seymoure

31.

“I am Grestor.” A powerful voice wrapped itself around the two boy’s heads, maybe inside, maybe outside.

Both looked up immediately. Neither saw anything.

Someone with a powerful voice cleared his throat somewhere below eye level.

The McCauley kids looked just past the edge of the table to see a two foot tall man. The short fellow was built like a crate that should be carrying something large and heavy.

David tried hard not to smile. Mickey didn’t think about it.

“I am to take you to your orientation,” came the booming voice.

The speaker wore a yellow jumpsuit with a like colored mask. His head was of equal size to his fists. This guy, it seemed, could do just about anything he wanted to do.

There were no orders given, but Grestor’s gaze told them what was to be.

The diminutive powerhouse made a military turn on his heal and started to move away.

Both boys stood, and without a beat followed Grestor marching out of the dining area.

In the hallway they saw people of every shape and size, nationality and race. Mickey thought to himself that this must be something like what the U.N. looks like on their lunch break.

Then they passed someone (they couldn’t tell anything more specific about the person) who was at least 8 feet tall and could not have weighed more than 50 pounds.

“Cammander Bean,” Grestor greeted.

“Grestor” the tall one answered.

David wondered if their relationship and cordiality had anything to do with the varience in height. Sometimes people tried to over-compensate about things like that.

They walked past a room with closed doors that boomed with regularity and once sounded like there was an explosion inside.

“The Danger Room!” Mickey whispered to his brother.

“Music room,” Grestor corrected.

After walking at least 5 city blocks, the trio turned and entered a door.

Inside was a lecture hall with the shape of the inside of a bowl.

Seats went down the sides, with a podium at the bottom and the center. David had seen something like it on a field trip to a college. The room was built like this to maximize the lecturer’s visibility and
acoustics.

In the room (counting themselves and Grestor) were 10 people.

Mr. Position was at the podium, Carvine and Jeremy were sitting at opposite ends of the room, as far away from the center (and each other) as physically possible. Down front was a girl with no hair, but (David
noted) a nice figure. There were a pair of twin boys who were David’s age and size. There was also, a couple of seats back, a hovering black fog that faintly resembled a person.

This creature’s presence was more than mildly unsettling to the boys, although it seemed that no one else even took notice.

“Mr. Position?” Grestor said.

“Thank you, Grestor, I can take them from here on out,” The man answered.

Grestor nodded to him, then the boys and turned and left without ceremony.

Position looked down, flipped a tiny switch on the microphone that was imbedded in the podium, and pointed the boys to the front row.

“If our last arrivals will be seated we can begin the orientation,” He said, sometimes in the mike, sometimes out.

The boys took seats on the aisle.

“My friends,” he began, “Some of you have been here before and some of you are completely new. But, for all of you, this day will mark a transition that will change your life in the world significantly.”

It was at this point with the most unearthly roar brought an end to orientation. And a hailstorm of fire brought an end to Mr. Position.