The plump woman muscled her way past the others and planted herself in front of the tattooed man.
“Don’t start with them. I told you to leave them alone.”
“Men,” huffed the Vreaper woman. She walked around the circle and knelt down a few meters away.
“My name is Senka. I’m an officer in the United Starways Coalition. What are your names? Where are you from?”
While Jetta couldn’t detect harmful intent, Senka still reined in her thoughts just like the other adults, though not well enough to hide her underlying apprehension.
But if you answer her, maybe we can gain more answers, Jaeia said, feeling her sister’s resistance.
“My name is Jetta,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “And this is my sister Jaeia.”
“Jetta and Jaeia. I like that. You’re identical twins?” Senka asked, trying to be sweet. Jetta couldn’t help but frown.
The Vreaper woman looked them over more carefully, eyes searching beyond their faces. A stray pang of loss escaped Senka’s keep, surprising Jetta.
We remind her of someone, Jaeia observed.
Jetta only saw the advantage of the Vreaper woman’s vulnerability, but kept it to herself.
“Your eyes and hair are different colors,” Senka said, looking as if she wanted to reach out to them. “And you’re a bit taller, aren’t you, Jetta?”
Jetta wondered why adults talked down to kids like this. She found it insulting, but for some reason Jaeia seemed to enjoy it.
“My eyes are gray and my hair is lighter than Jetta’s because I used to work with chemicals that altered certain pigmentations,” Jaeia replied. Jetta shot her a warning, but Jaeia ignored her.
“Chemicals?” Senka exclaimed. “What are kids your age doing using chemicals?”
Jetta sent a string of disapproving thoughts Jaeia’s way for leading this officer to question them about their past. They know too much already.
We have to give them something, Jetta, her sister replied firmly. We have to gain their trust if we’re going to survive this place.
“We used to work aboard mining ships,” Jaeia answered. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Is that where you got that mark on your inner arm?” Senka asked, pointing to Jetta’s right arm.
Face flushing, Jetta crossed her arms across her chest. “Why does that matter?”
Senka stood up and reached for her arm, but Jetta moved out of the way. “Your wounds seem to be healing at a remarkable rate,” the Vreaper woman said. “I’ve never seen that in a human.”
“We’re not human,” Jetta replied curtly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You just look—”
“Like Deadskins?” Jetta snapped. “We’re not.”
Jeez, Jetta—she’s not attacking you. Give her a break, Jaeia thought.
Jetta pushed back angrily, dumping her frustrations on her sister, but Jaeia stayed resolute in her assertion.
Senka backed away, and kept her voice neutral. “How old are you?”
Jetta did not like that this woman continued to prod, but Jaeia answered before she could stop her.
“What is the star date?”
Senka looked back toward the adult group as they decided between themselves.
“We think it’s 3184.21. It’s hard to tell. The days are unusually short on this planet.”
“3184.21?” Jetta said incredulously. The woman had to be lying.
I don’t think she is, Jetta, Jaeia said, sensing no deception.
We can’t be seven years old, Jetta thought. That meant that just two years had passed since they joined the Dominion Core, one of which she couldn’t account for.
Jetta looked at the size of her hands. They were strong and calloused, and belonged to someone twice her age. No way.
How could she and her sister could have put on so much height and muscle in such a short stretch of time? I feel like an intruder in my own skin.
“She asked how old you are,” the tattooed man demanded.
“Oh Rawyll,” Senka said, standing up. “And you wonder why Jaimey and the rest ran off.”
The tattooed man looked at her contemptuously, but the plump lady stepped between them.
“If your calculations are correct about the star date,” Jaeia said, “then we’re seven years old.”
Every single adult looked them over. Jetta felt like she was on the Block about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, but her resentment quickly spun into fear. Why are they looking at me like that? Are they sizing me up? What do they want?—
Yellow gloved hands reaching,
(Everything hurts, IT BURNS)
(I can’t control my—)
Voices, everywhere
(They’re all listening)
Jetta closed her eyes as a feeling of dread settled heavily in her stomach. Jahx, oh Gods, where are you? This is all my fault—THIS IS ALL MY FAULT—
“Let’s get them back to their cavern,” the Grand Oblin said, trying to catch her arm as she stumbled away.
