Elite brains grow in proportion to their bodies. Elites measured both before and after ascension demonstrate a median increase of ten IQ points, each standard deviation up or down defined as three points greater or less. Elites also demonstrate vast improvement in computational mathematics, and projective empathy — the ability to influence both consciously and subconsciously the emotions of proximal humans (within ~10 feet) and distal vassals (within ~60 miles). Why male Elites exhibit this latter ability to a lesser degree is unknown. Furthermore, although it hasn’t been proven, a small percentage of female Elites claim receptive empathy with vassals, especially if of blood relation.

- Dr. Charles Alouf, 1936

Dr. Coffey spent most of his day examining Elite kids, many taller and larger than himself. He wasn’t exactly a small guy. His six foot three, two hundred pound frame dwarfed normal children, but the ones he saw were anything but normal. They were ascendants, mostly stage two and well on their way toward full Elite metastasis.

It was a crude system, based purely upon the physical height of the child. At onset of Elite metastasis, changes could be detected in eye color and brain function, but the patient would remain in ‘stage one’ until surpassing a height of six feet. Stage two ranged from six to eight feet, and stage three from eight feet to a height which usually represented a doubling of the child’s normal height. Only after reaching stage three would the Elite be allowed access to their benefits which included an optional transfer to the nearest Elite city.

This meant many of his younger patients, especially those aged seven and under, could become fully metastasized Elites, yet forced to coexist in normal cities purely because of their height. One might not think this as a problem. After all, normal cities already catered to stage two ascendants, so what harm could a few additional youngsters cause?

Turns out, a lot.

“I’m not too short!” The seven foot ten ‘little’ girl caused Dr. Coffey to stumble backwards, the volume of her voice exceeded only by the fierceness of her empathic projection. Breanna had only just turned seven years old, and like most female prepubescents, she lacked control over her mental abilities. When she got upset, she instinctively transmitted a short-range sense of fear that even someone as experienced as Dr. Coffey couldn’t fully resist.

He dropped his clipboard and stepped away, his hands held up in surrender. “W—well...you see…”

“Oh please, Dr. Coffey.” Breanna bent down, picked up his clipboard, and handed it to him. “Don’t start acting like my dad. I’m obviously not going to hurt you.”

Contradiction didn’t begin to describe the situation of the panty-clad, pigtailed girl, missing two front teeth, yet head only a foot from touching the ceiling, standing imperiously as if the world belonged to her and her alone. Her diction sometimes, as it did now, resembled that of an adult, especially when she succeeded in intimidating her target.

He took his clipboard from her hand, relaxing slightly as she sighed deeply, her cinnamon breath mixing with the faint odor of sandalwood emanating from her tanned skin. Most Elite smelled of nature, though the exact smell, similar to the exact manifestation of their empathic abilities, varied greatly. Perhaps it was why height, an easily measurable characteristic, had been chosen as the primary categorization factor, much to the dismay of his current patient.

Breanna slumped back onto the examination table, then pinched a fold of skin below her belly button. “So you’re sure there’s nothing wrong with me? I’m eating as much as Daddy can afford, but I’m not getting any bigger.”

“Well, you did grow an inch since your last visit. If the rate remains constant — ”

“Two months.” She glared at him as if it were all his fault. “I’m not stupid, Dr. Coffey. Do you know how boring math class is when you know all the answers without even trying? I can’t handle another two months of listening to my stupid teacher.”

“How about this.” Dr. Coffey made a few marks on his pad. “I’ll write you a note excusing you from math so long as you pass any tests your teacher gives you. I’ll advise the administration to let you play outside during that time.”

Her face brightened. She rose, then lifted him by his armpits, hugging him in a tight embrace repeating ‘thank you’ over and over. After setting him back down, she asked, “What about my other subjects?”

They both knew she didn’t have A’s in her other subjects, especially not in English. Her grades had actually declined in English, in spite of her tendency to occasionally speak like an adult. “Breanna…”

“Oooookaaay,” she said, doing a little pirouette, and nearlying colliding her knee with his stomach in the process. “I wish all my classes were outside.”

