Empaths (Pyreans Book 1)

by S. H. Jucha

  Despite Jessie’s reluctance, he handed the device over after opening its security lock with his thumb, the unit sniffing his DNA.

  Harbour entered a comm code and tagged it as “HB.” Handing the unit back to Jessie, she said, “That’s a private, untraceable line to me. It routes through a security backdoor without logging the calls.”

  “A favored client, perhaps,” Jessie replied.

  “That’s none of your business,” Harbour replied hotly.

  “Fine,” Jessie replied, equally unhappy with their final exchange. He edged past Harbour, activated the storeroom’s rear door, which exited into a maintenance corridor, and paused. “One last question, Harbour,” Jessie said. “Can you put a man to sleep at a distance of four to five meters without him knowing it was being done?”

  “That’s quite a specific question, Captain.”

  “Can you?” Jessie persisted.

  “Yes, I can,” Harbour admitted, thinking the conversation with Jessie had gone horribly wrong. Now, it looked as if she would have to scare away a man who she hoped might have been interested in her. “And, as far as I know, I’m the only empath strong enough to do that.”

  “Not any more, Harbour,” Jessie replied. “That sixteen-year-old, untrained empath, who I’m protecting, did that to gain entrance to my ship.”

  Harbour could sense the conviction behind the captain’s words, and she was stunned by the revelation, but before she could reply, the maintenance access door slid closed, and Jessie Cinders was gone.

  Leaning an elbow on a shelf, a hand against her forehead, Harbour considered the ramifications of the captain’s story. She was sickened by her refusal to help, but the girl’s presence on the Belle would endanger the entire community.

  Besides, Harbour told herself, the commandant’s announcement was now stationwide. However Aurelia had managed to board the Spryte undetected, she wouldn’t make it down a terminal arm and traverse the main concourse to another arm without being reported, if not immediately apprehended. Twenty-five thousand in coin was an enormously tempting reward.

  Harbour had no doubt that if Aurelia was caught by one of the families’ agents she would disappear downside in the next minute, and the governor would immediately cover up any evidence of his crimes, which meant all three women were vulnerable. Whatever you do, Aurelia, stay with Cinders, Harbour thought. She smacked a palm on the shelving in annoyance, exited the storeroom, and left the shop via its front doors.

  * * *

  Harbour considered walking in station, to find a local food vendor who might offer fair-priced, if simpler, food, but her comm unit chimed, reminding her of an appointment. She muttered an oath and hurried to meet with Lieutenant Devon Higgins to review the most recently incarcerated individuals. Using her skills in an interview enabled Harbour to determine the difference between the dangerous and the unfortunate.

  Incarceration of criminals was expensive for station security, and work details required oversight, which stretched security personnel thin. Despite the fact that the domes had the space, the governor and the families were dead set against taking convicted felons downside. As the governor repeated incessantly at council meetings, “Most criminals are stationers and spacers. Why should we host them when we aren’t contributing to the problem?”

  No one believed the domes had no crime, but evidence that crimes occurred never came to light. Somehow, the families policed their people and dealt with the troublemakers.

  One of Harbour’s predecessors had worked out a deal with the commandant, who held that position, at the time. The deal enabled Harbour to interview inmates, and if she felt she could help any of the recently convicted, she offered them an opportunity to work off their sentences aboard the Belle. They would have no supervision but would be expected to complete their work assignments well and on time.

  Most individuals, who were offered the opportunity, readily accepted. The Belle received free labor, usually from accomplished and experienced individuals, and the colony ship’s general fund received monthly coin for each individual transferred to her care. The amount was half of what it would cost security to maintain its incarceration, so the arrangement was a win-win for both the JOS and the Belle.

  “Only three to review today, Harbour,” Devon said, after greeting her. She’d interrupted him eating an early lunch, and half a sandwich lay on the tray. “Haven’t eaten lunch, have you?” Devon asked, watching Harbour eye his food.

  Harbour was about to deny the lieutenant’s impending offer, but the growl of her stomach betrayed her.

