Agent in Distress

Dear readers, thank you so much for your patience. This was a challenging flashback to write, complex and important to the story, so I apologize for taking so long. The flashback is two chapters now, the second one should be posted shortly after this one. I love all your feedback, even the ones not happy with certain aspects, for they make me a better writer. I hope you enjoy it and please keep the comments coming. :) Tanuki.

Five years earlier

I froze, hunched over, eyes closed, aware of everyone quietly watching me, which gave me a thrill. Then the music started, and I entered into a blissful state of pure focus and emotion. I spun, my hands drawing figures in the air as I moved, feeling graceful and light as I moved about the dance floor, my body jumping, swaying and turning sometimes slowly, sometimes a blur. For the first day's demo I'd worn a contemporary black dress rather than a leotard. My skirt floated as I whirled about, my hair undone and flowing about my shoulders. I heard a gasp from the audience, perhaps a student expecting something amateurish from an 18 year old freshman. I twirled and leapt about the stage, feeling the music help me ebb and flow as I told an emotionally charged story with my body's movements and my eyes, intense and soulful. I landed before a female student, my arms reaching out longingly; the girl giggled, making me give her a slight smile before I rolled backwards and bounded away. I always felt a sense of calm and wonder when dancing, like I could conquer the world on my own. I felt confident and strong; there was no better feeling than bringing an audience along on my journey and seeing them believe in me as I weaved a visual tale.

The music came to a crescendo as I leapt and spun, coming down in a practiced heap, lying still on the stage, my chest and back rising slowly as I stayed prone while the music came to an end. Then I rose to my feet, looking at the audience - it was my 9:00 AM dance class, which consisted of 6 girls, two boys and my female instructor. Seeing me stand, they emerged from their stunned expressions and erupted with clapping and cheering. I bowed deeply, beaming with gratitude and the warmth I received from their acceptance. I breathed deeply, out of breath from the rigorous routine.

"Lana, that was . . . magical!" said my instructor, a slightly heavy blond woman named Mira, walking toward me from the corner of the room. She gestured with her hands a lot. "It was real, not melodramatic or overdone. You have such grace, and power, and you truly understand contemporary dance. Did you choreograph that routine yourself?"

I nodded sheepishly. "Yes, maam." Her words meant so much to me, for she was a renowned choreographer whose work I adored.

"Well," said Mira, shaking her head. "I thank you for that, but I fear this class may be a bit too mundane for you." Several of the girls in the class nodded their agreement.

"Oh no, maam," I said. "As a dancer I am always in the process of learning, from my teachers and the other students."

"I'm glad she went last," said one of the girls. I saw more nods and laughter, and I blushed in embarrassment, jiggling up and down slightly as I struggled to contain my happiness. Dance had always come naturally to me, a gift I loved to share. But nothing warmed my heart like an appreciative audience.

The instructor turned back to face the rest of the class. "Well girls, and boys," she added, not forgetting her two males students. "I may not be able to teach you to dance like that in one semester, but we'll certainly try! Now hustle up, if you have another class you'd better hurry, we ran over a little."

I gasped, looking at the clock. "Oh no!"

The instructor turned. "What is it, dear?"

"I have Mr. Talio's class at 10:30. It's all the way on the other side of campus!"

The instructor frowned. "Ah, the handsome Talio? You're taking that bastard's class? But you're a freshman."

"I know," I said, stuffing my class materials into my bag and zipping it up. "Placement put me in there based on my scores." Then I froze. "What do you mean, he's not good?"

The woman paused, uncertain what to say, then she sighed. "I shouldn't say that. He teaches at the local university as well, and he is quite popular there. But there are some in the Institute who do not believe we--women--belong here. He is one of them. Be careful around him, dear. Now hurry, you don't want to be late to his class, and make sure you change!"

"Yes, maam!" I shouted as I ran out the door. I couldn't believe I was late to just my second class at the Institute. I realized I should have thought of the schedule, for I didn't even have time to shower or change, and found myself running down the hall in my soft dance shoes, clutching my book bag to my chest. I exited the building and hustled along the stone walkway through the grassy campus. Unlike a typical university, the Institute had relatively few students, a fact I was grateful for as I ran across campus in my dress. Nevertheless, there were enough students around that I drew a lot of attention. There were relatively few women in the Institute, so one running in a dress was not a common sight. I told myself next time I'd bring a sweater and pants to throw on after dance class.

