by Lisa Eskra
Unfortunately, these abilities didn't come without a steep price. A neurotransmitter called gammamine regulated their psionic potential and enabled them to function in ways normals never could. But the human brain was never designed to produce enough gammamine for extended use of their talents. Obtaining it in sufficient quantities required killing normals on a regular basis, often in brutal fashion, earning them the unsavory moniker of mind-raper.
She gazed across the field of tall black grain behind their lush residence and shuddered, remembering how much it first pained her to kill innocents in order to utilize her extraordinary abilities. Back in those days, suspected psions were executed without trial, forcing her into a life of hardship. Psion hunters tracked her from place to place, emboldened by their sense of righteousness and duty. Only through serendipity did she manage to survive.
Today, psionic genocide still plagued most of Astra. Planets had harsh laws against using psionics: the only crime punishable by the death penalty. While murdering a psion was against the law, juries rarely convicted perpetrators of the crime. Many psions chose to hide their abilities in order to be perceived as normals. But for the rest, the power intoxicated like a drug, and after many years, they couldn't face a life without it. So they fed off the gammamine of others, stoking fear and desperation among humans.
Aliane's exploits became infamous over a century ago. The AF wanted her dead, and her prospects in the UE weren't much better. Years of persecution meant she hated normals as much as they despised her, but on Superbia she tried to put all of it behind her.
"I had a dream last night," she told him. "I was on my way to Chara when I got captured by the Allied Fleet. Soldiers dragged me through the streets of Northampton. The crowd threw rocks at me as I was led to an electric chair on the steps of the Capitol Building. When I felt the President throw the switch, I woke up screaming…"
He rubbed her back. "It was just a dream."
She closed her eyes and tried to vanquish her emotions. "I've always had an irrational fear of dying. You know that. Not existing terrifies me. The emptiness, the uncertainty of not knowing if anything lies ahead. Most are easily coddled by the notion of heaven. All it does is deceive people."
"There's no such thing as heaven," Zingeri said like he had all the answers of the universe at his fingertips. "I'm certain reincarnation will be proven someday."
"You and your theories…well, evolution was once a theory. Still, it's hard to believe scientists are looking to prove reincarnation as a universal truth." She shook her head. "I've officially become a dinosaur."
He put his hand on her chin and lifted her head up. "You're my dinosaur. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Never forget that." Zingeri tucked her long, unkempt hair behind her ears and stroked his hand against her cheek.
"Good evening, Mistress."
She hadn't seen the sliding door open until the gentleman spoke. "Ah, Tiyuri," Aliane cooed as a grin spread across her face. "Thank you for coming."
She'd never laid eyes on a prime specimen of manhood until she met Tiyuri. His dark brown skin glistened in the warm sunlight and muscles bulged everywhere. He was bald by choice, as though one unsightly hair anywhere on his body might detract from his visual presence. A simple black tunic accentuated his definition.
Among psions, Tiyuri was one-of-a-kind. His mind and body had been honed by years of hand-to-hand combat on the streets of Vilacabamba, Meru where he grew up. As a former assassin for the Pan-Asian Union, he'd been trained to seek and destroy. There was no reason to kill normal humans with his array of psionic skills; feeding on them was much more worthwhile. But when it came to seeking out other psions, particularly the more powerful ones, his skills were necessary and invaluable.
He hadn't come alone. Behind him, a young woman struggled to free her bound wrists and feet. He hauled her over to Aliane before returning to his place at the door.
Aliane gestured to a chair across from her, and the woman sat down with a labored sigh. "You know why you're here, Kimber. Why don't you just tell me what I want to know and I'll make this easy on you."
She rolled her gray eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I don't have time for these games." Aliane settled into her chair and closed her eyes, channeling her mind into a concussive thought. <
Such attacks had little to no effect on normal humans because their brains were too primitive. They didn't have the psionic pathways to affect the same way. For a lower-tier psion, on the other hand, an attack resulted in an instant migraine and complete suppression of their powers.
Aliane tapped her foot. "I can keep this up all day, you know. In a few hours you'll be begging to die."
Kimber breathed heavily as the pain subsided. "Okay," she said, spitting on the ground as her final form of defiance. "I saw her on Rêve. I thought she was just a pretty gold-digging socialite until I met her last month. My head tingled the whole time I was there. It has to be her. Her name is Kara Steinberg. There. Can I go now?"
"Did you honestly think I was going to let you walk out of here alive? Are you that dense? How much did Albert Petersen pay you to kill me?"
The woman's face glazed over, and she pouted toward the floor. In spite of her quietness, Aliane extorted the information she wanted to know as the thoughts rattled through Kimber's brain. Love had been her undoing.
"I know something else. If you promise to let me go, I'll tell you. You'll never see me again."
She tossed her hand into the air. "Very well."
"I moved to Fantasti last year and got a job at the docks, transporting fresh fish to retailers. One night, I was running real late. By the time I got back to the docks, everyone had left. At least, I thought everyone had. A large shipment of wood had come in for a new warehouse, and Matt Zoleki was unloading it. But he wasn't, you know, unloading it. I watched six pallets of the stuff float off the boat and stack up next to the pier. That's hundreds and hundreds of pounds moved three hundred yards at least."
