and subtly as possible.”

The Australian Army captain agreed and added, “It would also be useful to know which of them would hold their forces back and remain neutral.”

“Pretty much my opinion as well,” Admiral gePetral noted.

Admiral teDanon rose and bent over the table, leaning on his hands. “This is all well and good regarding the military units. But we need to warn the government and coordinate with them. I suggest we contact the prime minister directly.”

“Ah, yes,” Admiral gePetral said. “Still, we do not want anyone acting precipitously. We need to get our own house in order first.”

“May I interrupt, please?” Jason asked, and was acknowledged. “Here is where we can help. Find a way to get us close to these commanders and we can identify those you can trust and depend on. Get us close enough to the General Staff, and we can end the whole thing.”

For the next hour, the group hashed over how best to approach those senior commanders during the trip home, how to get the children close to them and the General Staff, and how to get in touch with the prime minister.

Admiral teDanon knew this was the right time and related to them his recent trip to Silkar and his meeting with the prime minister. He suggested that he make contact because he’d already informed her about Operation Pacify and Operation Chaos. The admiral avowed the prime minister would trust and believe him.

Finally, the meeting ended. It was time to find out if they could really depend on the officers and crew of the new Eighteenth Independent Battle Group, and which of Silkar’s military forces they could rely on.

Two hours later, they’d reached their hyper-jump point. The battle group’s senior astrogator informed the commander the hyper-jump computation was completed. The battle group jumped, in unison, twelve of the sixteen parsecs separating Earth and Silkar. Following the jump, Jason and the other children tried to contact children on Earth telepathically. Jason and Zahra were in the ship’s library studying the history of the League of Worlds.

“So, were you able to mind talk with anyone?” Jason asked telepathically.

“Once, maybe. I thought I caught someone’s thoughts, but I’m not sure.” Zahra replied.

“After the jump, when Yuriko got a lot of them to link together and focus on me alone, I was able to speak with her directly, but they couldn’t maintain such effort for very long. For now I’m positive I can feel Yuriko in my mind.” Jason creased his brow and squinted. “Well, maybe not really positive.” He shrugged his shoulders.

The children reviewed their experiences. They concluded that—for whatever unknown reason—telepathy was not reliable over such vast distances and definitely not doable during the very short periods they were actually in hyperspace. They also decided they had to learn as much as they could concerning how telepathy worked, and find a way to amplify their telepathic signals—if at all possible.

While the next few days seemed almost like a replay to Mack, Claire, Kamal, Jason, and Masanja, it was a new experience for the rest of the Humans. They all worked with the battle group’s senior officers to inform the junior officers and crew of the original Operation Chaos Flotilla about recent events and what was soon to occur, and ascertain their loyalties.

It proved easier than expected to convince close to ninety-five percent of Flotilla 18 IBG 1′s complement of about one thousand six hundred that what they’d almost done, and what the General Staff was preparing to do, was ethically and legally wrong.

This should not have been a surprise, however, since the vast majority of the crew were civilians at heart and considered military duty as merely a temporary obligation. Four career commissioned officers out of eighteen and twenty-two crew members—including six petty officers—remained military traditionalists loyal to the General Staff and were incarcerated.

Over the next few hours, the admirals, both flotillas’ new commanders, and the battle group’s psychological counselors contacted commanders of various Silkaran ground and space military units and carefully assessed their loyalties and views toward the military takeover.

The members of the General Staff were staring at the hologram projection above the center of the table. Once again, the commanding general of the home affairs defense guard had not been included.

“I do not like it,” the army general said.

“Nor do I,” Admiral teReevat agreed.

The head of military intelligence slammed his fist on the table. “In our opinion, gentlemen, they will move against us within two or three days at the latest.”

“I assume they plan to have the Home Guard make the first move,” the Silkar Legion supreme commandant surmised.

The head of military intelligence rubbed his brow ridge. “According to our information . . . hmm . . . the prime minister has ordered our arrest and . . . is merely waiting for their forces to get into position—as quietly as possible, of course.”

“How long before our forces are in position?” Admiral teReevat asked.

“We still have not had confirmation from several unit commanders, and the battle group from Jeritha will not be back for two days,” the military intelligence general responded. He looked at the monitor in front of him displaying the status of forces. “However, . . . hmm . . . most of our key units . . . hmm . . . are in position. Yes, we have just enough forces to move.”

Admiral teReevat rose and looked about the room with a subdued gleam in his eyes. “Whichever of us makes the first move will likely hold all the strike cards. We cannot wait too long. The list of key government officials and those few disloyal commanders has already been distributed and assignments made. These other forces are primarily for back-up. Once we have them in custody, it will be over.” The admiral saw heads nod in agreement.