Based on my pre-admission screening, they'd placed me in the 2

nd

year telepathy class, which was rare for an 18-year-old fresh at the Institute. I found the building and ran down the tiled floor of the hall until I found the classroom belonging to an instructor named Victor Talio. Pausing to catch my breath, I opened the door, glancing up at the room clock. 10:35. I gulped as I saw the instructor and six students turn to look at me. I noticed with a frown that the class was all male, and wondered why that would be. I'd heard the Institute was now about 25% women, after only starting to admit women two years past, so perhaps it wasn't unusual.

"And who might you be?" said the instructor, raising an eyebrow. He was tall, older but fit, with a strong jaw and piercing dark eyes. The man was dressed in dark slacks and an old-style suit jacket that only a university professor could get away with. I wondered why such a key class would have no girls in it. I'd spent much of the orientation hearing the girls discussing which classes to take based on the instructors. But none of the other freshman girls had mentioned Mr. Talio since it was a 2

nd

year class.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, remembering his question. "I'm Lana Torina. I'm . . . a first year student."

"Then you're in the wrong class, cutie," said one of the male students seated near me. A couple of the other boys chuckled, and I clutched my bag to my chest, regretting not taking the time to change out of my dress.

"Placement said my test scores put me in the 2

nd

year class," I replied apologetically, careful not to sound presumptuous or arrogant.

"Is that so?" said the instructor, as if just now finding me worth speaking to. "How does your high sensitivity manifest itself?"

I was embarrassed to talk about myself in front of the class, but I didn't want to refuse. "I scored high in thought reception, levitation, and uh . . . in hand to hand combat." One the boys snickered, so I tried to explain. "I mean they said I anticipate my opponents' movements at a higher than average rate."

The instructor smiled. "Well, then you honor us with your presence, Miss Torina," he said. I looked at him to see if he was mocking me, but his sparkling dark eyes were unreadable.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Talio. I didn't mean to brag . . ." I said.

He waved a hand to silence me. "Did you mean to be late as well?"

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" I blurted, terribly conscious of all the eyes on me. "My dance class ends at 10:15, but . . . it was the first day . . . and it ran over--and, um, it's such a long walk--I mean run! I didn't even shower or change, b-because I didn't want to be late!"

"And so you chose to attend my class dressed in a . . ." the instructor gestured at me, "sweaty dance costume?"

"No!" I protested, feeling helplessly overwhelmed. "I-I'll go change right now!" I'd wanted so much to make a good impression on my first day, and by my second class I'd already gotten on an instructor's bad side.

"Oh no, you won't waste more of my time," said the instructor, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Then he pointed to the front of the class. "I've a better idea. Go stand here and face the class."

"Uh, ok," I said, my insides turning upside down as I quickly walked to where the instructor was pointing.

"No, leave your bag at your desk," he commanded, pointing toward an empty desk in the front row. I quickly placed my bag on the chair and then went to the front. When he made a impatient turning motion, I turned to face the class. My hands were clutched together in front of my waist, and I blushed as I saw six sets of male eyes looking at me. The dress was semi-sheer, and underneath it, my tight-fitting bottom was very comfortable and breathable, but left my legs bare. Up top the dress had two shoulder straps that crossed behind my back, while hugging my chest and abdomen. The pretty black dress showed off my every curve, a fact I hadn't been concerned about in my dance class, but now, without my book bag as protection, the boys seemed to be showing great interest.

As was the instructor, I realized, as he passed in front of me, his eyes roving up and down my body. I frowned. I understood that boys were boys, but it didn't seem proper for an instructor to look at me that way.

"Miss Torina," began the instructor. "Before you decided to show up, we went around the room and introduced ourselves. Now we'd like to take the opportunity to get to know you, our only female student, and a freshman at that."

"Uh, okay . . ." I said, wondering what I was missing.

"But this is a class about telepathic communication skills, so . . ." he turned to the seated boys. "Boys, you may ask questions of Miss Torina, and . . . this is the fun part . . . you will try to read her thought emanations and tell us what you see."

I had an obvious question, but one of the boys, a lanky black-haired boy asked it for me. "Uh, Mr. Talio, I thought telepaths couldn't read minds?"