Dr. Coffey couldn’t blame her. The sun seemed to act as an accelerant for many Elites, though a direct relationship hadn’t been proven. While most Elites grew faster during the summer, a few experienced more rapid growth during the colder months — yet another factor which made Elites so difficult to classify.

“Now put on your clothes, and let’s go tell your dad the good news.”

Breanna eyed the pile she’d carelessly discarded on the floor. “I don’t wanna. They don’t fit me anymore.”

She appeared to be regressing back to her appropriate mental age, a phenomenon which seemed to wax and wane with her emotional state. From prior exams, he knew extreme emotional stress triggered her ‘enlightenment’ to manifest (advanced diction and logic — a less common trait even among Elites). Otherwise, when not stressed, her heightened intelligence seemed largely limited to mathematics, a ubiquitous Elite gift.

When prodded as to how they knew the answers to math questions, most Elite children described it as an imaginary friend giving them the answers. Even ‘adult’ Elites had trouble expounding upon it, some holding fast to the concept of a tulpa, essentially just a fancy word for an imaginary friend. Others described flash cards in their brain appearing with answers after hearing certain questions.

He picked up her Minnie Mouse t-shirt, which, though it seemed voluminous to him, had indeed been tight on her when she’d entered his office. “How about we trade your shirt for something larger?”

“Another Minnie Mouse?” she asked.

“Even better.” He dropped her shirt into a larger hamper and retrieved a purple monstrosity that appeared as if it could fit a couple of linebackers. “Elsa.”

She smiled from ear to ear, swiped the shirt from his hands and donned it in seconds. It was actually big on her, falling just past her underwear, but they both knew she’d grow into it. Clothing her size wasn’t cheap and her father was at his limit supporting her financially.

“I love it!” she said, prancing in front of the wall mirror. She pulled on her leggings without being asked, which, though also too small, were stretchy enough to serve as capris. She wore no shoes, but it was common for Elites in her stage to go without footwear. They lacked a stipend to buy new shoes every week or month, and their thicker skin afforded them enough protection to get by.

“Thank you, Dr. Coffey.” She knelt and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

In spite of her rare tantrums, she, like most Elite children, was sweet in their own way. It’s part of what made his job worthwhile. Getting to watch them grow, often literally before his eyes, both mentally and physically, into kind and caring superior beings.

Breanna rushed out of the office and down the hallway, dodging expertly around nurses and doctors who knew to remain still when an Elite child approached with speed. Breanna’s reflexes would prevent her from colliding with them, but it wasn’t smart to test the limits of those reflexes by moving in an unpredictable way. An impact with a four hundred pound child in motion wasn’t pretty.

“Daddy!” Breanna raced to her dad and spread her arms wide. “Look at my new shirt!”

The young man wore orange coveralls, scuffed and stained, likely from a construction or utility job. He wasn’t short, but he was on the thinner side, so it didn’t take much for Breanna to lift him into her arms and hug him to her chest. Obviously accustomed to such handling, he endured it with a smile, reassuring concerned looks from other patients.

Finally, she released him. “Can we get pancakes now daddy?!”

“Inside voice,” he said, leading her toward the exit, his hand wrapped around a couple of her fingers.

“Sorry, Daddy.” Breanna whispered, not really sounding all that much quieter, much to the amusement of the lobby. “Can we get pancakes now?”

She ducked under the exit, following her dad, the door closing before his response could be heard. Of course, everyone already knew the answer. If she wanted pancakes, she’d be getting pancakes. Not all Elites became vegans, especially not little girls with a sweet tooth. Some things, for better or worse, never changed.

“Kyleigh and Lesly Watts.” Dr. Coffey called out into the waiting room, a job his nurse, out sick today, usually performed.

Two small girls, one brown-haired the other blonde, hopped up from their seats and skipped toward him. Well, the blonde skipped. The brunette followed behind, eyes wide behind thick glasses, watching her sister.

