by Lisa Eskra
"What can you tell me about him?"
He chuckled. "Most people would say if you looked up the meaning of the word failure, his picture would be right there. But I don't think that's quite fair. Misunderstood genius is more apt. He became an overnight sensation when he was still in college. Household robots were his brainchild and are still based off of the design of his doctoral project. But he got too ambitious in thinking he could craft a fully-functional android in ten years. It never happened. Not only that, but he never had anything to show for it. And once his wife died in that lab accident, he just went off the deep end. I mean, stealing high-grade electrum from the PAU and thinking he could get away with it? He really has lost his mind."
"Would you trust him? If you were me?"
The doctor shrugged. The response did nothing to sway her either way.
The two of them heard someone walk through the doorway. "Lieutenant-Commander Carmen Martinez, reporting as ordered." With that, her features softened. "Thank Astra, I'm off-duty." She tugged at her collar and unzipped her khaki jacket.
"I didn't realize…does that mean Amii isn't your responsibility right now?"
Carmen's lips curled back and parted to reveal a beautiful smile. "As the only female crewman aboard this ship, damn right she is. I don't see King, how's he doing?"
"Second-degree plasma burns on his hand but nothing electrical. It could've been a whole lot worse."
"If Admiral fucking McKirin would've listened and upgraded our engines months ago, it would've never happened. Second-rate cruiser, my ass." She gestured for Amii to follow her out the door.
With one final look at the doctor, she headed through the doorway and paused to allow the officer to lead the way. "Is Xander some kind of criminal?"
"He's a thief. No one can argue that. But the only thing he's really guilty of is lack of common sense. He got in bed with the wrong people when he made that deal with the PAU. I hope it was worth it. But enough about that. We'll get you changed and head to the wardroom."
En route to the XO's quarters, they passed by a handful of young crewmen milling around while they waited for a lift. Each one of them gave Amii a once-over with hungry eyes. They appeared far more interested in her than strangers should be.
Once they were out of sight, Amii asked, "Do you think they know me?"
Carmen laughed out loud. "I'm pretty sure they want to know you. The guys get a little attention-starved when we've been in space a few months, and before you know it, they're chasing anything in a skirt."
Amii followed her through a door into a small room. She felt fortunate not to be claustrophobic. A twin bed nestled against the far wall. A vase of glass lotus flowers sat on a desk nearby, the only embellishment in the entire room. Their crystalline petals caught the light and gleamed with pink fluorescence.
"Why don't you get showered up while I find you some clothes. Soap and everything's in there." She pointed to the bathroom before pulling a bag from under her bed and rummaging through it.
When she stepped inside the bathroom, Amii noticed another door on the far side. Carmen must've shared it with the captain. She suppressed her curiosity to see if his room was as Spartan as the XO's. Without another thought on the matter, she stripped off her gown and stepped into the shower.
She flinched out of surprise when the cold water soaked her, but she wasted no time washing herself. The wrist implant entranced her and she stood there for several minutes staring at it. The current time gleamed across its round display in a holographic teal shade, but it was more than just a timekeeper. Over the last ten years, a concurrent implant the size of a grain of rice had become widespread; from its position in fleshy ear cartilage, the two functioned as a communication device. That functionality's scope was limited to the planetary scale—powerful enough to reach orbit but not beyond.
Implants could also be used for tracking individuals, which was a source of ongoing contention in the AC. Liberal progressives denounced the use of identification implants in this way, claiming it infringed upon people's right to privacy. Conservative federalists took the opposite approach, contending only fugitives should fear such a use. Of course, what the federalists failed to consider was that many fugitives replaced their implants with those of the recently deceased to stay under the radar. In effect, the ones punished by the scheme were law-abiding citizens, but politics and common sense rarely collided.
After she washed her hair, the water still hadn't warmed to a comfortable temperature, but she paid it little mind as she got out and toweled herself off. She spotted clothes next to the sink that hadn't been there prior to stepping into the shower. The light scent of freesia hung in the humid air, which clouded the mirror in a sheen of unbroken condensate. She replaced the towel where she found it even though her wet hair dripped all over her shoulders and the floor.
She unfolded the clothing to reveal a black catsuit, and she appreciated its bold simplicity. Beside it was a pair of pink flats, which resembled ballet shoes with an inch of industrial-strength rubber for the soles. Although they stood out, they fit, and that was all that mattered to her right now.
Before she did anything else, she dressed and stood staring at herself in the mirror while the dry oxygenated atmosphere cleared it. Who is that girl staring back at me? She wants to tell me—I must believe that. Why is she a woman I don't know? I want to remember…don't I?
As she began to comb her hair, something stirred the dormant emotions buried deep inside her. Within moments, the pain of her loss overpowered her fragile composure. She sank to the floor and dropped her head into her hands. What if her memory was gone forever? Some might consider it a blessing, but the loss left an unsettling void in her head. Even the facts she recalled seemed dry and lacked memory context to make them relevant to her. The tumultuous feelings pinned her down with their magnitude.
One man could help her. She caught sight of her implant and was tempted to contact him. Based on the information she'd gleaned, she didn't know if she could trust him. She couldn't talk herself into calling him now, but they would speak very soon.