The instructor sighed. "Of course not, Jones, thank you for pointing out the obvious. However, we can sense thoughts, deception, etc. and do not forget to use the rest of your skills - you mind, your eyes and ears. A novice telepath tends to rely solely on his telepathic skills. Do not make that mistake. You may begin."

I didn't even have time to ponder what he'd said when one of the boys blurted out a question for me.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" said a boy in the front row with blond, curly hair. His name tag said "Mallory."

"Yes," I said. Then I frowned as if realizing something. "I mean no."

"I got nothin'," said the blond boy Mallory.

"Yeah, can't read a thing," said Will, a quiet kid sitting in the back. "What are we supposed to do, Mr. Talio?"

"Mr. Talio!" protested Jones. "She doesn't even know the answer, how are we supposed to read her mind?"

"Call me Victor, boys," said the instructor. He walked over and sat on the desk next to where I was standing. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes before turning to face the class. "Look, Lana here is a freshman, that means she probably hasn't learned how to use her shield to hide her thoughts. That's Mr. Amerton's class. And she's a telepath, so her thoughts are much . . . louder than the mind of normals, and therefore easier to read, if she's not using her shield."

The class still looked skeptical, so Victor stood up, turning to look at me. "I'll give you an example. Lana's boyfriend broke up with her, and she feels betrayed. Perhaps he broke up with you when he found out you were a telepath?"

I gasped, looking at him. "How did you know that?" I asked, nervously. I felt like he'd just stripped me naked. Then he suddenly leaned in to whisper in my ear.

"He was a fool to break up with you." I blushed slightly, for I'd thought Mr. Talio had a low opinion of me. Then he turned back to the class. "Like I said," said Victor. "She is broadcasting her thoughts loud and clear. We just need to tune our minds to the right frequency. I mean that figuratively, Jones," he added, shooting a look at the boy.

"Why did he break up with you?" said Mallory. He looked like a rugged farm boy from home, only with blond hair.

I paused, then decided there was no harm in answering. "He broke up with me the day I got accepted by the Institute, and told him I was a telepath." I felt the tightness in my chest welling up, threatening to make my cry, and I tried to push down the emotional tide.

"Did you two have sex?" said Jones, with a look of fascination on his round, youthful face.

"What?" I squeaked. Did he really just ask me that in front of our professor?

"I got something!" said Mallory. "Umm . . . I don't know, but I sensed something!"

"Yeah, me too," said another boy. Several of them were nodding, and I was mortified. How did you close your mental shield? I didn't even know I had a mental shield until the girls mentioned it in orientation, so it was like navigating a maze blindfolded, I had no idea how.

"So did you?" said Jones again.

I glared at him, my cheeks turning red. "That's not your business!" I shot.

"I think no," said Jones. "They didn't have sex."

"Yeah, she's a virgin," said a large boy in the front row named Erik who'd been ogling me the whole time.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, my arms now crossed in front of me clutching the sides of my dress. "That's--personal!"

"Alright, boys," interrupted Mr. Talio with a sigh. "Lana, why don't you tell us where you're from, what you like to do in your free time . . . you know, questions that

normal

people ask?" He turned to frown at the seated boys for emphasis.

I smiled gratefully at him for redirecting the interrogation onto safer ground. He nodded almost imperceptibly in response, his dark eyes flashing. With effort, I turned my attention from my handsome instructor back to the annoying juveniles seated in front of me. "I'm from Xanthia," I started. I got a few nods of recognition. "You've probably never heard of my world, but it's a lush and beautiful post-industrial world. We have technology but we prefer to be at one with the natural world, so pollution is low, as is our population." I smiled, gesturing around me. "Coming here was a bit of a shock, my world is so primitive in comparison, we don't even have space travel."

Jones had his hand up, and when I stopped he started speaking. "Are you 18? You look kinda young."

I blushed. "Yes, but Xanthian women tend to mature later, like in our early twenties."

"So you'll get taller?" asked big Erik from right in front of me.

I laughed. "Um no, I think this is it for me. I'm tall for my people though."

"Will your boobs get bigger?" said Jones. My mouth dropped and I subconsciously raised an arm to cover myself. He corrected himself. "I mean, they're a decent size now, I was just curious."

"Umm, I don't know?" I offered, my face feeling hot.

"I got something . . ." said blond Mallory. "Yes, she thinks they will when she hits her twenties."

