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Lucius

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  1. Unexpected, but in a good way! Thanks, because ow I'm hooked. These brief parts do a fine job of keeping us chomping at the bit, so to speak. :P
  2. What a fine beginning! I wonder how comprehensive the process of promotion/demotion is in this world you've created. Perhaps I need to read "Tested" as well? Best of luck on the following part(s).
  3. My deepest apologies for the extended absence, all. I've a personal gripe against 'false hope,' so I refrained from updating this topic while I was away. For those of you still interested, here's chapter 7 of The Psion, of which chapter 8 is almost completed. I hope you enjoy. Chapter 7: Action at a Distance, Take Two When Psi left to relive himself before bed, he complied with Doctor Petrovna out of convenience more than anything. At the time he would have done anything for a chance to pee and avert yet another certainly-wet morning. The lavatory where he was expected to shower and do ‘his business’ at night was a compact one, with the drain in the center of the floor and the commode seat doubling as a bath chair when the shower head was on. Quickly unzipping the fly on his suit, he sighed with relief as he emptied his bladder into the bowl. As far as urinations went, this one took a while, and Psi’s mind wandered a little. He thought of the Psychologist waiting in his room, and how what she’d done for him might have bordered on kindness. It was hard for him to explain, but the casual air about her had disarmed him somehow. Maybe it was how she smiled all the time, unlike Albert and the serious doctors. Maybe it was the informal way she talked. Regardless, it seemed to remind him of Ymir and all his pleasant memories of home, where all people expected of him was to practice good manners, do his chores, and obey his curfew. Things were all so simple back then, when nobody had expected him to have Psychic powers or to ‘defeat the bugs’ (whatever that ultimately meant). A part of his mind told him to keep his guard up, though. For all her posturing, he couldn’t truly trust the Doctor yet. What if this was some sort of trick by the Psionicists to get under his skin? What if she was just a good actor? There wasn’t any way to tell. The grin he’d not been aware of began to fade from his lips as the possibilities ran amok in his head. The stream of his urine trickled down, and Psi shook his ‘little thing’ to dry it off before tucking it back into his pants. The sink activated automatically, and as he dried his hands Psi prepared to open the door. It was then that he remembered the bag, discarded in the corner after he’d walked in. He pondered just handing it back to her, as the doctor would be none the wiser had he not looked inside. But his worries returned: would she know he hadn’t opened it? Was she testing him? Was there a sensor on the bag’s clasps to detect if he held up his end of the bargain? Would he be punished again if he didn’t do it? Psi resolved not to take the chance, and he picked up the bag (cautiously) and flipped open the top. It contained a single pull-up diaper. He blinked and looked again. The pull-up was still there, folded up like they came in the packages. He gazed, temporarily unsure of what it meant. These pants were for containing leaks, and once you saw their elastic-constricting waistlines there was no mistaking them. A few of the ‘late bloomers’ in his old home had worn them to bed, and Psi vaguely recalled being sent to his bed for making fun of one years ago. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. Its front bore a blue striped pattern, and the waist was perforated on either side for easy removal. A green triangle on the square part, or “seat” marked it as a recyclable product, which people could deposit in special containers for cleaning. These things came to him quickly, but he was slower to comprehend that Doctor Petra wanted him to wear it. Psi gulped. How did she know he was peeing himself? Had Albert told her? Did she bug his bedroom after their first meeting? Was he being watched at every moment? He felt himself drawing closer and closer to that precipice, after which his emotions would spiral out of control again. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to be tranquil like that caretakers at home had always encouraged. Recently when he tried this, the emotion would slip past his control anyways, but this time it worked (if only barely) as Psi recalled his near-wetting incident from the morning. The heat from his reptile brain began to dissipate, and he exhaled. Come to think of it, Psi knew that his room’s air stank a little of pee as of late. The air recyclers couldn’t filter that out. Maybe he stank too? Psi’s staring contest with the diaper went on a little longer, until he realized that there was no way to tell what putting it on would mean. He could only do so (or not) and then find out. He felt perfectly split between these two options, until something sent him over the fence: perhaps it would help? Perhaps—the named and unnamed Gods willing—his bed would be drier if he wore this thing? He resolved to put it on, thinking to himself that it made sense to appease the Doctor. He unsnapped his pants again, sliding down his boxer briefs with them. Unfolding the diaper, he found that it was a lot bigger than it looked, and he slipped