Given the prospect all hope had not been lost, she climbed back onto her feet and forced herself to smile at her reflection. The expression felt like a mask drawn on her face by a skillful hand. Her sadness might be concealed, but it could not be forgotten. She could fool everyone but herself.
When she strutted out of the bathroom, everything was fine. Carmen smiled and they headed off to the wardroom for food. She might have a melancholy soul, but above all, she had the spirit to endure. She'd trudge through this mess, and at the end of the journey, she'd be a better person for it.
Chapter Five
Nadine repeatedly crossed and uncrossed her legs while she waited in her quarters for the Kearsarge's executive officer. Commander Mundammi had refused her request to see him five minutes earlier over the intercom. Dealing with someone so intolerant frayed her nerves. She hadn't dealt with blatant discrimination in a long time, and she'd almost forgotten how stressful it could be. Almost…
Normals had good reason not to trust psions. Telepathy corrupted even the most kindhearted, turning them into murderers in search of their next fix. The danger of such power rivaled that of modern weapons of destruction.
The most notorious psion in Astra was Aliane, and stories of her telepathic abuse gave more than children nightmares. No one knew how many people she could dominate at any one time. She could drive a person insane with a thought. She could see through a person's eyes without having to be on the same planet. And there was no way to stop her from doing any of it.
But most psions were not like that at all. Many sought the opportunity to live a normal life. They didn't want to be special or judged and couldn't help being born the way they were. None deserved to be punished for being different when they were productive members of society.
Nadine didn't fall into either category. Having grown up in a laboratory under the supervision of curious scientists, she'd never had t
he choice to be normal, instead forced like a rat in a cage to perform for the scientist's amusement. As her abilities strengthened, so did the drugs used to sedate her. Large chunks of her adolescent years had vanished along with her pride.
Despite the fact she used her powers for the betterment of United Europe, she was no poster-child for the psionic movement. Many disapproved of her "euthanasia killings," and her husband would never be elected President of Chara because he had a psion for a wife. People shrugged off her status as a diplomat due to her position as the second lady. In the end she decided to let history be her judge.
When the panel beside the door buzzed, she jumped. When she opened it, the XO stood there with her arms crossed. "I don't have a lot of time," Carmen told her. "What do you want?"
Nadine forced herself to swallow before responding. "I need access to a secure communications terminal to apprise Vice President Taylor of the status of negotiations with the PAU."
"I'll see what I can do. Is that all?"
"Is it really necessary to keep me confined to quarters? Is it too much to ask to be able to eat with everyone else?"
Carmen narrowed her eyes. "The captain thinks it's an unnecessary risk. As do I."
"Are you sure you're not overreacting? My purpose here is diplomatic."
"One psion could commandeer this entire ship. If you don't like the rules, next time you should stay home and cry about it to your simpleton of a husband. Because sweetie, no one here gives a damn about your feelings. Every one of us knows someone who was killed by a mind-raper. That's never going to change. Get used to it."
She left Nadine standing there with a heavy heart. She glanced at the security guard standing outside her door before casting her eyes down to the floor. "Could you escort me to the hold so I can get a few of my bags?"
"Follow me."
During the short walk there, she rubbed her nose to keep herself from breaking down. Since coming aboard, her mind felt raw and distressed. The commander's words stung, but the emotion behind them tore Nadine up inside. She felt more like a prisoner instead of an honored diplomat. They'd persecuted her for every horrible deed committed by a psion since the Great Holocaust, and not a single person on board sympathized.
The guard opened the door to the aft hold and stepped inside behind her, waiting there for her to return. She'd forgotten where she put her bags, and finding them was much more difficult through the prisms of the tears clouding her vision. After several moments, she spotted them in the corner, resting against the bulkhead behind some large crates of freeze-dried food.
Was it so much easier to hate than offer someone a shred of understanding? Did any of them realize how hard it is to be a psion? To be discriminated by the very laws designed to protect the innocent? To be hauled off by a gang of thugs at night and set on fire like was done to her mother?
She sank to her knees and tears spilled from her eyes. No psion was completely innocent, but being treated like a demon trapped in heaven was more than her fragile ego could deal with. She should've been stronger than this. During President Scheidecker's campaign, she'd dealt with worse. Mudslinging followed her every step. At one point, she received death threats, but she pulled through. For those hateful hearts, she had little sympathy, yet she'd never stoop to their level.
In an act that required great fortitude and determination, she grabbed as many suitcases as she could hold. She slung one of them over each shoulder, causing her to hunch over from the weight. With two in her left hand and one oversized case in her right, she stumbled toward the door exiting the hold. The guard had left it open for her.
Nadine shuffled through it and stepped over the doorway for the airtight door. One of her shoulder bags got caught on the doorjamb, and as a result, she tripped. She barely had time to catch herself before slamming into the hard floor. While she hadn't hurt herself, her bags were strewn across the corridor. The clumsiness embarrassed her, but she brushed herself off and collected her bearings.
"Could you help me carry these back to my quarters?" she asked. "I have no issues being alone as long as I can have my books."
