2.26.2

Sinister Sonata

Any soldier worth their salt would see this would be the best window of opportunity to cause an uproar. But the hall of children fell achingly quiet. It grew apparent how conditioned by the Opposition’s methods they were. Without a word, they lined up in single-file columns.

Any attempt to communicate with the others met stony silence. And Astrid could see why.

The pulsar sticks, already brandished, reminded all what awaited disobedience.

Children, ever adaptable, moved in a uniform order that made Astrid’s spine chill. Not even the Sanctuary made them look like such an army. The teens took their places among their individual Sanctuary groups, as though personally responsible their respective collections.

Astrid took up a place next to Menloh and did her best to follow his lead.

Out in the hall, she tried to sneak a better glimpse of the layout. Of potential exits, alternate corridors, or even to get a better look at some of the residual signs of the original rebellion. But any glance thrown anywhere but at the back of the head in front of her, earned her a stern glare from one of the Statics.

The hardest part was to remain unresponsive to the emblem of three interlocking cogs etched into the Statics’ gear, anytime she drew close enough to catch it. The signature brought out something in her increasingly difficult to subdue.

More and more, the S.O. coordinated their armor. Each suit painted a matte shade of black, as if to mimic the charcoal of the Service. A notion Astrid found as repulsive as the insignia itself.

The Statics walked up and down the lines, to keep the children silent in their trek. In two long rows, the Channelers were marched, in mass, through the building to a lecture hall.

The room to which they were delivered boasted high ceilings. Rows of seats lay mounted in a descending angle, to a broad stage at the front of the room.

Atop the platform, rested a massive, mechanized instrument, just as Celeste described. Whether an organ or a piano, Astrid did not know well enough to name which. But she could tell the thing sat unplugged and void of power. Decorative lightbulbs adorned the outer edges of what amounted, to Astrid, to be a giant music box with black and white keys.

Behind the instrument, fabricated boards of plastic erected into the air and bent just over the stage center. That, at least, Astrid knew to enhance the acoustics of sound.

She looked to Menloh, for a clue, but the young man remained silent in his hood. When one of the children of Mercedes whispered to a friend, he wordlessly patted the boy’s shoulder, in a wordless reminder, and the child quieted.

While no one spoke, Astrid grew anxious with anticipation. The Statics didn’t approach the stage either, until the last of the Channelers were herded into place among the chairs to face the keyboard.

Yet, none sat. As though the multi-leveled rows served as stands, instead, for their exercise.

Then, four Statics followed them inside with a large potted palm. Large enough it required all four men to bring it past the doors.

Astrid chewed the inside of her cheek, nervous to discern what they could possibly want with a plant and so many Channelers.

Then they brought in another.

And another.

Five large plants, nearly the size of trees, were placed in position at even intervals, at the back of the group.

Meanwhile a woman wearing no armor, and instead, a colorful shroud, crossed to the front of the room to address the ensemble. She adjusted groups, and rearranged individuals, like a florist arranging flowers.

Astrid found no cruelty or fear in the woman when she gently guided children here or there. And so far, she seemed the only one who even bothered to memorize their ‘names’. Or rather, their number tags, as she used them to address each Channeler she wished to move.

The woman spent several minutes reviewing with the group how to shape their mouths and when to hold hands. She even showed poise, when she drew a hand into the air, and with a few short notes from her lungs, lead the children in song.

As though she conducted a choir, voices rose at her behest.

However, once the tune spread and the children took it among themselves, the woman quickly darted out of the way. An unwilling rock in the stream of energy in which Astrid found herself swept.

For immediately, the specialist felt the pull of intent. She needn’t ask what was expected of them, for the children made it clear in demonstration.

Hands joined. Voices collided in a melody Astrid did not yet know. But the children were taught well.

Through the tiny hands at Astrid’s left, and right, she felt a tug of power almost effortless in their number.

And all of it, directed at the instrument before them.

Astrid resisted at first, as an unsteady feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. Instead of channeling, she put her senses to use exploring the flow the children directed at the S.O.’s request.

Behind her, behind all the children in the hall, the potted palms weakened. And ahead, music began to play from the stage.

The children, thrilled to see their efforts rewarded, sang clearer, louder, upon their success. Astrid recalled the swell of hearts and energy she experienced when dancing in a crowd on Independence Station, with the Aldebaran team. But this, it amplified, much more powerful.

The Channeler children grew exuberant with the chance to really use their abilities, in, to them, such a harmless and entertaining form.

She could feel through their pulse how excited they became to affect the environment around them. And as their spirits rose, so did Astrid’s dread.

She winced when the song reached its apex. Fifty voices rang in chorus. Fifty Channeler children, unrestrained and unabashed, poured their elation into a welcome receptacle, and the keyboard instrument played away merrily.

They had no idea, Astrid realized. Not the potential applications for what they shared, nor how their captors could benefit.

Adults would have known better. Adults would have held back. Fought. But the children, they willfully poured all of their hearts into the task.

Worse still, they bore no semblance of understanding their power. For they couldn’t feel beyond what their own limitations allowed.

But Astrid, with her own channel broadened in the year since her departure, could feel a great rush surge through her heightened senses. Where the children each represented a trickle of their own energy stream, Astrid felt the flow as a whole. A collection of rivulets that rushed forward to the sea to make a wave. And still, she feared, they moved more than even she could yet feel.

They roused to it. To all they’d been denied. Contact and connection with another. Music. Expression. Emotion. All the things the Sanctuary tried to guard against. And now, Astrid realized why.

She moved her lips to imitate the others, but her eyes darted to the Statics at the back of the room. Smart enough to remain far from the flow. When one caught her looking, she received a menacing glare, and found herself staring ahead with all the rest.

The energy channeled through the group swelled, crystals everywhere sprung to life like blue fireflies. The “played” keys of the instrument flared while the machine played its song. The matching notes grew louder, and louder in volume. The decorative lights around the casing blared like a siren, pushed well past the voltage required. The Channelers would fry the circuits if they weren’t careful.

And they weren’t.

When one of the bulbs finally popped upon the song’s grand and climatic end, cheers and giddy giggles broke out over the hall. As though they’d won a game and earned a prize.

Kids bounced and clapped in excitement while the keyboard whirred to a stop, burnt out from the power.

And behind the crowd, five potted palms remained nothing more than withered, dead foliage that littered the linoleum.