a foot into it awkwardly, all while trying to keep the whole thing at arm’s length. Stepping into the other leg-hole, he brought the item up his legs until the waistband straddled his belly-button. As it settled into place, the elastic band running across it tightened around his waist, losing a bit of its give; however, the feeling in his groin was equally strange, like wearing soft underwear that was thrice as thick in the crotch. It didn’t breathe like his normal briefs either, making them a bit hot. Looking in his mirror Psi saw the flimsy-looking padding bulging out ever-so slightly, and he hastily stepped back into his boxers and pants. His profile was nearly normal with his garments on, and all that remained was to face the Doctor. Psi closed the bag and slid open his bathroom door. Doctor Petra took it from him and gently tied him back down, taking her time in contrast to Albert’s cold professionalism. She didn’t ask him about the diaper, so Psi thanked her for upholding their deal. “You’re very welcome, Psi. Do you think we did well this evening?” The question was bizarre to him. He didn’t quite know what ‘we’ was, but in comparison to his recent days their talk had been a dream. “I-I guess so. I’m feeling kind of tired now, though.” The Doctor nodded at his response. It looked genuine to him, and he could see the day wearing on her as well. “I do too. But we’ll meet again tomorrow, won’t we?” He answered in the affirmative and extended a hand for her to shake. Surprisingly—Psi felt his heart rise a bit at this realization. He would see this person again, and maybe it would even feel nice. Their contact dissipated his paranoid worries, if only a little. After Doctor Petra left, he considered levitating one of his holobooks over to read, but the new crinkling noises from his waist interrupted his focus, and he soon gave up. Fortunately, the straps stopped him from moving around too much and eliciting further noise. Stuck in his place, Psi acquiesced, allowing sleep to take him. -- Ever since the day he’d discovered his ability Psi had grown accustomed to wet beds. Bizarrely, it seemed to come with the territory, and his body had acclimated to the chilly wetness on his skin. It could wake him any number of times in the night, and usually he would turn himself over and try to ignore it, scrounging up as much sleep as possible. But the morning after his meeting with Doctor Petra, Psi noticed something was different. The glare from outside his eyelids was too bright, as if the lights were turned up to their ‘day’ setting. He never slept this late without waking at least once. Psi blinked once. Again. The lights were on, and his sleep hadn’t been interrupted even once. A yawn forced its way from him, but as Psi reached to wipe the sleep from his eyes the restraints held his hands in place just too far away. Normally by this time he would have stripped out his pee-soaked pajamas and showered in preparation for Albert to arrive, but with these straps he would have to wait. Reminded of his usual wetness, Psi realized that less of his body was cold than normal. He hazarded a glance down and saw something even stranger than the lights. His sheets weren’t soaked; rather, little crescent moons of wetness clung to the bands between his thighs and groin, and a prominent bulge showed through where his underwear should be. The pull-up! The last night came flooding back to Psi. He remembered the bag the doctor had given him, and then the crinkly body and elastic of the square in his hands. Had he really chosen to wear that thing like some little kid he used to tease? Well, obviously. And there it was, sagging against his loins and saturated with his output. He groaned in internal embarrassment, now keenly aware of the cold material encasing his groin. Even worse, he felt like he needed to pee again. How could he face Albert like this? The man wasn’t talkative on the best of days, but he could already sense the wordless mockery that would come his way in a matter of minutes. Albert arrived soon, although it felt like much longer, and paused briefly as he looked over Psi’s torso. Even after months the man was hard to read, and Albert barely gave an expression at seeing the diaper bulge. Granted, Albert had seen worse from him. He didn’t say anything, instead unlocking each of the cuffs and stepping back to let Psi get up. “I’ll be r-ready soon.” Said Psi. Albert nodded. “Don’t take too long. After breakfast you’re seeing the Psionicists again. If there are no interruptions, then you’ll have brain imaging and conditioning before lunch.” “O-okay.” Psi pulled one of his day suits from the cupboard near his bed and scurried off to the lavatory, offset a little by the bulk between his legs, which forced him to gait awkwardly with his thighs apart. Once his pants and boxers were down, he fumbled with the pull-up’s waistband, trying to hook his thumbs under it and pull down. But Psi had never worn one of these and wasn’t familiar with the ‘contour waist’ that had tightened around him last night. As he tried to pull the pants down, the formerly elastic lining instead gave and ripped along its perforations, causing the whole assembly to fall of Psi, hitting the tiled floor with a thud. He shrank back and cringed at the bloated, yellow core of the pull-up, and tried to pick it up by the edges, failing somewhat in his nervousness. Eventually though, Psi threw the damn