Zingeri furrowed his brow. "Matt Zoleki, a telekine? I don't believe that for a second."
Fantasti Fisheries was a successful family-owned business for the past sixty years on Fantasti, Vega. Matt Zoleki was a well-liked and respected citizen, donating both food and money to humanitarian causes. Zingeri and Aliane had known his parents, both telepaths, quite well. Was it possible all that was an elaborate cover?
<
"I know a psion when I see one."
Aliane glanced back toward Zingeri. "Telekinesis is a visual manifestation, correct?" He licked his lips and nodded back at her.
Most psionic abilities produced telling effects to indicate psionic power was at work. A few were mental or aural, producing a slight ringing in one's ears or causing a mild headache in those around them. For many the powers gave a visual indication. Among psions, few possessed high-level telekinetic powers: the ability to move or lift heavy objects over great distances and manipulate matter, a fact which lent less credence to her claim.
Aliane narrowed her eyes at the short-haired brunette. "Did you see his eyes glowing?"
Kimber forced herself to swallow. "I don't know. I couldn't tell…he was too far away. It was dark—I"
"It was dark and you couldn't tell if his damn eyes were glowing?" Enraged, Aliane stood up and grabbed her by the throat. "I don't have the time or patience for your nonsense."
Suddenly, the breeze gusted around them in frenzy. Aliane's raven hair swirled around her head like a witch's crown, and her eyes pulsated in furious madness. Her victim gasped and tried to cry out, but no one dared intervene. Aliane placed her left hand on top of her head to steal her mana, the
pure essence of life she could not survive without. As she absorbed every molecule of gammamine, Kimber shrieked from the pain, her eyes wide with horror. A dim blue haze surrounded Aliane's arm while it energized her body with an orgasmic surge of power.
After only a few moments, she released Kimber, who dropped limply to the ground. The air around them fell silent. Aliane reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which she used to wipe the grimy residue off her hand. "Well, that was unfulfilling."
Zingeri stared at the lifeless body. "Frankly, I don't believe a word she said. I doubt anyone could keep a secret like that for long."
She scratched her forehead. The Zoleki's moved off Superbia long before Matt was conceived. During their time here, his older brother Magnius displayed little psionic ability and she'd always figured Matt had been the same way. "I didn't get the impression she was lying. It's a lead worth checking out in any event."
"I mean, he'd have so many bodies piled up he might as well have a target painted on his back. And I'm fairly sure he's married."
Aliane walked over to Zingeri and put her hands on his shoulders. "I agree, it's a long shot. But we're going to need powerful psions on our side if we want to get off this rock." She turned her head and cast a quick glance toward Tiyuri. "Dispose of that, would you?"
"Of course." He tossed Kimber's corpse over his shoulder and carried it toward the field beyond their house.
Zingeri watched him for a few moments before Aliane put her hand on his face and moved it until their eyes locked. "One of these days, Z…everything we desire will be ours." She pressed her lips against his and kissed him. His boyish face weathered the decades better than most, and he looked the same as the day she'd met him. She almost loved him.
When Tiyuri returned ten minutes later, Aliane led him inside to one of the computers downstairs. She brought up a map of Bordelaise, Fantasti. "I want you to pay Matt a visit. See if there's any truth to that woman's story. I want him to join us."
"And if he refuses?" Tiyuri inquired.
Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "You know what to do."
***
"Did you hear the one about the Psiman and the Asian whore?"
Commander Mundammi gazed across the dirty cityscape, paying little attention to the off-color jokes of his crewmates. Between the patchwork clouds and the smog of Kivara, there appeared to be no sun in the sky at all. Multicolored neon from a sign above them cast an unnatural haze across the ruined piles of stone nearby. They loitered in a part of the city few talked about, where subculture and the black market ran free. Pisa was the final frontier as far as most people were concerned and definitely not a place for the timid.
The location of the rendezvous point hadn't been Rashad's decision. They'd been waiting several hours for their contact and nothing. At least the streets had been calm tonight. He lifted a hashish cigarette to his lips and took a long drag off it. One of his companions, a young lieutenant named Sibo Chen, turned to him and asked, "Do you think he's coming?"
Rashad ran a hand through his black curls. "I don't know. That fighting south of here was intense for a while. Thirty more minutes and I'll send you back to the ship to see what our orders are."
"Is it the gangs or the PAU and UE waging war out there?"
"The echo of the WX80 tells me it's the war." Railguns produced a distinct sonic boom because their ammunition traveled ten times faster than the speed of sound. "I'd say they're almost hundred miles away. In Serpent's Vale probably. I got my start in the fleet as a ground soldier. A have some friends based in the area."
"What was it like—being a soldier?"
"Not much different than sitting at the weapons controls of a ship, to be honest. We're trained in physical combat, but the days of waging that kind of war are long gone. Everything is controlled remotely from bunkers. It's all about strategic deterrence and attrition with the latest and greatest robotic war-machines. Very rarely is anyone killed, and when they are it's more about being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
If actual people had been involved in combat, he doubted United Europe would have staked a claim to this wretched planet in the first place.
