Crystal Mind: A novel in the Projector War Saga

by K. A. Excell

  I almost choked. “I thought you said only projectors could speak mind-to-mind.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Trust me, Farina, you’re a teleprojector. You’re strong enough I can feel the pull of your mind on mine standing eight feet away while you’re trying to be neutral. You can do this.”

  I reviewed his proposal, then cross-referenced it with a video of Doug Houston trying to find me in a hallway where I was desperately wishing I was anywhere but there. Was that a kind of teleprojection? Had I suggested to his mind that I really wasn’t there?

  I looked back at Tolden, who was waiting for an answer, then past him to the teleprojector still swaying on his feet. I bit my lip. I was going to regret this—I just knew it.

  “I’ll do it.”

  I switched spots with the teleprojector, who collapsed onto Tolden. The column started off again, faster this time, and I focused my eyes and blue lines on the creature in front of me instead of on Tolden, who was busy helping the other projector toward an elevator in the corner of the rotunda. The maybe-not-human woman radiated faint amusement and complete innocence, but farther in her mind was a bone-deep terror. As I tried to look for the root of that terror, my forehead started to pound, and I pulled back.

  I really didn’t know what I was doing. Could I accidentally hurt her, or myself? I had only found out that telepathy was possible a few minutes ago, and now I was spending time in a nonhuman head?

  Hopefully the woman would prove as benign as the air she was projecting, because I didn’t know how to do anything more than read her surface thoughts. If she tried to attack us, I probably wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop her.

  The woman’s amusement only grew.

  Luckily, eight minutes later we found our way into a hallway lined with high-security doors. The tactical officer at the front called a halt, and the first four rows split. A man in a white collared shirt with a pointed chin covered by a goatee stood by one of the doors. He caught the head tactical agent’s eyes and motioned him over. I wanted to run an analysis on this new person, but reined my lines in. The woman could still turn and attack us. Now was not the time to be unfocused. But focus didn’t mean I couldn’t read their lips.

  “We still don’t have a reliable reading on her,” the tactical officer reported. The man in the white shirt was turned so I couldn’t see his lips.

  The tactical offer frowned. “Yes, sir, but Kinkins was non-functional. Tac 47’s CO lent me a recruit, but she’s the only one available at the moment.”

  The man turned to look at me, and I couldn’t resist. I met his steel grey eyes but they told me nothing. There was a wall behind them as cool as ice. The man’s lips twitched, and then he turned back to the tactical agent. I returned my attention to the woman in the red dress.

  “Yes, sir,” the agent saluted. “I’ll see that she reports immediately.”

  The man nodded toward the salute and then strode off down the hall with long, purposeful strides.

  The tactical agent turned to me. “Farina, is it? Come here.”

  I moved out of line and approached him, blue lines ready for anything. He tapped his toe on the ground while impatience radiated from him. “I’m not going to bite. I need you to do as deep a reading as you can manage, got it? Look her straight between the eyes and dive deep.”

  I turned around to meet the alien’s emerald green eyes—oddly reminiscent of my mother’s. They held a challenge, but they also held interest. I moved past them, deeper into her mind.

  There was patience, and superiority, and pride so vast I could get swallowed by it if I looked too long. Deeper than that was the fear I’d seen earlier. It wasn’t fear of the agency, but of something else connected with the agency.

  You haven’t done this before, have you?

  The question was as clear as if she’d spoken it, but I was pretty sure she hadn’t said a word.

  There was a derisive laugh, then.

  You aren’t part of them yet. That’s good. Perhaps if you keep your eyes open, you’ll survive.

  Survive what? I wondered.

  She shook her head just enough for my blue lines to catch the action.

  The Agency is blind, and it’s going to get us all killed. Keep your eyes open, Farina. The Instructors are watching this place.

  That thought was accompanied by a taste of muted horror. The Agency needs to look around, or they will continue to be mere pawns. You look around, don’t you Farina? You can see the two sides. Perhaps you will pick one. Perhaps you will merely be swept along by this massive Agency machine. Now wouldn’t that make the Instructors happy?

  The correct side of what? Who were the Instructors?

  There was a flash of an image. A tall man with green eyes and olive skin like mine—so similar that we could have been siblings, except for the muscles in all the wrong places. His hair was black like congealed blood. A moment later, he was joined by a woman who could have been his sister. Even in that one still image, they radiated power. I ran an analysis between them and the woman in front of me. Eighty-nine percent match. They were practically twins. Was this woman also an Instructor?

  The woman snorted. I am not an Instructor, I am a defect to be corrected or thrown away. Just like you neurodivergents, and the rest of humanity. They will not stop until they have created the perfect Superior—their perfect soldier. Not human, but better than human.

  She sent a brief skeleton picture of the musculature I had noticed on her, and then the images of the Instructors. Then, with a flick of her claw, she sent me spinning from her mind.

  I staggered back and then looked up at her.

  “This is the child you send to read my mind?” she asked. “I thought your race had many mind-talents.” She snorted and shook her head. “The Instructors, at least, will be pleased.”