The guard rolled his pale eyes in overt irritation. "Do I look like a valet to you, lady? If you want these bags, you're gonna carry them yourself."
If she'd been normal, she wagered he'd be falling all over himself to help her in the hopes he'd get lucky. Instead of responding, she knelt down and gathered them up.
"Babysitting you is the last thing I wanted to do this patrol. I sure as hell don't plan to be your bitch too."
His mouth twisted into a snarl when she glanced up at him, and it drained the last of her poise and self-confidence. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until the ship landed on New England. The stress of the past week culminated in grief that fought to free itself from her soul.
I will not cry in front of him, she thought. I won't give him the pleasure.
"On your feet, whore. I don't care who you are. Get your ass moving already."
A female voice exploded behind her. "What gives you the right to talk to a lady like that?"
Nadine turned around so fast she almost lost her balance. She hadn't been surprised by anyone since she was a young girl, before her powers began to surface. When she wasn't actively reading minds, she always sensed the mental energy of those around her. The fact that she'd been startled jarred her nerves. She could not place the voice and yet somehow, it felt familiar.
The guard pointed to the rank insignia on his left sleeve. "This gives me the right. I don't have to cater to her kind."
The woman stepped around her and got in the guard's face. "Her kind? What about my kind? Do you treat everyone like a doormat? Keep your bloody mouth shut. Trust me—you'll live longer." Her dangerous glare left no doubt she'd defend herself if she needed to.
"You'll be in deep shit when the captain hears about this. And believe me, he will."
She tilted her head down and scowled through her brows. "You do that. Asshole."
His nostrils flared like he wanted to hit her. Nadine tilted her head and quelled his anger. <
"Let's go," he urged them. "Clear the corridor and get moving."
The woman helped Nadine to her feet. "Is everything okay?"
As she stared up at the imposing lady, she recalled a recurring vision she'd had ever since she was a child. A blond woman always starred in it, one who made her life easier and better. She'd fought back the monsters of her youth and protected her from fear-mongering psion-haters. It was the closest thing she'd ever had to an imaginary friend. Nadine always wondered if she was an angel because impossible situations were suddenly manageable.
"I'm looking for room twenty-seven," she said. "The XO assigned me to quarters there and I can't seem to find it."
Nadine thrust a few bags into the woman's arms and nodded down the hallway. Between the two of them, they hobbled back to room twenty-seven without any assistance from the security guard. When they arrived outside it, the woman finally realized they would be rooming together, and they shared a warm smile.
They dropped the bags in the center of the room, and once the guard shut the door, Nadine hugged the woman. Relief eclipsed her sadness and replaced it with joy. The figment of her visions turned out to be a flesh-and-blood person, and she could not contain the bliss that revelation brought to her.
Today, fate reaffirmed its presence as the guiding force in her life. Her telepathic prowess made her a Tier-7 psion, but she also possessed the ability of a Seer. For the past year her visions had abandoned her, being either too cryptic or too vague to decipher. This woman restored her faith in her abilities, and she didn't even know her name.
The lady pulled back and offered her a smile. "Do you know me?"
Nadine shook her head. "I don't believe we've ever met, no."
"My name is Amii. I'm sorry that guard was such a jerk to you."
She found the
lack of negativity in Amii refreshing. "Nobody's made it easy for me. You'd think I'd come to expect that by now. But it never gets any easier."
"Why would you expect people to be rude? Who are you?"
The comment left her a bit perplexed since most people recognized her on sight. "Nadine Taylor? Wife of Bryan Taylor, the Vice President of Chara?" When Amii shook her head, she bluntly stated, "The psion?"
"I had an accident and lost my memory. I came aboard with Xander Adams on Pisa." Amii took a seat at the table while the second lady began to unpack some of her dresses.
Nadine watched Amii curiously. She had a difficult time sensing the woman's mind. To reassure her it wasn't a dream, she reached out and touched Amii's shoulder, which registered as solid. It may have had something to do with her memory loss; perhaps her mind was too scrambled right now to decipher.
"Tell me your favorite color," she said at random as she folded a sweater.
Amii glanced around the room, appearing a bit uncertain of the answer herself. "Green? I like green."
"I'm thinking red, actually. It's absolutely the right color for you. You can tell a lot about a person by what their favorite color is. People who like blue are more sincere and easy-going. People who like yellow are funny yet cautious."
"What about people who like red?"
"People who like red tend to be intelligent and lose their memory at the worst possible times," she mused. "But they're also friendly and reserved. You seem that way to me. Tell me Amii: do you believe in fate?"
"In the sense that the future is predestined? No. I refuse to believe that the choices I make today were not really choices at all. It feels better than resigning to the fact nothing matters because time is already programmed to unfold a given way."
Nadine sat down beside her. "That's the way I thought for a long time. My Seer skills took a lot longer to reach their potential than my telepathic ones. Everything I've glimpsed has come to pass. I've grown to realize that time is fluid and decisions do matter, but in the end most don't. Were the choices that did matter ever destined to unfold differently? I can't say. But I do know they don't."
