name = Dairai Iszkowsky email = ray1357@bright.net title = Maternis, Paternis warnings = story = Personal Log: Elaison, Kyria June 15th, 2258 I've heard that all Psi Cops- even the lowly interns like myself- keep journals. So, I figure, what the hell. I was born in New Oreleans in 2239, the only child of normal parents. My father died in the Earth-Minbari war, and my mother joined him a few years ago in a Raider attack on her transport. My talents somehow surfaced through all the trauma when I was thirteen. As far as the Corps was concerned, my test results said I was a "gifted" student. This meant I wouldn't be going to the local academy in New Oreleans, but the one on Mars. Five years later, I graduated the training academy as a fully trained telepath... and a stable telekinetic. P10 and K12, respectively. At least, that's what I've been told. For the life of me, I still don't remember *any* of it. According to the reports I've seen, I disappeared January 12th, and was missing for over a month. February 18th (which has since become my celebrated birthday,) I was left for dead on a docking bay floor at Mars Dome, and was found by a Psi Cop returning from an assignment. My entire memory was gone. I didn't even wake up unitl five days later. I came to in a medlab, overhearing three or four Corps officials deciding what to do about my 'situation". There was a member of the Board of Directors, I think two commercial teeps, and the Psi Cop from the docking bay. The three of them believed my talents were "worth the chance", and were trying to convince the boardman. The Psi Cop finally put an end to the debate. He said there'd be no one to come after me, and I'd be the perfect subject for some kind of experimental training methods. The boardman began to protest, saying something about not yet knowing what kind of drug I'd been knocked out with, and not wanting to add to the effects. The Cop stopped him, saying the methods he'd referred to were strictly mental. Three months, at the most, and I could hold my own against anyone in the Corps. They all agreed to that. They also had just noticed that I was awake. The Psi Cop was the first who came over. He told me his name was Al, looked up at a white-haired doctor, and looked back to me, never making a sound. "He says you'll be alright." he smiled and asked if I knew what'd happened. Naturally, I didn't. He told me he'd be back later to talk to me, and the four of them left. I was given a temporary wardrobe (embarassing as *that* was), and shown to one of the academy's dorm rooms. On the bright side, I'd be staying there alone. I *really* didn't feel like making any new friends at that moment. Too late. About five hours later, the Psi Cop came back. He reintroduced himself as Al Bester, saying that I'd probably want to sit down for what he had to tell me. To this day, Mr. Bester's the only person who's never lied to me. Contrary to what I'd be told over the next few weeks, the Psi Corps had no idea who I was. My DNA wasn't in any hospital file. My voice, fingerprints, retinas, had never been recorded. And they weren't going to find out from me. The only thing they had to go on was when they ran a check on my DNA, it turned out that I have the telepathy gene. At least in the Corps, I'd know I'd be safe. He told me to play up my memory loss; to act like he'd never told me this. To just play along with whatever history was given to me. I was trying to bury my emotions at the same time. Strangely, I never felt disoriented, terrified, abandoned... nothing like that. What I *did* feel, I didn't want Mr. Bester to see. It was like I could remember him from somewhere. It was vague, but it was the only memory I had left. The feelings that came with that vision, though, were what I tried to hide. For the longest time, I couldn't look into his eyes on my own. Unless I was in training, I wouldn't look at him for more than a second. If he noticed, he never brought it up. He said he's teach me, and he did not disappoint. Seven days of deep scans and knowledge imprinted directly into my sub- conscious, and my talents came out with a vengence. That was really all Mr. Bester had to do, but he kept track of my progress, anyway. About once a week or so, I'd get scanned again, sent to medlab to make sure my brain was functioning right. Three months of practicing control, just as he said, and the woman who gave me my tests said I'd covered the equivalent of six years in the academy. Not only that, but my piddly P10 and K12 I was *supposed* to have had had been increased to P12 and K16. Needless to say, This prompted my internship with the Psi Cops, but, in all honesty, I couldn't be more thrilled about it. Maybe one day I can make the man I love proud. I leave for my first assignment tomorrow afternoon. Some case in Cincinnati. They said I'd be breifed when I get there. Rest