thing in the waste disposal and doused himself under the spray of the showerhead. Sitting under the warm water was like a Panacea, as Psi felt the stiffness in his extremities loosening in the steam. While lathering, he wandered into idle thought again. Perhaps the pull-up had done its job? The grime that usually stained his whole body was confined to his groin and legs this time, and his pajamas had come out undrowned, if a little moist regardless. He had to admit it was an improvement. There wasn’t much time to dwell on that though. Albert wouldn’t wait forever, and Psi didn’t much fancy being tied down again. -- “Beginning Testing Log number alpha-one-dash-one-seven-seven. Time and date: 1031, April 23rd, 27XX.” Came the gravelly old voice. “Subject name: Psi. This experiment is a continued exploration of Psi’s ability to move and manipulate objects. See Log cetera-seven-six for previous phases of this same experiment. Are you comfortable, Psi?” Psi heard the Psionicist’s question and nodded, but that wouldn’t make it into the recording. “Please answer verbally, Psi.” “Yes, I am.” He lied. The doctors didn’t want him to interrupt by storming out today, so they’d sent in Albert to ‘secure’ his wrists to the chair’s armrests. That combined with a full suite of electrodes, a mild draft, and an itch on his neck that he couldn’t scratch had left Psi exquisitely uncomfortable. But at the very least he was more awake. Sleep had helped that. “Now Psi, you see the cube of Osmium on the table?” “Yes.” How could he forget? The little block had a dent in it from when he’d sent it flying yesterday. “Please lift it and then break it apart, like you attempted to yesterday. We’re looking for you to fragment it into pieces. The number of pieces doesn’t strictly matter, only that you can. Feel free to take your time.” “Okay.” Psi focused his gaze on the cube, gradually willing it up like before. His ability was sluggish at first, but gradually awakened and intensified, lifting the block shakily until it stood still at eye level. Psi attacked it once more, slithering his ethereal hands into the cracks where he’d attempted to pry it open yesterday. This time it came easier, and he managed to hold focus with a lot less effort. A few minutes passed with Psi hearing nothing but his heartbeat and breathing, and then eventually a high-pitched crack rang out. The metal finally gave up and fragmented. First a tiny shard of glittery blue metal fell off, and then the whole cube crumbled into several sharp pieces like a crushed rock. With this, Psi’s ability was no longer able to hold onto them all, and they slipped from his grasp onto the floor. Psi relaxed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. This was a triumph, and accordingly he felt a smile creeping over his face. “Well done, Psi.” came the old voice again, erasing Psi’s smile. “You’ve demonstrated that your ability can overcome the binding energies of even a strong metal. Doctor, please make note of the number of pieces. We’ll need to collect the fragments for analysis.” “A-are we done?” grumbled Psi. “We’re going to have you do the same thing for a sample of Iron, and one of Gold. Standby for Mister Olbia to deliver them. Don’t worry, they’ll be somewhat softer, but we need to analyze their interactions.” Psi groaned, scolding himself for naively thinking they might let him go early. “There won’t be an issue here, will there, Psi?” The boy stopped to think. At the very least, he still felt lucid and calm. Normally, his ability would have begun to strain him by this point, but the fatigue and the blistering pulse in his veins was milder than usual. Maybe—just maybe—he could get through this incident-free. There was no harm in hoping. “No. No, sir. I’ll do it.”
  4. Hello everyone. My apologies for the prolonged absence--a health scare will do that to you!--but I should be back in business in the near future. I am! It's awesome that you thought to look for this thread so long after I'd gone dark, but be assured that new parts are on the way. Thanks again for your comments.
  5. Thanks for the read! I think you're definitely on to something with the mechanics of Psi's powers. He is still struggling with the finer details though, as the next update (coming soon I swear) will explore a bit.
  6. Glad to see another chapter of this!
  7. That is a great question. A part of me wants to conclude that it is a combination of the locking mechanism and the skill or focus Psi would require to manipulate it. So far I've only envisioned Psi as able to productively use his ability when he's extremely focused. He can also use it when highly emotional (like with the glass/cube), but only in really simple and imprecise ways. I think of it like an incorporeal force he can create, but only with a fair amount of clumsiness and error. Based on that rationalization I doubt Psi would be able to 'pick' the lock when he's in a poor mood or otherwise distracted by his restraints. Another (more cynical) interpretation might be that Albert puts them on him as a primarily psychological measure, but I don't know if he's quite that sinister.
  8. I can't say the idea hasn't occurred to me. However, as I've written in this setting (I've brainstormed one or two other works in this kind of sci-fi universe) I've gotten more attached to it as a vehicle for restraint/abdl stories in outer space. Weird, I know, but it's definitely growing on me.
