Mind Control: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 2) by Jane Killick Read Free Book Online Page A

caused by being knocked to the ground. “There was an explosion,” he told his friend.
    “Wow!” said Alex. “I wish my job was so exciting.”
    You really don’t , Michael thought. Although he said nothing.
    The noise in the communal room hurt his ears, which were still ringing from the sound of the bomb. Everyone was in there, and their chatter was louder than usual. On top of that, the television was on. The big screen up one end of the room was playing an early evening quiz show with all the bright lights and vivid colours of daytime TV. On the table nearest to it, a group of perceivers – led by Peter, by virtue of him being the loudest – were shouting out the answers.
    “Paddington Bear!” Peter shouted.
    The screen cut to a close-up of a hapless contestant who, by virtue of having been recorded several months ago in a studio two hundred miles away, paid no attention to what Peter was shouting and muttered some guess which was clearly wrong.
    “No! Paddington Bear, you idiot!” cried Peter.
    Peter’s mates cheered when the besuited quiz show host announced Paddington Bear was, indeed, the right answer, which meant the embarrassed-looking contestant would go home with nothing and the jackpot would be rolled over to the next show.
    “What’s going on?” asked Michael. The communal television was usually only switched on for big events like football and it was never – and this was a strict military rule – never allowed on at meal times.
    “The first day of the trial today, isn’t it,” said Alex, scooping up a fork full of peas.
    Michael’s body went cold. Then it went hot. The trial. He had forgotten about the trial. The smell of the fish suddenly made him feel sick. He dropped his fork to the plate and leant back in his chair.
    The Perceivers Trial , that’s what the press called it. Where the man who poisoned thousands of pregnant women to create a ‘master race’ of people with mind powers would answer for his crimes. As far as journalists were concerned, Brian Ransom was no better than a Nazi who was finally going to receive justice before a war crimes tribunal. The United Kingdom had no death penalty, but still the population bayed for blood, and waited for the moment when he would appear in the witness box and metaphorically hang himself with his twisted ideas of how he tried to better the human race.
    Michael hadn’t decided whether he could bring himself to watch it. But he knew for a fact he didn’t want to watch it with a group of other perceivers.
    Pauline was there, the new girl, sitting on the next table. She smiled at him and he tried to smile back, but that only pulled at a half-healed scab next to his mouth. She shot him a quizzical glance as if to ask what happened, and he shook his head to say that it didn’t matter. It seemed as if she wanted to ask more, but something was happening on the TV and she turned to look.
    Michael looked too. The news had started. The perceivers around him hushed each other and the noise of the chattering that had been too loud, dropped to a stillness that hurt even more. A newsreader in a crisp blue blouse stared out the screen with deep brown eyes. “The Old Bailey hears how Brian Ransom conned thousands of British women into taking vitamin pills laced with the genetically-engineered perceiver virus.”
    Michael couldn’t listen to it. Not in public. He got up from the table as quietly as possible. Alex asked if he was okay, but Michael waved away his concern. No one else noticed, they were too engrossed by the news on the TV.
    He had planned to go to his room, but when he reached the corridor, he realised he didn’t want to stay in a building full of other perceivers, where part of his brain would be concentrating on shutting out the rest of the world. He turned, instead, to the door and found himself in the grounds of the camp. The sun had gone down now and there was only a haze of the daylight still in the sky. The street lights had taken