An older woman, presumably their mom, kept pace with the girls though with her ear to her phone. She looked to be in her mid thirties, but the yellowish tinge to her fingernails and premature lines on her face hinted of a bad habit. Why folks smoked in 2017, when tobacco companies openly admitted it caused cancer (the bad kind), he’d never understand.

“That’s what I said! Uh huh. Right now. Yes, he just called our names. Ok. Bye.” The woman closed her flip phone and placed it into her jeans pocket.

“Fiona Watts?” Dr. Coffey extended his hand.

“Yes.” Fiona took the hand and gave it a weak shake. “Sorry, my husband’s freaking out because he wanted to be here when Ky became an Elite.”

“My name’s Fred Coffey,” he said. “Please follow me into the examination room.”

“Ok, but is there any way we could wait a few minutes?” Fiona asked.

“I’m afraid not.” Dr. Coffey waited for everyone to enter, then closed the door to the exam room. “Full schedule, but if you’d like to reschedule — ”

“No, that’s ok.” Fiona sat in the chair while the girls climbed onto the exam table. “The man’s always late. I swear he would’ve missed their birth if my water hadn’t broken in the car.”

“Mom, that’s gross!” The little blonde scrunched her face.

“So, let me guess.” Dr. Coffey retrieved his stethoscope. “You’re Kyleigh and you’re Lesly.”

“You can call me Ky,” the blonde said. “And when I’m an Elite, you can call me Miss Ky. I think it sounds cool, don’t you?”

“Alright then, Miss Ky, let’s have a listen to that heart of yours.”

He checked their vitals, then drew blood for lab tests. Ky flinched at the stick but didn’t cry, and Lesly didn’t even blink. None of this had anything to do with Elite identification, but as their pediatrician, he needed to ascertain their general health too.

He weighed and measured the girls. “Four foot eleven, ninety-two pounds.” He patted Ky on the head, and waited for Lesly to board the scale.

“Four foot seven, seventy-five pounds.” He jotted on his pad. “A little underweight, but nothing to be concerned about.”

“It’s better, actually,” Ky said. “She’ll be able to ride on my shoulders after I grow.” Ky gave her sister a hug and they spun around, laughing.

“You’ll have to be careful with her.” Fiona didn’t look up from her phone.

“Duh, Mom!” Ky said as they climbed back onto the table.

The visual and chlorophyll tests were next. The former involved looking into their eyes with a retinoscope, the latter dabbing a medicated cotton ball on their stomachs. They lifted their t-shirts partway up for this, both giggling at the touch of the cool cotton.

Dr. Coffey entered the diagnosis into his computer. He prefered using paper, but the final part of the process required his electronic signature. Next year would be worse — he’d have to do everything on the computer by Titan mandate.

“Congratulations Fiona,” he said. “You’re the mother of an Elite.”

“I knew it!” Ky jumped from the table and bounced around.

Lesly clapped her hands excitedly, eyes locked on her sister.

“I figured.” Fiona gave a lopsided smile. “She’s going to make me quit smoking, doctor. I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”

“Of course I am!” Ky said. “He’s a doctor. He agrees with me.”

“You shouldn’t smoke.” Dr. Coffey’s mind was elsewhere. Given the blonde child’s reaction to his vague announcement, he knew he should’ve been more specific.

“Can I accelerate today?” Ky asked. “Mom brought bigger clothes and everything.”

Wow, this kid new about the acceleration chamber. It was common knowledge, but still. Few kids knew or cared about such details.

“First, I want both of you to have a seat,” he said.

The sisters returned to their place on the table, and he stood in front of them. He’d given bad news before, devastating news, much worse than what he was about to say. However, he saw something in Ky’s eyes, something reminding him that kids had dreams and he didn’t like to be the one to crush them.

“Kyleigh, I’ll start by saying there’s still a chance for you to become an Elite.” The little girl’s smile faded, replaced by a slight wrinkling of her brow.

He didn’t mention her chances would lessen significantly over the next few years. Most Elites manifested before puberty. In spite of public opinion, there existed no biological difference between spontaneous and induced Elites. The latter merely ascended at younger ages, largely driven by parents wanting early access to the stipend.