  The head tactical agent clicked the door open, and the woman—or, rather, the Superior— walked through. When the door shut and the lock cycled, the entire group let out a collective breath.

  I archived the information from our conversation, then turned the more salient bits over in my mind. She was supposed to be some sort of super neurodivergent? Why would someone want to create something like that? Didn’t they understand the trade-offs we made? I might be able to remember everything I saw, but sounds never processed correctly. I couldn’t eat certain foods because they felt too awful in my mouth. I couldn’t wear certain clothes. I couldn’t understand people. And now these people wanted to make more of us, like we were lab experiments? Like we were better than regular people? Neurodivergents weren’t better, we were just different.

  And the Superior woman. Who was she, and why was she here? She didn’t like the Instructors. No, that wasn’t quite right. She was afraid of the Instructors. But if they had made her, the way my comparative analysis suggested, then why was she afraid of them?

  This whole situation made very little sense. I had a feeling I was going to be running a lot of data analysis in the next few weeks to try and squeeze answers out of that situation.

  The head agent motioned to one of the other agents. “Well, that’s a wrap. Alright, Taz. You’re on escort duty with this one. She needs to go down to see Robbins. Hand her right over—if Robbins isn’t done with his surgery, then wait. Everybody else, go get cleaned up. We’ve got exercises against Tac Team 23 tonight and, mission or not, we aren’t losing our streak. We’ll play against Tac 47 yet.”

  There were nods all around the group, and then they started back down the way they’d come. Taz, an agent about my height with a crooked nose and a limp—probably from their mission—motioned me farther down the hall.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To see Robbins—he’s a good guy. I think you’ll like him.”

  “He’s a teleprojector?” I guessed. That’s what the percentages said.

  “Yup, assigned to R&D—
sometimes MedDep. He’s been around a long time.”

  I followed Taz through the halls until we came to a door with a swipe-lock on the side. Taz pulled a card out of a sleeve on his tactical suit and the lock cycled to green. He pushed the door open, obscuring my view of the room, and nodded. “You got her?”

  There was a sense of affirmation from a person I couldn’t see, and Taz backed away from the door, still holding it wide. “Good then. I’m headed to the infirmary to see about my leg. Good luck, kid. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  I stepped through the door with a knot in the pit of my stomach. What would happen if I didn’t do fine? What constituted ‘fine’?

  The door clicked closed behind me and the lock’s glow changed from green to red. I swallowed and let my blue lines roam the room.

  After a few seconds, the statistical analysis showed sixty-percent resemblance to a doctor’s exam room, twenty-percent resemblance to a conference room, with ten-percent unknown.

  One wall was a counter with cupboards above and cabinets below. It was completely bare, and held a glisten inconsistent with the material—like it had just been wiped down. The other three walls were lined with blue-grey chairs facing the center of the room where there was a table covered with the lining often found on doctors office exam tables, designed to be stripped off and relaid for each patient.

  Standing behind the table was a balding man, eight inches shorter than I was with smiling cheeks and eyes that radiated cheerful content. When I focused my blue lines on him, he clicked his tongue.

  “I can understand your caution, Farina, but you’re already exhausted. Beating yourself against my shields will only give you a headache. Why don’t you sit down and I can help explain some things?”

  He motioned to a seat on the wall, and I sat. He moved a comfortable distance away and then examined me. “You look like you’ve had a rough day. You must have a lot of questions.”

  I resisted a snort. Rough day didn’t even begin to describe it. Still, most of the data integrated with the questions I’d been asking since I came to Martial academy. Every bit but one.

  “The head of Tactical 6 asked whether I was more dangerous than the alien but, from what I’ve seen, I am not the most powerful individual you have working here. Why was he scared of me?”

  Robbins’ eyes narrowed. “You are bright. I assume no one has told you about the difference between bio-unlocked and natural-unlocked, then?”

  I shook my head.

  “Biocards are a well-kept secret, and one of the ways we stay on top of the natural-unlocked population. You know that there are many with the potential to develop abilities, and that only a small portion of that population ever unlock themselves, right? Well, there are other ways to unlock a neurodivergent’s powers. Done correctly, it amplifies their power. For example, a telepath without a biocard—a naturally unlocked telepath—might be an S2 on the Psionics scale. With the biocard, they might be anywhere between an S5 to an S7. Keep in mind that the Psionics scale is similar to the richter scale. Each successive level is multiples more powerful than the last.”

  I hissed. I was a natural teleprojector—which was already a rarity. I had enough power to equal Kinkins, the bio-unlocked teleprojector who’d gone to the infirmary.

  He nodded. “So you see the issue. Right now, our files have you listed as somewhere between a PS2 and PS4. If you are bio-unlocked, that will shift radically. There are very few active agents with that kind of power. Ms. King, and Ms. Green—the director of the Agency—are the only teleprojectors who I could say for sure would be above your projection strength.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” I asked. My blue lines were present again, ready to plot intercepts and retrace my steps out of here if need be.

