The Potentials

A Story by Natasha Austin

I stare at the amusement park ride, remembering another contraption a lot like it. All this one did was go around and around, faster and faster, tipping as it rose up, to the delight of the riders. The ride stops in a few minutes, and the riders return to the ground, thrilled, with a happy memory, and the option to go again.

My boyfriend asks me, “Do you want to ride that one?” I hesitate. Do I? The sounds of the park quiet as I remember not all contraptions like this brought happy memories.

There had been a camp, out of the way as camps tended to be. But this camp was special, for special kids. Kids like I used to be, those who had “potential.” We would go to camp with many others, our special peers, take all sorts of tests they called activities, and if the Master Commander found us to be...extraordinary, he would choose us, and take us. Take us to the Planet of the Mines.

My last day on the Planet of the Mines was similar to the day I arrived there, in that I rode something like this amusement park ride. Only my emotions were different from the first experience to the last. That first time, twelve of us special kids were taken aboard a transporter, similar to the ride my adult eyes were now staring at, in a secret room in the main building at camp. It had seats and we were strapped in. It spun, faster and faster. We barely felt it, the way it was designed, and we were told it was a cool ride that would take us out of this world.

We thought that part was just a gimmick.

We had felt privileged to be the Chosen Ones, to ride the transporter in the secret room, with only a momentary disorientation at the darkness and spinning sensation. Then a humming, a slight jolt when the device “landed” on the Planet of the Mines, a stillness before being led out to another place.

We were brought to a world outside our own. A world that at first looked like a child's idea of heaven, with plenty of space to play, every favorite food a child would want, toys, cartoons, decorated rooms of our choice, to suit our individual tastes. There were children from all sorts of planets, cultures, and tribes. We were given “group guides” to show us the ropes and help us with any questions; they were cool, kids like us. No rules there, except to participate in the “activities” and to have fun. Paradise for the Potentials.

Soon, however, we were made to lie on special cots, and funny lights would shine into our eyes, onto our skin, and things would probe into open places on our bodies - embarrassing. We were told each time they were checking to make sure we were healthy. But the “treatments” were painful to our young bodies. We were forced to cooperate, and the weekly ordeal slowly drained us of some of our youth, our energy, our powers. We learned to detach.

When we were not being “treated,” we were made to work metals using our powers - which ranged from the ability to heat things up with our hands, eyes, or minds to melt the metals, to being able to use telekinesis to build walls, robots, lasers, and other odd machines. Some children who had been there long before us, barely had any special powers at all. Those were the ones only a few heartbeats away from the Sunlight.

The “guides” were good to us at first - friends, allies, confidants, comforters when the little ones cried for their parents - but soon turned to hard task masters, relentless and cold, and we discovered they weren't children or teens at all.

We were fed bounties in the beginning, but scraps near the end. Taken to nice rooms to live with a roommate our own age, then forced into cells, alone, with barely any room for movement. Nicely decorated walls turned into rust-colored metal boxes. And the air conditioning turned to heat. Water became scarce, baths were denied, grooming was non-existent, and those who were finally broken or disobedient were thrown out into the Melting Sunlight.

A demonstration of the Melting Sunlight was shown months after we had been taken to the Planet of the Mines - when the treatments became more painful, when the food became less and less, when the “guides” grew mean and cold toward us, and when some of us began to rebel. We had been gathered in a sepia-toned auditorium, along with many other kidnapped children, and forced to watch a child being thrown out into an above-ground hallway, where she fell on her face, and struggled to rise. But before she could really move, a sky-door opened above her, and the Sunlight came in, to shine on the disobedient girl. In seconds her skin began to burn, and her silent scream stilled as her body disintegrated, the blood and tissue evaporating, the bones becoming ash, then specks on the wind.

It caused a gasp all around the auditorium. Cries of the little ones rang out. The “guides,” cyborgs, we discovered, were stone faced. The Master Commander's face was all business as he looked at each one of us. The niceness ended completely.

Innocent children, Potentials, with all these abilities, and we were being utilized, dehumanized, then discarded.

When I later found a new friend of mine lying in a crevice - her body bruised, weakened, barely able to move because of her recent “treatments,” attempting with her last bit of strength to hide from her jailers - I became angry. This could not continue, and I realized we could stop it.

About two hundred children were delivered from a Master Commander who was in need of “special” resources, and weaponry. The Master Commander had to keep stealing pure and innocent power from children, because his body could not retain it for very long.

He needed a steady supply, and had spent decades kidnapping children before he came up with the camp idea, where parents sent their children willingly, not knowing it would be the last time some would see them. He had just begun the camp on Earth.

But my group of recently captured Earth-children escaped, using the spinning transporter to go back to Earth. I led a second group to the transporter, using underground tunnels, so the sky-doors posed no threat. My brother and sister were afraid because I sent them on home, but stayed behind, to gather more children, to save them from torture and death in the copper colored walls of the Mines.

There was a war, a war of the minds. The cyborgs had physical advantage, but nothing else. Even in our weakened state, we kids were stronger. We were determined, and used our minds collectively to propel the Master Commander and his army back, as they advanced on us. We used our minds to force air into his body, until his ribs burst through his rib cage. His brain grew in size with the pressure we put on him.

The last thing he saw, even before seeing his own blood and tissue covering his sight, was my face.

After we had landed back on Earth, I'd helped the remaining children leave the transporter and the secret room. Upon seeing my little brother and sister outside the building, I walked to them. They broke into a run, tears in their eyes. The counselors stared perplexed, as all the children who had disappeared for months, for what was supposed to be a special camp activity, had returned haggard, beaten, broken, and telling a story of torture and dehumanization.

Now, years later, I take my eyes off the sky. The sounds of the amusement park return to my ears as I watch the spinning ride thrill the screaming children and adults. I stand amidst the sights and sounds, the people's delight and carefree laughter.

My boyfriend challenges me. “Are you scared?”

“No.” I walk to get in line. “I've ridden worse.”