(Come in command)—
—“ready for your orders, Commander.”
Breathing hard, she grabbed on to Jaeia to keep her close. Shadows collected off the rocky floor, giving rise to dark figures. Stempton. Rogman. Yahmen. Enemies circled, readying for the final attack.
“You... will... pay,” Jetta threatened, staggering into the cave wall.
Jetta! Jaeia cried, trying to pull her sister back up. Come back to me!
“It’s too late,” someone said.
Jetta lunged into darkness.
WHEN JETTA AWOKE, SHE found herself on her back with a damp cloth pressed to her forehead. Animal skins provided warmth and comfort on a rocky bed, with stalactites keeping watch from above.
How did I get back in our cavern? she wondered.
She tried to rise, but nausea quickly pinned her back down.
“You are the worst patient I have ever attended to.”
Jetta looked to her right to see the old man on a rocky outcropping, chewing on a plant root. He beamed at her, his gap-toothed smile wider than ever.
“You’re not what you seem, old man,” she said, trying again to sit up. Her limbs, wobbly and weak, gave protest but she managed to stay upright.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re that fat lady, aren’t you? I don’t know how you do it. Are you a changeling? A Spinner, perhaps? What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”
Jetta tried to find Jaeia for support, but she was not in the cavern.
“She’s safe; she’s helping the others wash our dinner. We’re vegetarians here, I’m afraid. The only food besides the Macca is what we can forage for in the valley. And an occasional cave-dwelling insect or two.”
Did that chakker just read my mind?
“Are you some kind of bloody leech?”
The Grand Oblin raised his white eyebrows and laughed. “That is the first time I’ve heard that from another telepath.”
Jetta brought her knees to her chest. Oh Gods, he knows—
“Don’t be afraid,” the old man said, taking the root out of his mouth. “You’re safe here.”
“Who are you?” Jetta asked warily.
“I am a Taurian priest from the Order of Cress. We are Moro telepaths; we use our talents as a means of spiritual connection with other beings.”
The emotion seeded in his words gave Jetta glimpses of a past life. Stone temples carved into lush mountainsides, with moss-covered stairs leading to the peaks. Incense burning atop wooden altars. Prayers, chanted in great sanctuaries, hummed in her chest.
“I am also a Berroman,” the Oblin said. “Because of my age, I can no longer control my shape. My appearance changes with my moods. I guess you could say my shape is congruent with the emotions I experienced at a certain period of my life.”
“You were a fat woman—on purpose?” Jetta said, not mindful of her rudeness. Why anybody would elect such a physically inefficient form defied her logic.
/> The Oblin chuckled. “In my middle years I was in charge of a refugee relief program on Thowhaus VII.”
Orange and red robes wrapped loosely around her body, tied around the waist with beaded belts. Hands, spotted and wrinkled, smoothed pink when handing a child a bowl of rice.
“There were many children,” he said, “and it was that form they liked best. Something soft is always nice to hug.”
Beaded belts stretched to the limit as her waistline ballooned outward. Little bodies collected around her, faces pressed into her soft belly, seeking comforts only a parent could provide.
Jetta pulled away from his memories with a frown. There had to be something more to this old man than what he showed her. No adult can be trusted.
“Tell me what you mean when you say that you ‘spiritually connect’ with other beings. Do you invade people’s minds? Do you steal from them?” Jetta asked, slowly sliding off the bedding onto her unsure feet.
Get back here, Jaeia, she silently called to her sister. Feelings of contentment and ease drifted back. Infuriated, Jetta couldn’t understand how her twin could be so unconcerned about the adults or their situation. Come back now! We need to figure out what the old priest is really after—what they’re all after—and why they’re keeping us from Jahx!
“The Moro act as a bridge between the mind and the spirit,” the Oblin said, unfazed by her tone. “I have helped many people rediscover their true selves.”