“How much time do you think we have, Gaspo?” Prime Minister kaKinon inquired, looking haggard and tired. The secret cabinet meeting had been going on for some time and all the ministers were exhausted. While the defense minister was absent, the home affairs minister and commander of the home affairs defense guard were present.

Chief Adviser kaPakar shook his head and wrung his hands. “Madam Prime Minister, I never thought it would go this far. Days, hours . . . I am not sure. Definitely not very long.”

“Military units already occupy the main transportation hubs,” the Transportation minister said solemnly.

The home affairs defense guard general, lines deepening beneath his brow crest, cleared his throat. “We should be in position to arrest the members of the General Staff tomorrow while they are all at dinner. But I am not sure we have enough troops to take their most loyal commanders and supporters, even with agents from the Executive Security Service and the Union Intelligence Bureau assisting.”

“We cannot wait for them to move first,” the prime minister said, in an exasperated tone. “Tomorrow, at five in the morning, we will meet in the command bunker—and stay there until all this is finished.”

“We will have a regiment in control of Government Center in the morning,” the guard’s commanding general declared with a lack of conviction. “Hopefully,” he quickly added.

“We will do whatever we can,” Prime Minister kaKinon stated. “I hope we can avoid a civil war over this damn Jerithan affair.”

“We have doubled the ESS guards in our protective details, so you can be assured of your safety,” the home affairs minister said in a resolute voice, hoping to come across sounding confident.

As Arshva, Silkar’s largest natural satellite, sank below the horizon, it set in motion a number of irreversible actions. Prime Minister Valarde kaKinon and her husband had fallen into a fitful sleep, concerned about events they were afraid were quickly moving beyond their control. Suddenly, a commotion in the foyer woke them.

“What the . . .” Prime Minister kaKinon croaked sleepily.

As their bedroom door crashed inward and figures entered, her husband sat up in bed yelling, “Who the brach are you?”

“I am Major geHorth of the Second Military Police Regiment.” He handed the prime minister a document. “This is an arrest warrant for the prime minister and you. You will please come with me . . . both of you.”

The other ministers and many high officials of the government were being placed under arrest in a similar fashion. As they were taken away, the prime minister and her husband saw two bodies of their personal guard and the rest in shackles. Leaving their residence, they heard the crackle of stunner gunfire and saw several bodies in the streets with burns from lasguns.

The ride to the government center complex was short. Upon arrival, they were picked up in one of the smaller shuttlecraft. In under an hour, they landed at the daBomak Military Spaceport thirty miles from the western outskirts of the city and found themselves in a locked room in one of the facility’s main buildings.

The prime minister’s husband watched her pace the floor for half an hour before he got up, walked to her and put his hands on both her shoulders. “Please sit down, Valarde,” her husband said. “You are making me edgier than I already am.”

“Sorry. I just feel so helpless. Another day . . . one more day . . . and maybe this would have been altogether different.” Seated as closely as possible on the adjacent strait-backed chairs, they held hands nervously, and jumped whenever they heard a sound outside the locked door.

Nothing happened for an hour. At the sound of the lock disengaging they looked up and saw the door slide open. Admiral teReevat sauntered in looking full of himself, followed by two officers and a guard. “Oh, it is you, Admiral,” The prime minister crinkled her nose as though she’d sniffed a bad odor. “What do you think you are doing?” she asked haughtily.

“Do not act so high and mighty, Madam Prime Minister,” Admiral teReevat replied equally disdainfully.

“I understand we are under arrest—for treason no less,” she said. “When will we be permitted to see counsel?”

“In due course. Certainly before your trial. Now, we have something else to discuss. The minister of home affairs is down the hall, not far. I want you to tell her to order the home guard troops to return to their barracks. They may keep their personal side arms, but must surrender all other weapons.”

“And why would I do that, Admiral?”

“It is the only way to avert a civil war, one you and your cronies are sure to lose. I would like to avoid such a war and all its consequences.”

“Please bring her here, and let us discuss your request in private for awhile,” she muttered in a subdued voice.

“Ahhh . . . a reasonable request. All right.” He nodded to one of the officers, who left the room. A minute later, he returned with the home affairs minister. As Admiral teReevat left with his men, he stopped at the door, turned back and warned them in an ominous tone, “Do not take long. Too many lives hang in the balance.”

“No, Admiral. We will not take long.” She banished him away with a flash of her fingers. “Please leave us alone now.” He smirked and stomped out.

As soon as the door was shut and they were alone, the prime minister pulled the home affairs minister close to her and her husband. They spoke in whispers, concerned the room was wired and everything they said was being recorded.

“Well, do our people have a chance?” she asked the minister.

“Not much, I am sorry to say. We did not have time to get enough of our people positioned.” The home affairs minister put her head in her hands, and moaned. She lifted her head and rubbed a sleeve across her eyes. “This is terrible. The commander of our Home Guard is dead. I do not know where most of the ministers . . . or Gaspo are.