  Devon laughed good-naturedly, pushed the tray across his desk toward Harbour, and sent three files to her comm unit to review. In the meantime, he poured her a caf drink from his brew station.

  Harbour pulled the tray to her, smiled, and sent a wave of appreciation to Devon. He was one of the members of the JOS security force she admired. A good-looking man of about thirty-five, he cared for his people and the rule of law, and he was married, of course.

  Taking a healthy bite of the sandwich and washing it down with caf, Harbour opened the first file. Within minutes, she knew that the poor individual was long past rescue. He would be incarcerated for life for his crimes. She took another bite of sandwich and continued to the second individual. It was a middle-aged woman, who had claimed that she was innocent throughout the Review Board’s hearing. The third man was an ex-spacer, who was charged with robbery, but that charge was dismissed. Instead, he was convicted of attacking a security officer.

  Harbour was about to take another bite of the sandwich when she paused. She was curious to know which security officer the spacer had attacked. The answer disgusted her, and she placed the sandwich back on the tray and regarded the lieutenant. Tapping her comm unit with a finger, she said accusingly, “The spacer … the corporal again.”

  “I know,” Devon replied, holding up his hands in self-defense. “He walks a fine line, but, in his defense, the spacer shoved him first.”

  “Yet, the corporal put a retired spacer in medical for being pushed. He couldn’t have stunned him? And what’s with the original charges being dismissed?”

  “The man started to rob a store owner of some coin vouchers, but instead threw them in his face and walked away. The owner called security anyway.”

  “And that was all that Corporal McKenzie needed as an excuse to force the man into an emotional corner where he would fight back.”

  Devon didn’t bother answering Harbour. He knew she was right. If he had his choice, McKenzie would have been off the force after his second crossing of the line, as Devon considered it. But, the commandant saw it differently. He considered the corporal a “focused and diligent member of the security force.”

  “I’ll interview these last two, Devon,” Harbour said. “I’ll finish your lunch, while you bring the woman to the interview room.” She quickly devoured the remainder of the sandwich and chased it with the last of the caf before she hurried to catch up with Devon.

  Five questions into the interview, Harbour looked up at Devon and shook her head. Devon called a female attendant to take the woman way, whose eyes smoldered at Harbour.

  “I don’t think Priscilla likes you,” Devon said.

  “That story of innocence is pure fabrication,” Harbour replied. “She’s pleased with what she did to her partner.”

  “Number three?” Devon asked, and Harbour nodded.

  Minutes later, a male attendant brought the spacer into the interview room. He stood uncertain as to what he should do. An old frayed cap was held in his hands.

  “Please, Mr. Bassiter, have a seat,” Harbour offered.

  “Ma’am, if you would, nobody calls me by my given name. I’m Dingles.” He exhibited a spacer’s walk, as he crossed the room and took a seat. Each foot was firmly placed on the deck, before the next one was lifted. It was a slightly halting gait.

  “Well, Dingles, what do you think of me?”

  “You’re pretty.”

  “Th
ank you, Dingles, but do you know who I am?”

  “Sure, everyone knows who you are, Harbour.”

  “Your file says you were put on station. Why was that?”

  “The walls closed in,” Dingles said simply, and Harbour could sense the spacer’s deep regret and frustration.

  “You wanted to continue to work as a spacer, Dingles, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am! I’d still be navigating for Captain Cinders, if I didn’t have this sickness.”

  “Are the walls closing in on you in your cell, Dingles?” asked Harbour, surprised that she missed the fact that Dingles worked aboard the Spryte.

  “Yes, ma’am, it feels like I’m being crushed.”

  “I have an alternative for you, Dingles. How would you like to work off your sentence aboard the Belle?” Harbour expected Dingles to jump up and down with joy at the opportunity he was being offered, but the spacer sat there staring at the cap he kept twisting in his hand.

  “Give me your hands, Dingles,” Harbour requested.

  Dingles laid his cap on the table and reached out to gently grip Harbour’s hands. Instead, he felt strong fingers take hold of his hands.

