Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1) (32 page)

“Shh,” went an adult behind.

Jennifer hugged him, bringing him close enough to smell the perfume of her shampoo mixed with the essence of her. While, at the same time, he perceived her delight at seeing him. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Michael, what are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are,” he said.

Otis reached round and offered his hand. They shook in a manly fashion. “Michael mate, how ya doin’?”

Jennifer nudged them both. “It’s starting.”

MPs had filled the benches of the chamber to the point where latecomers had to stand just inside the entrance. In the middle of one of the front benches down the side sat John Pankhurst, clutching a folder of notes. He’d even changed his usual bright tie for a serious grey one.

At the far end, the Speaker – a black robe slung over his regular suit, and sitting on a throne-like chair – announced to the House: “The Prime Minister.”

John Pankhurst rose from his seat and placed his folder of printed notes on the dispatch box. The shuffling and hubbub from the assembled MPs settled down.

“It can have escaped no one’s attention that just over three weeks ago, two factions of our society clashed in Parliament Square,” said Pankhurst, his voice amplified by a microphone in front of him. “As I expressed to the House at the time, I was appalled at the loss of life and injuries that resulted.”

Murmurs of, “Hear, hear,” from the benches.

“But that one incident was merely the latest to explode from the increasing tensions that have been building since we first learnt of the existence of perceivers. It is clear to me that we cannot ignore this tension any longer. I fear to do so would lead to more clashes within society and possible further loss of life. In short, something has to be done.”

Michael perceived a glimmer of hope inside Jennifer—

“I stand by the work being done by the cure clinics,” said Pankhurst. “They are doing an excellent job of restoring many of our teenagers to normality.”

—only for it to wither again.

“But it is not enough. And it is not the right solution for everyone. Over the past weeks, I have consulted with many people. Many suggestions for a way forward have been considered. But I believe the following is the best hope for bringing peace and tranquillity to our streets again.”

He paused for dramatic effect and looked at his notes before looking back up at the crammed chamber. “Perceivers will be given a choice over whether or not to take the cure—”

Jeers from the benches opposite interrupted him as MPs waved their order papers in disapproval.

“At last,” said Jennifer under her breath.

“Yes, yes, a choice,” said Pankhurst over the noise. “Just as we – as members of a free society – are free to express choices in many other aspects of our lives.”

“Shame!” shouted a grey-haired man with glasses, sitting on the back row.

The Prime Minister continued regardless. “Perceivers who decide not to take the cure will receive education to help them control their perceptions so the majority of the population can live without fear. And we shall educate the wider community to understand that perceivers are not mind invaders, but merely ordinary people with a sixth sense who want to go about their ordinary lives.

“Furthermore, it will become an offence to discriminate against perceivers.”

Michael closed his eyes and leant back against the bench. “Yes,” he said to himself. Such a relief.

Beneath him, uproar broke out among the MPs. So many people shouting at once, it was difficult to hear anything more than a collective rabble. They waved their order papers in the air, fluttering like a flock of white birds. Michael perceived only a few of them were actually angry, it was mostly bluster.

“Order!” cried the Speaker.

None of the politicians paid any attention. The jeerers kept jeering. Loyalists around the Prime Minister shouted back for them to be quiet.

“Order!”

The jeers subsided a little.

“No longer will it be allowed …” Pankhurst shouted across the House, just about managing to be heard. “No longer will our teenagers have to worry they won’t be allowed into a certain school or sports club because they are perceivers. No longer will taunts in the playground or in the streets be tolerated. And, when they reach working age, it will be illegal to refuse to give them a job because they are a perceiver.”

MPs opposite were still jeering like badly behaved schoolboys. Pankhurst diverted from his prepared speech and looked across the floor. “I think honourable members on the other side of the House forget what sort of society we’re trying to build in this country. Once upon a time, it was acceptable to discriminate against someone because they were a different colour, a different religion, the ‘fairer sex’, in a wheelchair …”

“We don’t need a history lesson!” shouted a buxom woman in a powder blue suit from the back. Laughter rose up around her, filling the chamber.