Either way, one still needed the cancer and, though no one knew how to acquire it, the tests he’d performed on Ky would be less likely to result positive as time passed. Statistically, her chances would drop from one to half a percent during puberty, and less than a tenth of a percent in young adulthood. In her early twenties, her chances would approach zero. Becoming a vassal nearly doubled one’s chances, but the double of zero was still zero.

On the other hand, Lesly showed a strong positive in both retina hue and chlorophyll absorption. Why she tested negative the prior year, he and the medical community had no way of knowing, similar to how some smokers acquired lung cancer while others didn’t. If they could control it, there would likely be many, many more Elites.

“We’ll test you again next month, but for now, you’re sister’s going to need you. She’ll — ”

“Wait.” Fiona got up and walked over. “You’re saying Lesly’s the Elite?”

Dr. Coffey swallowed the lump in his throat. “She tested positive on both ascendancy measures. If you’d like, we can induce her today. She’ll grow about three or four inches, put on maybe twenty pounds, but it sounds like you have clothing — “

“Yes.” Fiona stared at Lesly, as if seeing her daughter for the first time. “I mean they might be too big, but...well I never expected...we always thought Ky...”

The woman seemed at a loss for words, leading to an awkward pause.

“It’s fine, Mom.” Ky’s face was unreadable, her smile returning though something about it seemed wrong. “They’ll fit her long enough to get home.”

“Good.” Dr. Coffey relaxed. “Lesly, please step into the acceleration chamber and we’ll — “

“I don’t wanna.” The brunette shook her head, arms crossed, eyes focused on the floor. “You can’t make me.”

“Les. Sweetie.” Fiona placed a hand on her daughter’s cheek. “It’s not going to hurt. It’ll probably feel good, right doc?”

“You might feel a tingling sensation, perhaps a bit warm, but it’s over in five minutes,” Dr. Coffey said. “You’ll come out feeling full, probably better than you have in your entire life. There’s no pain.”

“But I don’t wanna be an Elite.” Les looked up, her eyes glistening. “I’m gonna be Ky’s vassal, and she’s — “

“Shut up!” Ky spun on her sister. “I said it’s fine! I didn’t really want to be an Elite anyway. I did, but now I don’t. So you should become one. Mom’s already quit her job after all.”

“Kyleigh Watts!” Fiona raised her hand but held it there, then lowered it. “I can always go back to work —”

“No, Mom,” Ky said. “Les is going to ascend and you won’t have to work.”

“I won’t do it.” Les hopped down and strode toward the door.

Ky took off after her, grabbed her by the arm, and spun her around. “Yes you will! I’m tired of you acting like lost puppy, always following me around. You’re short, skinny, and you’re not the second prettiest girl in school. Not even close. You need this, you idiot. Finally, I won’t be embarrassed to call you my sister.”

Les clutched at her chest, her face ashen. She blinked, crocodile tears rolling down, some pooling on her left cheek where her glasses touched her skin. “Y—you said I was pretty.”

Ky turned around, refusing to face her sister.

“Oh my goodness.” Fiona removed Lesly’s glasses and wiped her face with a tissue. “You are pretty, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to accelerate,” Dr. Coffey said. “But the process will happen on its own over the next year. You will become an Elite, one way or another. Acceleration just gives you a kickstart.”

Lesly sniffled, blinking at her sister’s back.

“Fine!” Les said, wiping the heel of her hand against her nose. “I’ll do it. And I’ll get bigger and prettier than you, Ky. And I’ll make you my vassal.”

“I’ll never be your vassal.” Ky spun around and glared down at her sister. “I don’t care if you become a flippin Titan.”

“Actually Ky, your chances of becoming an Elite increase slightly if you become a vassal.” Dr. Coffey said. “Statistically — ”

“I don’t care!” Ky stomped off toward the corner of the room. “I’ll never be her vassal, the stupid idiot.”

Dr. Coffey looked at his calendar. “How about I reschedule — ”

“No!” Les said. “I wanna do it. I can’t wait to be bigger and better than my stupid sister!”