  9. Chapter 5: Action at a Distance Psi had never seen the Psionicists’ faces, but he knew their voices well. The first one had a gravelly voice, and he always spoke first: “Beginning Testing Log number alpha-one-dash-one-seven-six. Time and date: 1042, April 22nd, 27XX. Subject name: Psi. This experiment will ask Psi to levitate, translate, and physically manipulate multiple objects. Is the video feed on?” “Yes, Doctor.” Came the second Psionicist, a woman who sounded much younger. “Good. Psi, are you comfortable?” the first asked. “Yes, Doctor. I’m ready.” Said Psi, twitching on his seat. The testing room was a blank, tiled lab divided into “his” space, where he sat, and samples for him to work on were placed on a table; and the “doctors’” space, where they recorded his performance from behind a one-way window. The high-backed chair that he sat in during tests felt like the softest thing in the world, and he wondered if it had been built specifically to contour around his body. Whenever he sat here, they affixed heart monitors and other uncomfortable electrodes to his chest. Once the doctors had come to trust him, they stopped restraining him to prevent tampering, and he knew in kind not to try getting up until they were done. “Good.” Said the first. “Psi, please begin by raising the cube of Osmium on the table in front of you. Slowly bring it to about eye level.” Psi nodded and focused intently at the object. The cube was a dull, silvery blue metal, and about the size of the palm of his hand. By appearances, it weighed maybe half a kilogram. He reached out to it with his ability, feeling its surface and the contours of its edges collide with his consciousness. He urged it up, and it resisted, nudging only barely across the table. This thing was much heavier than what he was used to. He tried again, grasping the cube on all sides and willing it up, with just a bit more determination. His pulse began to rise on the doctors’ monitors. The cube lifted, shaking slightly from the table and coming to level with his face. He suspended it there, waiting for the doctors to speak. “Objective one completed. The mass of the Osmium is 1.5 kilograms, contrasting with 0.5 kilograms of Iron in last week’s test. This supports the claim that Psi’s ability is not influenced by Ferromagnetism. Psi, please move the block to your right by a few inches. After that, move it to your left then and bring it to the four corners of the room. Don’t bring it up or down.” “Okay.” Psi consciously unfurled his brow, trying not to strain himself as he nudged the cube ever so slightly right. This was a delicate process, as pushing it too far sideways would cause him to lose his hold below it, and it would fall. Carefully, he moved it as ordered, letting it stop near the edge of the table. He took a moment to rest his mind and the moved it left, with similar results. He managed over the next few minutes to make a circuit of the room, finally moving the cube back in front of him. “Objective two completed.” The second Psionicist chose this point to chime in. “The test log should note the lack of aerodynamic disturbance produced by the Psionic force. The area affected is not determined by proximity, but by the object on which Psi is focusing.” Psi heard an affirmative grunt from the first. “Now Psi, try to spin the cube in place. Do not let it fall.” “O-Okay.” As Psi set about his newest task he began to struggle somewhat. His attention could only be divided so many ways, and every additional use of his power taxed his body a little more. Killing a Sagittarian—like he had the other day—was complicated enough to knock him out, but even these small tasks could tire him. Like a flick of a finger, he urged one edge of the cube to spin, letting it rotate in place. His ability created no friction, and it spun rather quickly, slowed only by the air. “Objective three completed. Psi’s demonstration shows that he can generate forces acting with up to three degrees of freedom.” The second one spoke again. “See the cardiogram and brain wave readouts? He’s under a lot more stress relative to last week’s trial with Iron.” “We will. The exertion seems to scale with mass, not surface area.” Replied the first. “Now Psi, please take the cube of Osmium apart.” “W-what?” stuttered Psi. He felt a throb in his forehead, where the focusing was beginning to hurt. “Use your ability to tear the cube apart into as many pieces as you’d like. Think of it like what you do to the Sagittarians. When you’re asked to kill one, you cause it to fall to pieces and dissolve. Try to replicate that with this metal. Take your time if you need to.” Psi thought on that for a moment. He’d never considered trying to wrench a thing in half with his ability, only pushing or pulling or—in the bugs’ case—communing with it. It was impossible to explain. At least that’s how he liked to think of it. After about a minute, he heard the older voice again. “Psi, are you going to cooperate? We don’t want a repeat of your first few sessions.” The voice feigned concern, nearly bringing him to anger. But he knew that if he started to fight, they’d send in an orderly to restrain or sedate him, just like those times. “Y-yes. Trying.” Psi’s left eye twitched as he felt around the cube, searching for a crack his mind could pierce into. Its surface was almost perfectly smooth, and he every attempt he made to force it open recoiled back into him like a Psychic tremor. He was beginning to get tired, and the cube wobbled in its levitation. “Check the Cardiogram, Doctor.” Said the first voice. “182, Doctor. Should we pause?” Asked the second one. “Not yet, give him