“I think the honourable lady does indeed need a history lesson,” said Pankhurst. “Until 1918, not only would it have not been permitted for her to sit on that bench as a Member of Parliament, she wouldn’t have been allowed to vote to decide which man would be sitting on that bench. Because she is a woman. I think she will agree we’ve grown as a nation since then and we rightly see those laws as barbaric and discriminatory. Perceivers are the new minority in this country. It is right that they be allowed to live like any other person. Therefore, my government will be outlawing discrimination against perceivers and I call on every member of this House to do their bit to encourage integration into society.”

He closed his folder and sat back down on the bench behind with finality. There was uproar from the chamber.

Jennifer could hold back her excitement no longer. She stood up and cheered. She grabbed Otis round the neck and hugged him. Then she turned and hugged Michael. MPs below looked up to see what the kerfuffle was. Adults in the gallery gave the teenagers a stern look and mumbled disapprovingly.

A frock-coated man approached them. “Guests are required to sit down and be quiet,” he said, “or you will be asked to leave.”

Back in the chamber beneath, the Speaker was calling the MPs to order again. “Questions for the Prime Minister,” his amplified voice announced. He nodded at an opposition backbencher. “Douglas Pendleton.”

A plain-looking man with thick-rimmed glasses stood. “In my constituency, many of the local shopkeepers have had to close their doors because of high business rates. Would the Prime Minister agree …?”

Otis turned away from the proceedings. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Jennifer, grinning widely. “I don’t want to stay somewhere where I have to sit and be quiet. I want to celebrate!”

Jennifer and Otis joined Michael as he retraced his steps to the cloakroom and headed back downstairs.

“Can you believe it?” Jennifer was saying, her voice echoing up and down the stone staircase.

“Only because I heard it with my own ears,” said Otis. “Michael, did you perceive him? Did Pankhurst mean it?”

“He meant it,” said Michael. He hadn’t made the effort to filter out Pankhurst’s emotions from the crowd of jeering Members of Parliament, but he knew from their previous meeting that the man was sincere.

Once in the central lobby, they were directed back into St Stephen’s Hall where the tourist throng hung around the historic paintings and statues.

“I’m going to get a souvenir!” said Jennifer. Michael and Otis followed as she rushed over to the gift shop.

“What about a pen?” She pulled a biro from a display of pencils, rulers and bookmarks. It was green with the words House of Commons and a picture of a crowned portcullis on it, embossed in gold. She picked up a packet with a picture of the Big Ben clock tower on it. “Hey look, they do the thing where you cut out cardboard to make your own Big Ben.” She looked around again. “Ooh, House of Commons chocolate.”

“Jen, you’re behaving like a five-year-old,” said Otis.

“Who cares?” she said. “We won!” Jennifer added the chocolate to the rest of the stuff in her arms and went off to the till.

Michael watched her, amused. “All this – today – wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for Jennifer,” he said.

“Organising the demonstration?” said Otis.

“Yeah.”

“I think your father inviting the PM to his house might have had something to do with it.”

Michael shrugged it off. “Maybe.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again after that day,” said Otis. “What happened?”

“With Cooper?” said Michael.

“With Cooper,” said Otis.

“He offered me a job.”

Otis looked at him, perceived him. “You’re being serious.”

“Yeah.”

“You took it?”

“Yeah,” said Michael.

“I thought …” Otis faltered, trying to figure it out. “Wasn’t he the guy you were running away from?”

“Yeah.”

“But—”

Michael interrupted. “I had no choice.”

“You have a choice,” said Otis. “We heard the Prime Minister say so.”

“There’s no choice, not for me. Jennifer’s gone back to her family and you don’t live in the squat anymore. I don’t know anyone else. The only thing I know about my family is the despicable things my father did. I have a mother – well, two mothers, really – but I don’t remember them, I don’t love them. I can’t remember anything about my old life and I never will.”

“So, what are you going to do?” said Otis. “In this job, I mean?”

“Do what perceivers do. Look into other people’s minds.”