The two of them glanced at their shipmates, who sat on the ground telling dirty stories to pass the time. Kevin Washington, the Kearsarge's weapons officer, stood before them and thrust his hips around in a lewd display. His dark skin absorbed the dim light, making his eyes and teeth look fluorescent. Carmen started laughing so hard she doubled over. The feisty Latina slapped her hands against her thighs in giddy delight. Dr. Lucas Jones grinned widely, reminding him again why the man's handsome façade made all the ladies weak-kneed.
The young man picked up three rocks and juggled to entertain himself. Rashad never had good hand-eye coordination, a trait that dashed his childhood dreams. "Believe it or not, I wanted to be a pilot when I joined up," he said to Sibo. "The program wasn't as cutthroat then as it is now, but I never had the knack for it. I don't know how you do it."
"Well, I had an advantage over most people. Both my parents are racing pilots. They joke that my first word was 'go.' Some of my first memories are of sitting on my dad's lap while he explained the controls to me. They didn't let me fly on my own until I was sixteen. They wanted me to join a racing team, but I thought I should do more with my life. So here I am."
Sibo won several awards and commendations for his skills as a teenager. Joining the Allied Fleet was a natural progression of everything he'd trained for. His hard work and enthusiasm earned him a spot at the Academy, but he floundered there. He'd never been book smart and it showed in his marks. After almost failing out of several senior classes, he made it back to the fleet as an ensign but not without shame. Unfavorable reviews when he was up for promotion nearly got him thrown out, and he was assigned to the Kearsarge in disgrace the same as the rest of them.
The sound of footsteps reverberated through the walls surrounding them. His officers quieted and stood on guard. Rashad rested his hand on his sidearm, a 380 Prime disruptor. He thought their prolonged presence would've attracted the attention of the street gangs sooner. Here, the man with the biggest gang and the most guns ruled. All the hard-working legitimate colonists fled decades ago, and ongoing strife between the PAU and UE tore apart what was left.
Through the shadows, a woman ran across the street in a long coat. Her eyes searched the gloom with anxious haste as she dashed toward them. When she noticed the group watching her, she stopped in her tracks. Obscured by the darkness, she clutched the white coat around her, seeming to weigh her options.
Rashad put up his hands to ease her. "We're not with the gangs or one of the armies. Are you all right? Do you need help?"
She let out an uneasy breath and glanced up at the neon sign. The warm glow intensified her airy blond hair. "I don't know."
He approached her with a slow, open gait. Thanks to gang rule, rape and murder were as common as petty theft. When he drew closer, he noticed no obvious signs of assault. "What are you running from?"
"I woke in a building outside the city to explosions so I escaped to Kivara. Two men attacked me. I've been running ever since."
She looked calm in the wake of recent events. "What's your name?"
A blank stare met his question. "I don't know."
In a place where people would sooner die than tell the truth, lying came as naturally as breathing. The mandatory identification implant act of 2197 had been the first law handed down by the newly formed Allied Council. Since then, the wrist implant had evolved to include a host of other functions, but foremost it remained a non-forgeable form of ID.
Rashad cast a glance back toward Dr. Jones and signaled for him to come forward. He could scan the iridescent implant embedded above her left wrist. She had no reason to be dishonest to them, and yet a nagging worry ate at the back of his mind.
"Exactly how common is amnesia, Doc?"
"Not nearly as common as people like to think. I've never once seen a legit
imate case of it. With a quick scan I should be able to see if anything is wrong."
The two stared back at her, half expecting her to bolt back into the shadows she descended from. Instead, she took a few steps toward an overturned barrel and sat on the edge of it. She held out her wrist. "Do it."
Dr. Jones popped the biometric scanner off his belt and tapped through the menus. In addition to reading her ID chip, the device would be able to detect any recent injuries that might have caused true amnesia. He walked toward her and spoke in a pleasant tone. "I'm Doctor Jones. Aside from your memory, has anything else been bothering you?"
"My feet hurt for a while," she said quietly. "But not anymore."
The doctor checked them over, but aside from minor scratches and dirt, nothing appeared to be wrong with them. When he finished, he pressed the scanner against her wrist. After a few seconds, it twittered. "Your name is Amii Martin. Age: thirty-three. Citizenship: United Europe."
He held the biometric scanner up in front of her. "I'm going to put this on your chest to scan your vitals and see if I can figure out what's wrong."
She stared at it for a few moments, more interested in the device than her present condition. "Okay."
He tapped a few buttons on the screen before kneeling down next to her. "You're going to have to open up your coat a little bit so I can put this against your skin."
Without much of a thought, she obliged, not flinching at all when the cold device touched her skin. After a few deep breaths, she looked down at it. "How long does it take?"
"About a minute," he said with his attention returning to her face. "Is it just personal memories that are gone or is it everything?"
"Personal. I feel like my life started yesterday. I know this is Kivara. I know—"