a moment. I think we may be approaching a breakthrough.” Both went totally quiet as Psi hurled his mind against the cube. His heart was pounding in his chest now, tiny bits of perspiration growing on his brow. The cube didn’t want to break, and its molecules were fighting his distant touch admirably. The exertion of it was making him tired, and the doctors’ lack of concern was frustrating him. This combination began boiling over in his thumping head, causing his mind to race. Psi’s stimulated mind recalled his various experiences with the doctors. He thought of the taser that someone had used to sedate him once, and how it had ached for days afterwards. He cringed to think of the glass from yesterday, and how he’d so quickly lost his temper and sent a shudder through it in his rage. The sensation of it cracking under his grasp had unnerved him, like he’d broken something precious by accident. And the look on that doctor’s face—what was her name again, Petra?—had accelerated his spiral into a fit. He was at risk of losing his composure, but the cube was near buckling now! He could do it, even if the pops coming from his sinus usually meant a nosebleed would follow soon. He could feel it giving way, and the surge of adrenaline from his anger was aiding him. Feeling light-headed, he gave a final surge of power to the cube, but before he could break it his focus shattered. The mental hand that held the cube aloft dissipated, and the cube spun like a ricocheted bullet into the wall, chipping bits of ceramic off as it fell to the floor. Psi inhaled deeply, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath. Tiny flecks of light clouded his vision, and the doctors were still silent. “I need to stop!” he shouted. “Psi, are you okay?” asked the first Psionicist. “I-I-I’m done. I-I want to stop NOW!” He continued panting as the moisture from his sweat began rolling down his body. With horror he realized a bit of pee was trickling out of his bladder, and he clamped down to staunch the flow. “We’re not finished with the experiment, Psi. You can take a minute, and we’ll send someone in with water, but you need to pick up that cube and try again. We know you can do it.” “C-can’t w-we do it tomorrow?” he begged. He squirmed in his seat as the sweat from his concentration seeped over him. “I-I’m really tired.” “You’ve come so close, Psi. Each new insight you give us brings us closer to a solution, and we can’t wait forever. A lot of people are relying on you. I’m sure you don’t want to let them down.” Psi hated that tone of theirs. “A-are they really counting on me? You a-always say that, but I never hear from any of them!” They’d always told him this from the day he’d been locked up here. Whenever Mister Casimir stopped by he repeated that same line in his pep-talk, and it had long since begun to feel fake. He sat on the edge of the chair as if about to jump out and staring angrily where he thought the Psionicists were. “Psi, sit back down. You need to calm yourself. Just take a moment and focus on the cube. We’ll make progress that wa—” “Fine! I’ll give you your cube!” Psi spat and glared down at the now slightly dented cube. With a burst of will he raised it to his height and then flung it off into the one-sided window like a toy. It didn’t shatter the screen like he’d expected, but a gasp told him it had shocked the doctors behind it. “Is that enough?” he shouted. With that Psi ripped the electrodes from his chest and went for the door, padding into the hallway without his shirt. If they were going to restrain him again, then he’d at least get to walk into it. As the door shut behind him, Psi heard one final exchange. “Doctor, call Mister Olbia to bring him back. We may need to put him down for a bit. I’m very sorry, Commander, but this was an anomalous incident. He is usually much more cooperative…” -- Psi’s home on level 4C was just a slice of a cross-section of one of Wing orbital’s rotating spokes. Once trapped there he had soon discovered the only way out was in an elevator, which Psi never had access to, or through a window to outer space, which he found comical. Walking out of an appointment and frustrating his handlers was its own little escape though, and he began to cheer up while walking—more skipping—in the partial gravity corridors. Those halls were always near-deserted, and the people who did traverse them were usually doing something related to his confinement. He rounded a corner and reached down to scratch his inner thigh, where the stain of his mild wetting had been subsumed by the dampness of his sweat. Psi had felt a rash developing there recently. Perhaps it had to do with the wet beds he’d been waking up in. A part of him wanted to ask Albert to help him, but he blushed at the thought of asking his warden for something so intimate—especially since Albert was remaking his sheets for him each morning. Eventually he stopped at a waiting room of sorts, where chairs were arrayed against the viewports for guests to sit while awaiting test results. He leaned against the window and counted stars while his head cooled. Psi heard Albert coming a few minutes later. The man’s reflection in the viewport looked rather impatient at having his usual break interrupted. “Are you ready to go back, Psi? You’re far too old to be throwing fits like this.” His arms were crossed. Albert always seemed reluctant to physically restrain him, and so he usually asked first. Psi was never sure if that was due to the man’s discomfort around him or fear. “I-it depends. W-where do I have to go next?” “You’ve managed to mess up your schedule again, but there’s still time for your