“We could fight, but I am afraid the admiral is correct. A lot of people would die and we would likely lose . . . unless military commanders loyal to the government act in a timely manner.”

“Uh . . . what are the odds of that happening?” the prime minister inquired, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Ma’am, I wish I knew,” the minister mumbled in a quaking voice. “We have not been in touch with them in a while, and lost the initiative too quickly.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Prime Minister kaKinon said. “I suppose we must do as he asks, and hope we can find a way to recover from this disaster later.”

The prime minister’s husband spoke after a long silence. “It seems we may be in for a military dictatorship for awhile. Maybe we can get some assistance from the league. We could try to get away afterward in one of my transport ships and go to another league world.”

“Possible, but not too likely,” Prime Minister kaKinon said. “Oh, well. We had best get this over with. I will call the admiral and inform him we will accede to his request.”

When Admiral teReevat entered, she announced, “We agree to surrender our forces, Admiral. Please treat them and all members of the government with respect. Before you leave, can you tell me the status of my friend and adviser, Gaspo kaPakar.”

“He is currently in a different facility, but is in good health. Let the guard know if you need anything . . . something to eat or drink, perhaps a change of clothes. Two cots are being brought in for you to sleep on. We will talk again tomorrow.”

The admiral then led the Home Affairs minister to the communications building where she gave the order to surrender per the admiral’s instructions. The coup d’état was over in less than eight hours.

By Tuesday, September 28, Little-C had recovered sufficiently to take short walks, assisted by the nurse, but always with a police guard. On this day, he had been informed that he would be ready to leave the ICU in two days and then he would be taken to the county jail. There he would be booked, assigned a public defender, and then placed in the jail’s hospital section until he recovered enough to be arraigned.

Can’t wait ’round here much longer, Little-C thought as he was brought back to the ICU in time for his lunch. Been learnin’ the hospital routine and layout, know what I hafta do.

After lunch, Little-C feigned tiredness and convinced everyone he was going to sleep for a while. Instead, while the police officer now on duty sat reading a magazine, Little-C got into her mind and caused her to go into a deep sleep. She was an attractive twenty-seven-year-old Chinese woman with brown hair and eyes. Though five feet four inches tall and 130 pounds, Rose was muscular and carried her weight well. She had been on the job for two years, after receiving her Associate college degree and then serving six years in the Marine Corps.

Next he did the same thing to the two nurses at the nurses station near his room. A few minutes later when he saw that nobody else was around, he got out of bed, wincing because he was still in some pain. He soon used his mind to quell the pain completely.

Moving slowly, Little-C got the clean clothes his mother had brought, took them into the bathroom and got dressed. Next, he stepped out into his room and looked around with his eyes and his mind. When he was certain the coast was clear, he took the officer’s wallet and badge, gun and two clips of extra ammunition. He put them in the small backpack in which his mother had brought the clothing he was now wearing.

Little-C put the backpack on and tread cautiously through the door. He strode confidently and calmly out of the ICU, down the stairs and to the reception desk. At his request, the clerk called a taxi for him. In just ten minutes he was out of the hospital and headed back to his hood.

Half an hour later, Rose woke up and noticed a commotion at the nurses station. A doctor had been trying to wake up the two nurses, who were just waking up as well. The officer glanced over at the bed and saw it was empty. She got up, shook the cobwebs out of her mind and checked the bathroom to find it also empty.

Feeling the lack of her pistol’s weight on her hip, Rose felt for it and found it was missing along with two loaded clips. Rose then noticed her wallet and badge were also gone. Springing to the nurses station, she asked if they knew where her prisoner was. A few reported seeing a young boy with a backpack, but had thought nothing of it.

The officer called her sergeant and told him what happened. He and a detective soon arrived. There seemed to be no explanation for why the officer and two nurses had slept through it all. The sergeant asked for the security camera videos to be set up in the security office.

“Sarge, the kid must have had help,” Rose suggested. “One of his gang probably sneaked in here and drugged us.”

The sergeant nodded his head. “Yeah, must have. Let’s check the security cameras.”

While the security cameras were being set up for them in the security room, the detective called the precinct and had them send to their smartphones the recording made by the officer on duty when Little-C came out of the anesthesia. They heard Little-C’s voice saying “Powers . . . make ’em do what I tells ’em to do.”

Together they watched the videos and saw Little-C’s escape and that he was alone.

The tall, blue-eyed, blond detective was forty-three years old, had receding hair and a slight paunch. He looked at Rose and the sergeant. “What do you make of all that?”

Rose shook her head. “I was wide awake, and then I wasn’t. I know I did not just fall asleep. Neither did those nurses. What the hell did that little shit do to us!”