I gasped. How did he do that? These kids shouldn't have been able to read me like that.

"Yeah, you're right!" said Jones. "She also thinks she's got big boobs for a Xanthian."

I must have looked like a drowning fish, and I quickly protested the line of thought. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do," said Jones. "I can read you."

I don't know how they were doing it, but I suddenly felt terribly exposed.

"You're a dancer," said Jones. "You're worried if your breasts get any bigger they will get in the way of your dancing."

A sound like what a small rodent would make escaped my lips, and my hands went to my head, as if that might keep them out. "Stop that!" I shouted. "Get out of my head!"

"There's only one kind of dancing suitable for girls with big boobs," said Jones. Another squeak came from my throat.

"Jones!" exclaimed Victor.

"What?" said Jones. "It's what she thinks!"

"Alright, that's enough," said Victor. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lana," he said. "I . . . might have helped them a bit, just to show them what it feels like to read someone. I'll stop now."

I recoiled as if his hand had shocked me. It was him? No wonder! He must have read my thoughts and projected it on to the boys, or something. I didn't know that was possible, but it was a relief to find out at the boys couldn't read my mind. At the same time, Mr. Talio could, and that realization made my stomach tighten. Did he know I found him terribly handsome?

He winked at me suddenly, and I gasped. He read that too! "Oh god," I moaned, trying to purge my head of all thoughts of my handsome instructor, my breasts, or anything else incriminating.

"Uhmm, why don't you tell us about your dancing, Lana?" said Victor, his hand giving me a squeeze and then leaving my shoulder.

"Ok," I said, again struggling to tear my eyes away from him to look at the class. "I was already accepted at the Xanthian Dance Academy when I was contacted by the Institute, who'd discovered my abilities in a screening. I decided I could still dance on the side after coming here, so hopefully I made the right choice."

"You did, Lana," said Victor, nodding. "Your telepathic abilities are a rare gift, even more rare than your dance. The Institute has a fine dance instructor, so you will be able to grow both gifts here during your stay." Then he got off the desk, standing. "Alright good, why don't you go have a seat before the boys start asking more personal questions."

I gratefully took my seat, making sure there were no boys behind me. His words made me feel so much better, and I smiled at him. He didn't seem to notice, continuing on with his class. I sat and listened intently, making sure my mind didn't wander into embarrassing territory. But it was difficult, and once when my mind started to wander, Victor called on me suddenly, making me blush and purge my mind of thought. That night, I told the girls in the dorm all about my handsome mind-reading 2

nd

year instructor. I was sure next year he'd have a lot more girls in his class.

Three weeks into the semester, Mr. Talio's class was getting interesting, starting the subject of mind projection, something I didn't really think was possible. At the same time, my infatuation with my charming instructor was growing by the day, and it took great concentration not to broadcast my feelings and embarrass him. Luckily I was learning to use my mental shield in Mr. Amerton's class, and I would turn it on during Mr. Talio's class, so I could fantasize about him to my heart's content without him knowing.

Six weeks into the semester, I sat bored in the classroom, tuning out his voice. I'd just had my dance mid-term practice recital, and I was exhausted after performing and then running across campus. My eyes were drooping accompanied by the occasional and painful head bob. Then something he said brought me to attention.

"We have a test tomorrow?" I blurted in alarm.

"Yes, Miss Torina, a test on mental insertion," said Victor, giving me an annoyed look. "I've been broadcasting the upcoming schedules to you mentally at the end of each class."

"What?" I said, alarmed. I'd never picked up on any mental broadcast from Mr. Talio. I looked around at the class, and saw all the boys nodding. "You mean, you guys got it?" More nods, and a few grins at my failure.

"Miss Torina," said Victor, his hands across his chest. "Did you think you could just sleep through a critical part of this course without being tested on it?"

I shook my head, "No, sir! I'm sorry, I must have missed your mental broadcasts." We'd been learning what he called insertion -- the power of suggestion by mind projection. The idea was to plant ideas or suggestions into the mind of the subject, to try to influence their actions or thoughts. The students would practice on each other, and I was never able to make it work, nor did I think my classmates ever got it to work on me. The boys of course were always 'successful' when practicing on each other, but I was sure they were just fooling around. If I couldn't do it, how could those knuckleheads do it?