  “What are you worried about, Dingles?” Harbour asked.

  “I don’t see a difference between being locked up on the JOS and locked up on the Belle.”

  “You and only you would have access to your cabin, Dingles.” Harbour felt a momentary lift in the spacer’s spirits, but it sputtered out.

  “What else bothers you, Dingles?”

  “I’m a navigator, ma’am. I don’t see the old colony ship going anywhere anytime soon, so I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “You’re a spacer, aren’t you, Dingles?”

  “Damn right I am,” Dingles declared, “and a fine one, if I say so myself.”

  Harbour could sense the flare of pride, but it was fleeting too.

  “And what else, Dingles?” Harbour waited, but Dingles remained quiet. She opened her powers fully to detect the emotions rolling off Dingles. Buried deep was bitter resignation. As an empath, she faced the usual question: What was the cause of the emotion? In Dingles’ case, Harbour could guess it was the loss of his navigator’s position.

  “If I’m going to help you Dingles, you need to talk to me,” Harbour persisted.

  When Dingles glanced at the lieutenant, Harbour locked eyes with Devon, nodded toward the door, and Devon slipped out.

  “Talk to me, Dingles,” Harbour urged. The spacer released her hands and picked up his cap. It seemed to be his safety line to sanity.

  “I appreciate the offer and all, ma’am, I really do, but what difference does it make? I work for you for eighteen months, and then I’m right back aboard the JOS. Then again, maybe I don’t make it eighteen months on the Belle. Like I said, what’s the difference? The walls are just going to keep closing in on me until there’s nothing left of me.”

  “Give me your hands one more time, Dingles,” Harbour requested, and the spacer dutifully complied. “I want you to think about the walls closing in on you, Dingles. I want you to imagine them shrinking and shrinking.” Harbour could feel Dingles try to pull his hands back, but she held them tightly. “You know who I am, Dingles. Now, I want you to feel what I can do.”

  Dingles gave in to Harbour’s request. It didn’t seem to matter whether he let the walls get him now or later. He was tired of fighting every waking minute of every day to keep them at bay. Right now, he could happily lie down and let them take him.

  Dingles closed his eyes and visualized his tiny cell. The light-colored walls and ceiling grew dark and began to move, and he didn’t care anymore. Let them come, he thought. Then he did care. He felt some of his old confidence return and fuel his determination not to succumb to the encroaching, strangulating impression of the world trying to crush him. To Dingles’ amazement, the walls stopped moving in, and they visibly lightened.

  A shudder escaped Dingles, and he drew a deep breath. Miraculously, to the spacer, the walls retreated, and Dingles believed he was shoving them away. Relief flooded through him.

  Harbour watched tears run down Dingles’ face, and she sensed a brightening of his spirit. The relief wouldn’t last, but it would buy the spacer a few days of freedom from his torture. Dingles would find his time aboard the Belle would have a dual purpose. The individuals released into Harbour’s care helped her train the new empaths. The two groups shared daily sessions, which Harbour supervised, and the sessions prepared the empath trainees for the time when they would receive clients and earn coin.

  When Harbour eased her push, Dingles grasped one of Harbour’s hands with both of his. “If this lasts only a day, I thank you, ma’am,” he said gratefully.

  “It will last longer than that, Dingles, and, with time, it will last much longer. You might find that after you served your sentence, you’ll want to stay aboard the Belle, in which case, you’d continue to receive the support of the empaths.”

  “In that case, ma’am, I’m ready to go to work for you anytime you say. How soon could this happen?”

  Harbour tipped her head to Devon, who had been watching through the door’s observation window and returned at her invitation. “Lieutenant, Dingles will be leaving with me, if the attendant could bring his things.”

  “We’ve prepared his duffel for you, Harbour. It’s waiting in my office.”

  “Well, Dingles, I guess there’s nothing to keep us here. Shall we go?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dingle replied, jumping and racing to stand by the doorway to allow Harbour to precede him. He stood erect, as if his captain was passing by.