“So,” Jetta said, using the stalagmites to steady herself as she circled him, “have you been in my head?”
The Oblin’s fingers twined together, his old knuckles knocking against each other. “Yes, I have.”
“Why?” Jetta said, her voice just below a yell.
“When we found you at the crash-site, I felt incredible pain, and I speak not of your physical injuries,” the Oblin said, rheumy eyes not bowing to her glare. “It went beyond anything I’d ever felt before. Within you and your sister lies a great suffering. A culmination of agonies no Sentient—no child—should be forced to bear.”
Jetta stopped in front of the old priest and squared her shoulders to him. “That doesn’t mean you can dig in my head.”
The Oblin nodded. “I did what I thought was right. I have been trying to help you.”
Feeling the edge of his words, Jetta inferred his meaning. “You’ve been keeping us from remembering everything,” Jetta said, her hands balling into fists. “You know what’s happened to us. You know where my brother is.”
Jaeia rounded the corner, followed by Senka, a worried look spread across her face. “Jetta, wait—” her sister said. Don’t do anything stupid!
“As much as you refuse to believe it,” the Oblin said to Jetta, motioning for Senka to stay back. “I am your friend. You know this—you have felt my intent. I only wish to help you.”
“Then give me back my memories!” Jetta demanded.
“You must have patience,” he said calmly. “The mind is not a simple thing. You must give me time to help you through each step, teach you to control—”
Enraged, Jetta grabbed the Grand Oblin’s vein-riddled hand and held on tight. Jaeia cried out, but before she had time to react, Jetta slipped inside his mind.
The walls of the cave disintegrated as the cold confines of a starship boxed her in. Sitting before a flickering hologram of a battle, Jetta’s hands worked furiously at the controls of the console, changing the angle of the projection to better view the battlefield while typing in commands for the secondary and tertiary fleets.
She licked dry lips and glanced at the scoreboard. She had to win, no matter what. It was the only way to make the stabbing thirst go away, to stop her skin from catching fire.
The shadowy face of Jetta’s enemy peered at her through the blue light of the simulation. Yet another pompous, egomaniacal officer Rogman had pulled from duty somewhere across the star systems to try and beat her. He resented her, muttering to himself and barely making eye contact. After all, who would want to waste their time playing a launnie?
“Show no mercy,” Rogman said, squeezing her shoulder with his gloved hand.
Jetta grimaced as she slipped into her opponent’s mind. Cheap thrills and unsavory penchants interlaced with her enemy’s combat experience, making her skin crawl. She didn’t want to know the sting of whiskey, or the touch of a streetwalker, but his weakness coalesced within the memories of all-night motels and binge drinking.
(He is easily distracted)
Jetta opened fire on his air units, raking swaths of destruction across the electronic playing field. Her opponent cursed as the wreckage scattered through simulated space, forming navigation hazards he wasn’t prepared to deal with when his warship entered the fray. Seconds later his warship caught in the planet’s gravity well, making him easy prey for her battleships.
Cheers erupted from all around. The terrible thirst went away, and euphoric warmth filled her body. It felt so good to win.
Something metallic caught her eye, and she looked down at her uniform, her vision distorted and milky. She saw the tracks into her arm where her uniform threaded into her body.
Somebody laughed at her. They were all laughing at her.
(No, NO, NO, please STOP—don’t take him! Not Jahx, please, not Jahx. Take me, TAKE ME!)
“Jetta!” Jaeia screamed.
Jetta gasped as her sister pulled her away from the Oblin, severing the psionic connection. The cave reappeared, spinning out of control. Off-balanced, she came down hard on a pile of rocks and clutched her head.
“Tre causos,” she whispered in Fiorahian.
Tears filled her eyes as the memories came flooding back. Rogman. Endless hours of playing the Endgame. The alienation of imprinting officer after officer. Separation from her brother and sister. Punching holes in walls and gouging herself with anything sharp to fill the void in her heart.