  He sighed. “We aren’t going to do anything, child. You can relax. Believe it or not, we are grateful for your intervening on Agent Smith’s behalf. We are grateful to you again for your helping us secure the Superior. As far as I know, there is nothing barring you from beginning an accelerated study course to receive an offer of employment from the Agency.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  He waved his hand. “Just because we don’t anticipate any issues doesn’t mean we can lose all sense of caution. Before we can allow you to leave, we need to ensure you are not working for anyone else.”

  My eyes widened. “Who else would I be working for?”

  Even as I asked the question, my thoughts flicked to Houston.

  “There are other neurodivergent agencies who are not as selective in their operations and operatives. Alpha-Niner, for example.”

  “Is that who Doug Houston works for?”

  Robbins shrugged. “So far, that seems the most likely candidate. We know he was unlocked here at Martial Academy, and there are only the three of us recruiting here.”

  “Us, Alpha-Niner, and who?”

  “Dean Mccoy has been a longstanding recruiter for the United States Armed Forces. So far as we know, the military remains clueless as to the true power neurodivergence holds, which means Houston must have been recruited by Earl West.”

  I blinked. Of course. Who else could it be, but the man who refused to meet my eyes because he was afraid I would read his mind? The three offices made sense now, at least. One for each recruiter.

  “Is Alpha-Niner bad?” I asked. Mr. West had seemed nice, but if they spent their whole time supporting men like Houston—

  Robbins shook his head. “Saying Alpha-Niner is bad is like saying all chihuahuas are bad. They have their members who go too far, and they have their members who are exemplary citizens. On the whole, they have been less selective of their membership, but that doesn’t make them bad. It just means that we keep an eye on them when we can, and bring in their members who have chaos on their mind.”

  “Members like Doug Houston.”

  Robbins shook his head again. “Before this morning, he hadn’t crossed a line. We couldn’t touch him or risk violating our own directives. Now his danger rating is down to a two. If we think he’s up to something, we’ll bring him in. Otherwise, he’s free to live as he chooses. Until his danger rating reaches one, we can’t send teams actively searching to bring him in.”

  I started to argue, but he held up his hand. “I’ve heard Agent Smith’s report, and I know he tried to kill you. That means he’s a criminal, but that does not make him a Psionic criminal. We will put in tips to the local authorities and they might catch him. Unless he uses his abilities to commit a crime, he does not fall under our jurisdiction.”

  His hand fell again, and he sighed. “We are walking a very thin line here, Farina. We have to be careful not to dispense vigilante justice, or we would be no better than criminals ourselves. Now, do you have any other questions?”

  “Is Houston going to come back to Martial Academy?” The thought of seeing him again—even in passing—made my blood boil. My fist tightened around the rings of the plasma pulser.

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him. Authorities aside, the Company knows better than to send hostile agents into our territory.”

  “Your territory?”

  Robbins ran fingers over his balding head. “We’re actually in a base underneath the Academy right now. It’s one of our largest recruiting stations, and the forward operations base for the midwestern United States. While we aren’t quite sure how much the Company knows about our operations here, they wouldn’t be dumb enough to send one in of their comprimised operatives. If they’re smart, they will have cast him off by now. The last thing they need is an all out war with us—especially given Martial Academy’s delicate situation. At best, the Military is clued in, and will start collecting and experimenting with neurodivergents. At worst, the world becomes aware of our presence, and it becomes a free-for-all. I don’t need to tell you how much of a mess that would be.”

  I shook my h
ead. Doug Houston was still free, but maybe not for long if the police were looking for him. The moment he showed his face again, the Agency would try to bring him in. He wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone without risking his freedom—which was enough to make me take a deep breath.

  “What now?” I asked.

  He motioned to the exam table in the middle of the room. “With your permission, I am going to examine your memories. This serves a few purposes. First, it will allow me to determine whether or not you are working for anyone else. Second, it will allow me to determine if you are the kind of person we want in the Agency. Third, and rather unique to your case, it will allow me to review any intel you gathered from the alien and Houston without a lengthy debrief.”

  “You’re going to root around in my head.”

  He nodded, suddenly serious. “I’m not going to lie, it might be uncomfortable. Unlocked, you are a higher Projection Strength than I am, which means your shields will be extensive and difficult to dismantle. If at any time you wish to stop, let me know and we can try again later.”

  I met his gaze. “And if I refuse?”

  He stiffened. “Then I will have to erase your memories before we release you. You will be removed from the selection process, and we will insert a tracker into your arm. From there, you will be free to live your life so long as you do not misuse your natural gifts.”

  I shivered. “And the same thing happens if you see something you don’t like. I don’t really have a choice here.”

  His frown deepened, but he only nodded and motioned to the exam table.

  I sat down gingerly on the edge with my blue lines ready, even as the pit in the center of my stomach told me that they wouldn’t do any good. If I let him in, he would do as he wanted and I would have no defense.

  “I can understand your nervousness, child, but you have nothing to fear from me. This will only take a moment—if you would lay down?”

  I did so. My skin rippled with goosebumps as the chill of the exam table settled into my bones. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.