physical. They’ll be drawing blood today, and after that you’ll have lunch and your break. You have a therapy appointment this evening.” “W-with the same doctor?” Albert nodded. The window-exit suddenly seemed like a much better option than before, but Psi quickly recovered his senses. “Fine. I j-just don’t want to use my ability anymore today.” “I doubt anyone will ask you to. Now come along. There’s no use in trying to delay this.” Psi returned a nod and acquiesced. Tearing himself away from the glass he gave up today’s escape and went with Albert, who placed a hand firmly on his shoulder in case the child got any ideas. Chapter 6: The First Meeting, Take Two It had been Danuta’s idea to shadow Psi throughout his daily routine, and unfortunately it had helped her see why he had trust issues. While the Psionicists she secretly sat with seemed to utterly believe in the necessity of their work, she could hardly imagine being in Psi’s position for those experiments. After seeing the boy’s latest tantrum, wherein he cast an object at the wall and ran off, she pondered the idea of having him restrained for their next meeting, and whether that would succeed in calming him down. Mr. Olbia informed her during the afternoon that he planned to strap Psi down anyways, so Danuta decided to work around that. As the afternoon would down, Olbia led Psi back to his enclosure. Rather than leaving him alone, the officer took Psi into his sleeping quarter and gently pushed the boy onto his bed. “I thought the therapist was coming tonight.” “She is. This is to ensure we don’t have a repeat of the morning. I’ll be around to let you up in the morning.” With that Albert pushed Psi into a laying position and held him by the chest. Psi knew better than to resist. Olbia took Psi’s left arm and produced one of the restraints which had laid under the mattress, fixing the Velcro strap around his wrist and then repeating the process with the other hand. Olbia produced a keycard and tapped it against the straps, activating a magnetic child lock that prevented removal. Scooting down the length of the bed, he repeated these steps with Psi’s ankles, leaving him secured at all four extremities. The boy casually tested his bonds, trying to pull his arms into his chest, and found them just tight enough that he couldn’t manage it. Without another word Olbia departed, nodding to Danuta on his way out. Danuta took a deep breath. Did she really want to approach him like this? Was she being careful or just manipulative? Would it really do him any good? Her ruminations about ethics ran into a brick wall in light of what she’d already signed on to, so she checked her carry-on again to make sure her things were there. Seeing all in order, she entered the room and stole into Psi’s sleeping quarter with the folding chair, where the lights were dimmed to an evening setting. He was on his side, his gaze focused on the other side of the room, where one of his holobooks was slowly levitating from the floor. “How are you doing, Psi?” she kept her voice low as she sat down, scooting her chair to the edge of the bed alcove. As he noticed her, his concentration broke and the holobook fell back down. “H-Hello, M-miss Petra. I’m okay.” He shrunk back into the bed, but only by the few inches his restraints would allow. “Well, good evening. I know we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, but I want us to try again. We should take this opportunity to talk about what bothers you.” “Y-you’re just doing this n-now because I can’t run away.” “We both know this isn’t because of that.” She saw that squirming again in his lower body, as he tried to cross his legs. “I know you’ve been pushed too far by the doctors here, and I’m not asking you to do anything for them. Our meetings are going to be about helping you and nobody else. I know I said this yesterday, but I really do want to make you feel better. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have come back after how our first meeting went.” His gaze was still skeptical. “O-okay?” She took that as a sign to continue. “So, we’re going to start over. But it’s much better to talk when we’re both comfortable. Do you need anything? I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She produced plastic bottles this time, taking a short sip from hers. Again, she noticed him glancing at the restraints, and then try to cross his legs again. “No thanks. I-I’m not supposed to d-drink after dinner.” “Why’s that, Psi? Plenty of people like to take a drink in the evenings.” She suppressed a smile over the irony of that, considering the alcohol currently chilling in her refrigerator. “A-Albert told me not to.” “Really? Why would he do that.” “When I do, I usually w—” he paused briefly, “…I usually don’t s-sleep well when I do.” He broke eye contact, looking embarrassed. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you’re concerned about that. Sleep is one of the most important things about your day, especially at your age.” “I-I suppose you’re right.” She could sense a bit of a crack forming there. “You know, this is one of those things I was talking about. I think you’ve identified something that’s bothering you, so why don’t we attack it?” When you don’t sleep well, Psi, what do you notice about the days afterward?” His face scrunched up at her question, and he seemed to put a little thought into it. “Usually they’re bad days. I-I wake up tired, and I have a hard time f-focusing. Then I have days like today where…where I lose my temper.” “That must be frustrating.” “Y-yes. It usually happens when I visit d-doctors. The doctors make me d-do different things with my ability each day, but they ask the s-same questions about how I do it. I can’t answer them, and I don’t know how I kill the bugs. I just do it. It’s not s-something I can explain.” “Bugs?” “The Sagittarians, sorry. I-It’s what I’ve always called them. The aliens.” “Oh. Those doctors are obviously trying hard to solve a problem, just like we are. But I think the first step to fixing theirs is fixing yours. What do you think would make you sleep better?” “T-there’s not much I can do about it.” “I’m sure you can think of something, Psi. It could be big or small.” When he didn’t volunteer an answer, she continued. “Think about how and where you sleep. Let me give an example: when I was your age, I could never sleep with the sound of an air recycler going. When I traveled to space that noise kept me up all night.” Psi smiled at that, looking incredulous. “But how do you sleep? Weren’t you a soldier? You have to live in space for that.” Danuta smiled back and leaned towards him, feigning an air of mischievous secrecy. “Good question. When I joined the navy, I wanted to travel the hundred worlds so much that I was willing to put myself through the discomfort of the air filters. I had no choice but to get used to it. But that meant a lot of sleepless nights, which is what you want to avoid. So, I don’t recommend that approach for you.” She could see the gears turning in Psi as he nodded his response. “I-uh.” Psi paused, briefly looking more serious. “I’m sorry for breaking your glass yesterday.” “My glass?” “T-the one you gave me. You know I didn’t drop it, but I lost my temper while you were talking. My… my ability gets hard to control when I’m angry.” “Thank you, Psi. That’s very mature of you.” Danuta grasped his restrained hand between hers. “Apology accepted. Since you were so nice to me here, I’ll let you in on a secret: I stole them from Mister Casimir upstairs.” With that, Psi broke out into wide grin, barely stifling a laugh. She drank from the bottle again. Psi’s joy—some of the first she’d seen from him—cheered her up. She could get through to a sweet boy with problems, even one with unprecedented and volatile powers. The two of them spoke for a few more minutes, with Psi disclosing a bit more about his routine and life on Ymir (most of which Danuta already knew). She reciprocated with Navy stories and Ægirian anecdotes, and the atmosphere warmed around them until she saw Psi’s eyes growing tired. She was about to suggest wrapping up when he interjected. “I-I-I need to use the washroom, Miss Petra. C-can you please let me up?” He held up his hands pleadingly. “Well, Albert did say you were to stay here until morning.” “I-I know, but I really need to p-pee.” Danuta feigned indecision for a moment and then replied. “Okay, but we need to put you back in before I leave, otherwise Albert will be cross with both of us. So, I’ll let you up on one condition.” Danuta picked her bag up from beside the chair. “I want you to take this into the washroom and look inside it. You don’t have to put on what’s in it, and I won’t ask you if you did. Just make sure you take a look.” “Okay. I will.” Psi nodded, looking only a bit nervous. Danuta grabbed his arm and produced the keycard she’d been given earlier. Hopefully that thing would work. Upon touching the lock, it gave a tiny beep and popped open. She opened the Velcro seals, whereupon Psi almost leapt to his feet. As the boy was about to bolt out the door, she placed her bag into his hand. “Don’t forget our condition.” Psi nodded and ran off to the lavatory which adjoined the enclosure, sliding the door shut behind him. While Psi was gone, Danuta looked over at his modest stack of holobooks. Picking up the one he’d been levitating, she powered on the wafer-thin display and read the title: 'The Dragons of Cygnus Gorge, a Frontier Ranger Story.' Danuta beamed. She recognized the title from her childhood, when Frontier Books were her favorite escapism. These stories chronicled (mostly fictitious) heroes of the first colonization wave, taking on uncharted worlds with just their wits and primitive technology. Her favorite had been Janet Aldrin, a cunning space rogue whose tales involved riding a Dinosaur-analog on a desert planet and foiling several bandit raids on fledgling colonies. She looked at the others and saw most of them were from the same (or similar) series. She suddenly felt like she had a kindred spirit in Psi. After a few minutes Danuta heard a flush from the lavatory and concealed the evidence of her snooping. As Psi walked in, she consciously avoided looking at his waist. He laid down, and she quietly buckled him back into his restraints. “T-thanks for letting me up.” “You’re very welcome, Psi. Do you think we did well this evening?” “I-I guess so. I’m feeling kind of tired now, though.” “I do too. But we’ll meet again tomorrow, won’t we?” asked Danuta. Seeing a nod, she held up Psi’s water bottle again. “Do you want this for the night?” Another nod. She placed it on the floor where Psi could reach it and collected her folding chair. “Yeah. S-so have a good evening please.” Psi reached out as far as his cuffs would let him, and Danuta shook his hand. “Of course. Sleep well.” With that she took her bag and walked out, leaving the Psion to his sleep. As Danuta left the enclosure, she unzipped it and looked inside. The solitary pull-up diaper she’d placed in it was gone. She gave a sly smile. Finally, she’d made some progress. As she walked back home, Danuta considered whether a drink was called for and decided against it. After all, a clear mind had been Janet Aldrin’s greatest weapon. To be continued.