assured, it'll be logged as well. ----------------------------------------------- name = Dairai Iszkowsky email = ray1357@bright.net title = Maternis, Paternis: Entry 2 warnings = Occasional strong language story = Personal Log: Elaison, Kyria P10, K12 June 16th, 2258 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In Cincinnati, like I said last time. But... there's no assignment. I seem to be here for a few more tests. What a surprise. I guess I can understand the Corps not putting the tests on record. I mean, I've been told not to use my kinesis in public. Dr. Miczbyad said that stable telekinetics are rare, and the "mundanes" (as he calls them) might not be happy to find one among them, that they think telepaths are bad enough. I think the doc is paranoid, myself, but I do understand. But these tests... I don't know. It's just weird all around. For one, I think I'm stronger than the other two here. The instructors are kinda amazed that mine didn't develope by drug treaments. They're also intersted in me because I don't really need much instruction. I heard Ms. Dawson say once that my talents seemed to be instinctive. Both Ms. Dawson and Mr. Coccior have asked about how I *was* trained, but I can't tell them that. Mr. Bester told me it had to stay classified until the doc could figure out exactly what happened. I don't think Mr. Coccior likes me much. Like I care. I've noticed he doesn't like *anyone* much. He also has this special distaste for Mr. Bester, *why* is anyone's guess, but that's probably his problem with me. The jerk actually tried to scan me earlier, and had the nerve to get pissed when he couldn't get through my blocks. There's only one person I drop my blocks for, and it sure as hell ain't Louis Coccior. That's something else Bester said to me- that my actual strength was nobody's business. The Corps knew, and that was all that mattered. My file still said I was only a P10, and that's all anyone needed to know. Besides, until all the research is done, no one really knows if this is it for me, or if my talents can be added to. If you ask me, I think Bester knew I'd be being 'taught' by this jackass. ----------------------------------------------- name = Dairai Iszkowsky email = ray1357@bright.net title = Maternis, Paternis: Entry 3 warnings = Occasional strong language story = Personal Log: Elaison, Kyria P10, K12 June 18th, 2258 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Criminey. Crush this. Dissipate that. Restore something else. Why didn't I get Ms. Dawson as my main instructor? Coccior acts like I'm somehow *faking* my talents, and it'll only take just the right test to prove I'm no better than an average mundane (a word I've been hearing a *lot* lately.) I know in his reports on my progress that he says that all these 'challenges' are to merely to find where my limits are. Right. The only problem for him is... he hasn't *found* my limits yet. Touche, you K5 bastard. There is no kinesis without the pathic. Therefore, usually, when a person learns to control the pathic, they can control the kinetic. At least, it worked for me. Because of this, I got a notice from Mr. Drake from the Board of Director that said I only have to stay here for the week. Thank the Great Maker. That bastard tried to scan me again. I may not know the true extent of my talents, but I now know for certain that I'm stronger than he is. You know how the son of a bitch tried it this time? I was sitting on a bench outside, going over the sheets for my next 'challenge'. I felt him coming, so I just ignored him. He started to walk behind me. Good, I thought; I wouldn't even have to look at him. That inconceivable moron had taken off his gloves, and put his hands on my temples. Dear Lord, it felt horrible! The pain of the surprise was bad enough, but his mind is made out of pondscum. I'll have nightmares for months. He could've given me brain damage like that, but I know he didn't care. Fortunately, all his concentration went into getting past my defenses, which left me enough time to give him a pain burst. He fell to the ground, out cold. The creep deserved it. Our dear Mr. Coccior is now in the center's medlab, and considered 'in custody' until further notice. This further notice is a deep scan I have to submit to later tonight. I'm *not* looking forward to it, but Ms. Dawson said that if it's decided that he's at fault, I won't have to put up with him ever again. Deal. (On a slightly different note, a report of this entire event, including the results of my scan later, has to be sent to my original instructor since I'm an experimental subject. I garauntee you that Mr. Bester will *not* be happy. I hope I get to see him rip Coccior in half. Hell, I hope I can help!) I've gotta go now. I have to go and sign someone's death warrent... >:) -----------------------------------------------