Then time fragmented. She wanted—no, she had to—play the games for that wondrous fulfillment she could only get by winning. Even when she was tired and hungry, she still wanted to play. And when she went for too long a time without playing, the thirst and the burn took over, and she nearly went out of her mind with the pain.
Jetta squeezed her eyes shut. Something else needed to be remembered, beyond the elation of playing, beyond the fog of her last few months. Her eyes shot open. She remembered their last game as if it had happened only moments ago. The memory hit her like a transport freighter at full speed, knocking the wind from her. She turned away from her sister to hide her face, and the truth.
“What did you do?” Jaeia put herself between Jetta and the Grand Oblin.
“No, don’t,” Jetta managed to say, holding onto her sister’s arm. “I remember now. The Core hooked us on something,” Jetta choked, trying to wipe away her tears. “It can’t be real...”
“Jetta, oh Gods—” Jaeia whispered as her own memories reawakened. Her entire body lurched forward, gray eyes seeing much more than the dirty rock floor.
“They separated us when we were trying to lose,” Jaeia said, breath sharp and fast. “I remember trying to resist—”
“—but the thirst and the burn, that need—we couldn’t resist. We had to play their games,” Jetta finished.
“If they addicted you to something, why aren’t you showing any signs of withdrawal?” Senka asked, approaching cautiously. Jetta couldn’t answer. Some of the street junkies on Fiorah went crazy without their chemicals. She remembered watching them crawl on their hands and knees, talk to people who weren’t there, even tear at their own flesh. It would make sense that she should have gone crazy too.
“I remember... pain. And a cell of some sort. I remember feeling like we did when we wouldn’t play their games—but much worse. It’s one of my last memories before waking up here. I feel like we were supposed to die there, but we didn’t...” Jaeia said.
“Sounds like you survived detox,” Senka said.
Jetta pursed her lips. To hell with the drugs and games—a
ll that mattered is finding Jahx. Mind racing, she found new hope: The Core’s manipulated our telepathic talents before, so that has to be why I can’t feel him now.
Revitalized, she cried out as loudly as she could across the psionic planes. Jahx, I’m coming!
“How did the Core know we were telepaths?” Jaeia asked the Oblin, fiddling with her shirt sleeves. “We tried to hide our abilities.”
“It is hard to understand, but there are those that would turn against their own,” the Grand Oblin replied softly.
“Why?” Jaeia said.
Jetta silently chided her sister for playing ignorant. “For the right price.”
The Oblin nodded. “Yes, Jetta. Lab work isn’t always conclusive with some gifted Sentients, so the Core hired telepaths to weed out other telepaths.”
Leaning heavily on his walking stick, the Grand Oblin rose from the rocky outcropping. Senka trailed behind him as he approached the twins.
“You surprised me, Jetta,” he said, dabbing his forehead with his sleeve. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew you two possessed some type of telepathic ability. I felt an indescribable bond, well beyond the norm for telepathic connection. At first I thought it something unique to you, because you are twins, but there’s more to it than I originally thought. What kind of telepaths are you?”
Core propaganda posters listing the four known types of telepaths filtered through Jetta’s mind.
Do you have a tickling feeling in your head? Do you feel like you’re being watched?—The Si!
Have you been feeling emotionally vulnerable lately? Do you feel manipulated?—The Moro!
Has someone been stealing your dreams?—Tre!
We aren’t any of those, Jetta thought. We are so much more.
Jaeia silently agreed.
But as easily as either of them could dismiss the first three types of telepaths, Jetta couldn’t quite shake the fourth.
Blue eyes and indigo tribal markings—Prodgy! The most dangerous!
Dissemblers, Jetta thought, turning the word over in her head. Liars. Deceivers.
The posters and billboards on Fiorah painted them as black-skinned monsters born from the fires of hell, able to convince the mind and body to turn upon itself. Evening infomercials featured entire crowds murdered under the gaze of a Dissembler, intestines exploding out of their abdomens, eyes melting in their sockets. The most horrible death! A raping of the soul! One Dissembler can annihilate an entire world!
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