Jennifer returned from the till with a House of Commons bag full of stuff.

“Michael’s going to be a spy,” Otis told her.

“I’m not going to be a spy,” he said.

“What else would you call it?” said Otis.

Michael didn’t want to call it anything. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Are we going or what?” he said.

They made their way out through the throng of tourists, down the steps into Westminster Hall and towards the visitors’ exit. Otis spotted a sign to the toilets and dashed off, leaving Michael and Jennifer together in the ancient space.

“You and Otis are together then?” Michael asked.

“Not really,” said Jennifer. “With him in London and me back home, it’s difficult.”

Michael thought about telling her, then, how he felt about her. That he thought she was fantastic, that it was wonderful to see the light in her eyes again. But he perceived a sadness about her when she thought of Otis. When she thought of Michael, she felt nothing more than a warm friendship.

“The thing is, Michael,” said Jennifer, “I’m not a ’ceiver anymore.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said.

Emotion welled within her as she tried to keep it under control. “Me and Otis, we used to be …” She sighed. “How do I explain it? When we used to kiss … it was a lovely feeling. His lips ignited a fire within me and I knew mine did the same for him because I could perceive it. It was as if we became the same person, enhancing each other’s feelings as we ’ceived each other. Now when we kiss, it’s nice but …”

“You could get your perception back, you know,” said Michael.

Jennifer shook her head. “No.”

“We know it can be reversed. It was done to me. Why not?”

“I’m getting used to it,” said Jennifer. “My mum’s so thrilled to have me back home, she’s making plans to redecorate my bedroom and wanting to know what subjects I’m going to study in college.”

“You can do all those things as a perceiver,” said Michael. “You heard the Prime Minister. We won, remember?”

“I don’t know … And anyway, I think Otis has moved on.”

“He hasn’t,” said Michael.

“Are you saying that to make me feel better or have you perceived it from him?”

Michael thought back to his perceptions of Otis that morning. He cared for Jennifer, but there wasn’t love there. Perhaps she was right, perhaps a norm – as Jennifer now was – wasn’t suited to be with a perceiver. Not when they knew how it used to be before Jennifer was cured.

Otis came back from the toilets wiping the palms of his hands on the back of his jeans and they made their way out to the busy streets of Westminster. Just over the road was Parliament Square, now full of tourists wandering around looking at the statues. They didn’t seem to know or care that, just three weeks ago, five people had been killed there.

Jennifer’s pocket bleeped. It bleeped again. She pulled her phone from her bag – still bleeping – and looked at it. “I’ve got ten messages!”

“Have you got a new boyfriend you’ve not told me about?” joked Otis.

Jennifer scrolled. “It’s from journalists.”

Just as she said that, there was some shouting from down the road. Michael looked where it was coming from and saw a host of people, cameras and microphones swarm in their direction. “Miss Price! Miss Price! Miss Price!” they called.

Suddenly, Jennifer was standing on the street in front of the Houses of Parliament, with TV lights and camera flashbulbs going off in her face. “What’s your reaction to the Prime Minister’s statement?” asked a pushy woman at the front.

Jennifer, caught unawares, pulled her composure from somewhere. “This is a great day for us, for all perceivers …” she told them.

Michael backed away. He had no desire to be in the middle of a media scrum.

He watched Jennifer from a distance with admiration, and a little regret that he would not be seeing so much of her anymore.

A man was suddenly at his shoulder. It was Hodges, a retired soldier in his fifties and Michael’s driver. “The car’s waiting,” he said.

Michael watched Jennifer for a moment longer. She would be giving interviews for a long time, he suspected, and he wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye to her. Otis had also disappeared somewhere, either lost in the crowd or run away from all the attention.

“Mr Cooper wants you back at the complex as soon as possible,” said Hodges.

“I know,” said Michael.

“Shall we go then, sir?”

Michael smiled. It felt strange being called ‘sir’, but he supposed he would get used to it.

Goodbye Jennifer
, Michael said in his head. Even if she had still been a perceiver, she probably wouldn’t have heard him. He thought it anyway.