Recruitment Dr Peters (Ph.D. in clinical psychology, M.D., B.Sc, parapsychology specialist) stalked into the quietly-lit office, threw his datapad onto the desk, flung himself into a chair, crossed his legs, folded his arms, and glared at the wall. Pamela (overall supervisor for the Recruitment section of the Agency, ex-personnel executive, powerful empath and all-round den-mother to the fledgling Agents under her control) eyed him for a moment, then sighed and rested her hands, gently clasped together, before her on the desk top.
"Let me guess. Devon."
"Who else?"
She smiled and rose from her seat, pouring them both a coffee.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
Peters glowered at his coffee for a moment, then grunted and faced the supervisor. Pamela's warm brown eyes regarded him, the crinkles at the corners giving her a permanent gentle smile. He sighed.
"He's good. He's very, very good. The strongest TK we've ever had - not that that's saying much, we've never had many - but also one of the strongest psis, potentially, in the Agency. It's his attitude that's the problem."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. Pamela made an interested, encouraging noise.
"Also others' attitude towards him. Or perhaps response would be a better word. Yes, response." He nodded, talking as much to himself as the supervisor. "Other people's response to him…"
He was silent for a moment, introspective. Pamela coughed gently, and he jumped.
"Sorry… OK, our people have three main responses to Devon. They either want to mother him, or protect him, or - and this is by far the most usual response - they want to… screw him. Or have him do the same to them."
Pamela bit back a smile. Peters took an angry slurp of coffee.
"It's beyond a joke! I mean, I went in this morning to find him bent over a table, David behind him… they were… I mean…" His face flushed bright red with remembered embarrassment - and arousal, which he was, Pamela *knew*, frantically denying.
"I see. And how does this affect his training?"
The flustered scientist took a deep breath and forced his mind back to his job.
"That's another thing! The only way we can get him to concentrate is to relate everything to sex!" He blushed again, but forced himself to continue. "Blunt use of his abilities is fine, though we still haven't managed to find his upper limit: so far he's managed to lift and move a half-ton weight. Easily, mind you. But when it comes to the fine manipulation…"
He took another sip of coffee. Pamela nodded encouragingly again.
"We had to rope in volunteers. Not that that was hard, they were queuing up! We selected two flatscans - less chance of outside interference that way - Kate from accounts, and Vic in engineering. Kate went first. We gave Devon a selection of… sex toys…" his face was flaming "… and had him employ them on the volunteers, just using TK."
He fell silent. Pamela was pretty certain all the other empaths in the building could feel his discomfiture: he'd found the experience disturbing. And arousing.
"He… uh… he proved extremely adept…"
Adam, the telepathic supervisor in the next office, stopped work to *listen*, hands going to his groin as the images of what Devon had done - to both volunteers - flooded Peters' mind. He usually made a point of not *focussing* too specifically on what was going on around him, just keeping a general surface *awareness* - but, hot damn! he'd seen Devon himself, the kid was gorgeous… Just this once he could allow the indulgence…
Peters cleared his throat.
"I'll have a fully… detailed… report for you later. We still have a couple of other tests we want to try…" He paused and took a couple of deep breaths, the rational Agency member resurfacing as he got himself under control. "I'm a little concerned about his role in the organisation, however. He's something of a disruptive influence."
That much is true, Pamela thought wryly to herself.
"I think - and of course I realise I'm not qualified to make the decision, this is just my opinion - that he'd be better employed in the field rather than at HQ."
Pamela had already come to that conclusion. Given his background and temperament, it was her considered opinion that Devon would - quickly and noisily - go bananas, as they used to say when she was a child, if they tried to keep him cooped up. But he'd need a partner, to keep him under a measure of control if nothing else. Maybe more than one.
But they could discuss that later. She couldn't imagine Devon allowing others to choose for him - but there were ways of influencing his choice…
She nodded.
"I agree, William. My first impression is that he'd be better working undercover, as well. However, we'll need to discuss that in Council, once you've completed all your tests. How did he check out medically?"
Grateful to be back on safer ground, Peters managed a smile.
"He's clean. Had a couple of low-grade sexually transmitted infections, but the medics fixed those. No inherent physical weaknesses, and psychologically he's astonishingly sound, given the sort of life he's been leading. The occasional nightmare, but nothing worrying. Basically, he's very healthy."
Pamela nodded.
"Good, good… Anything else I should know right now?"
Peters retrieved his datapad from where he'd thrown it and checked through his notes, pursing his lips.
"He's bright, learns quickly - took him just over two hours to grasp the principles behind his ability, and by the end of the day he had a fair measure of control. He's been using it almost constantly since." He grinned. "Almost like the proverbial child with a new toy. Actually, it's a joy watching the pleasure he gets from his TK. He still refers to psis - himself included - as freaks, but I think that's ultimately healthy. Means he doesn't think of himself as superior to flatscans, and that'll prevent arrogance setting in."
"So we shouldn't discourage it?"
"I think not. Though it might be as well to warn some of the… shall we say less tolerant?... psis. We don't need dissention in the ranks!"
The empath chuckled.
"Very well, I'll make sure everyone's alerted to his… habit."
Peters nodded.
"It would be a good idea. To be honest, I don't think he'd take kindly to being asked to change it. He doesn't respond very well to authority."
Pamela nodded. One of the more hide-bound flatscans - a boorish prig in her opinion but too good at his job (data analysis) to be allowed to leave - had tried to order Devon around: he was still sporting what had been a spectacular black eye from the impact with a large ceramic vase that had been sitting on the windowsill several yards away.
"Yes, I'd noticed…"
"But give him the illusion of autonomy and he's fine… He's not at all a bad kid. Just… hard to handle."
"But that's something at which we excel. This is by far the safest, most congenial place for him." She smiled. "Don't worry. A little more training, a little more getting used to us, and he'll be a contented member of our big, happy family."
Peters grinned, his good humour restored.
"He will indeed, ma'am."
"Now - anything else before I let you get back to work?"
He frowned, then shook his head.
"But I'll let you know if I think of anything. And I'll have that report for you tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, that would be excellent. Then we can schedule a proper introduction to his fellow psis." She tapped her mouth with her fingers. "A guided tour of HQ might be a good idea for that. Give him more of an insight into what we do. Could you bear that in mind, and let me know if you think there might be any problems?"
Peters grinned ruefully.
"Apart from his wanting to jump everything on two legs - or vice versa? Nothing comes immediately to mind."
Pamela chuckled.
"Perhaps it would be possible for someone to, uh, spend some time with him prior to the tour? To dampen his ardour a little? We don't want too much disruption."
Peters nodded.
"Oh, I think that could be arranged. An hour or so with three or four willing volunteers should do the trick…"
© 2003 January 31st Joules
Darkside