  “Thank you,” Devon whispered to Harbour, when she passed close to him, and Harbour sent a wave of appreciation his way. The lieutenant’s eyes fluttered briefly, while his mind absorbed the pleasant sensations.

  -10-

  Dingles

  In the lieutenant’s office, Dingles said, “If I could, sir, I’d like to change into more comfortable attire.” He indicated his security prisoner overalls with a wave of his hand.

  “Dingles, there’s a head down the corridor,” Devon replied. “Take your duffel and change in there. The attendant will show you the way.”

  Dingles acknowledged the permission with a short wave of his cap, slung his duffel over a shoulder, and followed the security personnel out the door.

  “For your information, Harbour, Dingles hasn’t been eating too well, and he was coming up on lunchtime.”

  “Thank you for that, Devon. I’ll ensure he has a nice meal before we take the shuttle back to the Belle. Danny will be busy gathering packages for a while.”

  A few minutes later, Harbour heard behind her, “Ready when you are, ma’am.” She turned around. Dingles stood in the doorway. He was wearing midnight black skins and a calf-length. pleated skirt decorated in a flower print of pinks, greens, and white.

  “Yes, you are, spacer,” Harbour replied, chuckling. She thanked Devon for his help and led the way out of security administration.

  “I’m hungry. How about you, spacer?” Harbour said, with cheer. “Anywhere you want to go. Your liberation lunch is on me.”

  “Anywhere?” Dingles asked cautiously.

  “Anywhere,” Harbour confirmed.

  A huge smile lit Dingles’ face. “This way, ma’am,” he said, taking a right turn at the next intersection. He paralleled the main concourse for about 50 meters before turning in station.

  Harbour got a look at the back of Dingles’ skins. Marianne and Spryte were woven into the fabric in an intricate pattern of raised black weaving. It was beautiful work.

  “We’re here,” Dingles announced.

  Harbour saw a small, neat sign, announcing the Miners’ Pit, next to a doorway that resembled a ship’s hatch. Beside the door was a palm-sized, red button, and, next to the button, was a sealed, hand-printed card, which said, “Spacers welcome. The rest of you can figure it out. C. Rose.”

  “Is this Captain Rose’s place?”
Harbour asked.

  “Was,” Dingles replied. “Now, it’s Captain Cinders’ place.” He smacked the oversized actuator, and the door moved back from its seal and slid aside. It wasn’t a painted door. It was an actual ship’s hatch that had been set into the wall.

  “Not a spacer,” Harbour noted, pointing to Rose’s note.

  “You’re with me, Harbour, and I belong,” Dingles said proudly.

  Dingles had no sooner stepped through the hatch than Harbour heard a woman cry out, “Dingles!” She saw a human arm and an animated prosthetic arm wrap around Dingles’ neck. When Harbour stepped into the woman’s view, the smile was wiped off her face.

  “Ma’am,” Maggie said politely.

  “She’s with me, Maggie,” Dingles announced proudly.

  “Welcome to the Miners’ Pit, ma’am. Let me get you a table, Dingles,” Maggie said.

  The lunch crowd was in full swing, and the place was crowded with spacers, wearing skins and their colorful downtime accessories. Dingles was mobbed every step of the way by other spacers. By the time they were seated, the grin on Dingles’ face couldn’t get any wider.

  “The usual, Dingles?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah, Maggie, but hold the alcohol … water only. I’m working for Harbour.”

  “Good for you, Dingles,” Maggie replied.

  Harbour felt the emotions from the Miners’ Pit hostess shift from cool to warm, as she regarded her.

  “Water for me too,” Harbour announced, “and I’ll have whatever Dingles is having.”

  “That’s fine, ma’am,” Maggie announced and cued the order over her tablet.

  Harbour took in the collection of individuals packing the tables and the long bar. They were spacers all, judging by the costumes. Nearly a third of them displayed some sort of prosthetic.

  “I never really considered how dangerous space mining can be,” Harbour commented.

  “And those are the injuries you can see, ma’am. There are some here like me, struggling to keep their wits about them on a daily basis.