Her sergeant shrugged his shoulders and called the reception clerk. As soon as he got the information on the taxi that had picked up Henry Charles, he called their precinct. Facing Rose and the detective, he informed them, “We’re putting out a BOLO, and contacting the taxi company to see where he was taken.”

“Well, his brother is in county jail waiting for his trial on an assault charge,” the detective said. Right now, I’m going to have a talk with him, and then with his mother.”

Thinking Henry Charles was still in the hospital, under guard, the children monitoring him did not keep a very close watch on him. Susanna Olsen had just tapped into Little-C’s mind to check on him and discovered he had escaped. She immediately summoned Phil, Peter and Stephen, relaying to them what was happening. “He’s in a taxi. Let’s all link up and try to make him surrender to the police.”

“Okay,” Peter responded. “You lead us in.”

A minute passed before Susanna commented. “I’m trying, but all I can do is tap into what he is hearing and seeing. He’s just so focused, I cannot make him do anything, even with you three helping.”

“Remember how many it took to control Alain last year,” Phil reminded them.

Stephen offered, “I’ll try to get others to join us,” and he broke from the link.

At the county jail, the detective sat in an interview room across a table from Cleavon Charles. “We want to get to your brother before his wounds get infected or he gets hurt.” He sat down and leaned across the table. “So, do you have any idea where he could be? ”

“Somewheres back to the hood. You the detective. Go find him.”

The detective showed Cleavon the recording of Little-C’s comments made as he awoke. Do you know what he meant by his powers and making people do what he wants?”

Little-C’s brother grinned. “He concentrates real hard and tells ’em what to do. Dey just do it.” Cleavon chuckled. “I see him make a gun fly outta a bangers hand and a rock hit another in the head. And he neva touch ’em.”

Getting nothing more from Little-C’s brother, the detective went to see their mother.

By this time, at his direction, the taxi had dropped off Little-C four blocks from one of the members of his gang. As he was making his way to his friend’s apartment, the detective was arriving at his mother’s apartment. Little-C’s mother could provide no information of value, but she did beg the detective not to hurt her poor son who she thought must be scared and lost.

As soon as the police found out from the taxi company where Henry Charles had been dropped off, they sent several cars to that area to search for him. Within a few minutes officers in a patrol car spotted Little-C. A minute after the sighting was called in, three more cars joined the first one and they pulled up near Little-C, now only a dozen feet from his goal.

Staff at the hospital had been talking about Little-C’s escape and one of them had called the Los Angeles Times about it. Meanwhile, reporters at the precinct learned of the escape and sighting of Little-C and calls of his sighting were picked up by local radio and TV stations.

Eight officers jumped out of their cars and drew their weapons, knowing Henry Charles was armed. Little-C darted into a doorway. He pulled off his backpack and removed Rose’s Glock 9mm. The officers were yelling at him to step out with his hands raised and empty.

Focusing on one of the policemen, Little-C made him turn and shoot another officer. The bullet hit that policewoman’s vest and knocked her down and out. All action stopped as the stunned officers stood quietly, giving Little-C time to make another officer’s gun fly out of his hand and to shoot at another officer, missing him. Then all hell broke loose and everyone was shooting. It was all too much for Little-C and he was hit multiple times, killing him instantly.

News crews from one TV station and the Times had arrived just as the shooting started. Others arrived when it was all over.

“Damn, damn, damn!” Peter struck the table where he was sitting with his fist. “How can this happen again! This is the second time I’ve felt someone tie. Enough already.”

Susanna had started to cry. Phil was breathing heavily and beginning to tear up. Just then Stephen linked in with three other children.

“Okay,” Stephen said. “I’ve got—what’s the matter, what happened?”

Susanna stopped crying. “It’s too late, Stephen.”Henry tried to shoot it out with the police and was killed.”

Once again, Phil, Susanna, Stephen, and Peter went to see Dr. Gupta. After describing what had just happened, they retired to their rooms to clear their minds and meditate.

The injured officer had been taken to the hospital. All the officers, except the squad’s sergeant and lieutenant and the detective, had returned to their precinct to write their reports.

Finally, the crime scene investigators completed their work and Little-C’s body was taken away. Other police canvassed the area for witnesses, as did reporters. The reporters recorded interviews and returned to their studios and newspaper offices.

Before the day was out, the police department held a press conference and answered question after question. Questions about Little-C’s escape, why one officer shot another, and some others were particularly difficult to answer or could not be answered.

There was a lot of speculation in newspaper articles and during news broadcasts about what eight-year-old Henry “Little-C” Charles had been able to do. The events surrounding Little-C also made the national news. Extremists and radicals in every religion suggested that Little-C was the spawn of Satan and wondered if there were more like him.

News cycles being what they are, within a week Little-C was forgotten by everyone except his family and a relatively small number of other people.