  10. You are much too kind. I only hope you enjoy yourself reading it as much as I do writing it.
  11. Hello again! I've returned with Chapters 3 & 4, much earlier than I expected. There's nothing really juicy yet, but we're getting there. Chapter 3: The Mission and its Terms Psionics were not an uncommon topic of discussion among 28th century neurologists and mental professionals, but they weren’t exactly a ‘polite’ one either. In her psychology program Danuta had roomed with a biophysicist who fancied herself a psionicist. She speculated about finding an ‘ESP region’ in the human brain. The young woman had spoken about her planned study to investigate the claims of telepathy or mind-reading that occasionally came from distant colonies—if she could ever get such a thing funded. As far as Danuta knew she hadn’t. The literature (and Danuta for the most part) remained dismissive. The ability for a test subject to detect whether a distant lightbulb was ‘on’ or ‘off,’ or to read the thoughts of a researcher behind a screen had never been shown with enough certainty to become acceptable, so few people in Danuta’s (or Danuta-adjacent) fields wanted to risk their reputations digging deeper. It was, ultimately, just a legend. At that moment in the SCB Labs, Danuta had conclusively seen a human destroy an immortal alien with his mind alone, and perhaps revolutionize the study of the human brain. This was leagues beyond even her former roommate’s wildest dreams; however, she couldn’t have cared less about that. She and Casimir had parted unhappily. The discussion between them quickly spiraled into unprofessional accusations, so Casimir had taken his leave in frustration—not unlike he’d done once or twice during the brief time they were rank-peers. Knowing him, he’d be fine after a drink and some self-pity. The officer from before, who wore the face of trepidation that all those military-school types had, returned bringing a first aid kit to tend to the child named Psi. He knelt and handed her a sterile wipe, which she used to clean the congealed plasma from the boy’s lip. “Apologies, sir. I should have planned for this possibility. Seizures and blackouts are a side-effect Psi experiences when he exerts himself. I’ll make sure we’re better prepared at our next demonstration.” “’Next demonstration’ my ass…” mumbled Danuta as she finished with the wipe. “This ‘demonstration’ is illegal, you know. What’s your name soldier?” “Junior Lieutenant Olbia, sir. I serve as the Admiral’s assistant and a supervisor for Psi.” “So you’re his handler? Good for you—you’re complicit in all of this.” “I don’t—" “Before you rationalize that, where are this child’s guardians? Where’s the oversight here?” Olbia was silent. She pointed to the disposable blood pressure monitor in the kit. Olbia handed it over, and she held the tiny plastic device over Psi’s basilic vein. It read out ‘125/77’—only slightly elevated. She sighed in relief and slung her free arm under the boy’s legs. Hoisting him up was an effort, but not as large an effort as she feared. “Where do we take him? Where does he sleep?” Olbia stood at attention, noticing the stains that had settled onto Danuta and Psi’s clothes. “I can take him, sir. You should go change.” She glared at him. “Or, I guess I’ll show you. Follow me.” The hallways of 4C wound past various labs and storage rooms—mostly deserted—until Olbia stopped at a sliding door, emblazoned on the exterior with several security locks. He unlocked it and gestured her in. The room was obviously repurposed from an old containment suite: the central area was made up into a simple living quarter with a sofa and some other odds and ends scattered around. The side room was revealed by a wall-spanning window through which Danuta could see a bed set into the wall, a night table, and a circular viewport to the starfield. She laid the boy down on the couch and turned back to Olbia. “Where are his clothes?” The younger man pointed to the side room and quickly disappeared into it. Danuta took that moment to spy around. All in all, someone could be comfortable in this room. It was more empty space than she ever got as a Lieutenant Commander, but it also wasn’t a child’s room by any means. The atmosphere was strangulating and institutional. She couldn’t glean from looking around what he occupied his free time with. Casimir certainly wasn’t sending him to school as a part of his secret program. And of course, there were no other children in a classified government lab. Who knew how isolated Casimir had kept him? Certainly, living here would’ve been an ordeal for him, psionic or not. Olbia returned with another suit like the one Psi was wearing. Danuta took it from him and began carefully unbuttoned the wet jumpsuit, trying not to wake him. She paid attention to his body as she pulled the garment off and then slid his underpants down. He had a very slight build with little muscle definition, but he didn’t look malnourished either. A couple of small scars dotted his knees and abdomen, but they weren’t in places she would associate with abuse. ‘At least there isn’t that.’ She thought, slipping him into the dry suit. With Psi fully clothed, she lifted him again and brought the boy to the side room. The bed was set into the wall, like most sleeping quarters in space. As she set him down she noticed undone restraints under the mattress, with canvas cuffs for the extremities. She checked his breathing one more time. Other than being dead to the world (and apparently a psionic metahuman), all seemed normal. Before leaving Danuta took stock of the little room that served as his sleeping space. Some crumpled up underclothes were strewn about the floor, and a smell she recognized as stale urine emanated from them, suggesting his little wetting incident wasn’t a fluke. ‘Curious…’ Once out in the hall with Olbia she started again. “Tell me what you and Casimir have done and give me a good reason why this doesn’t warrant a court-martial.” She crossed her arms as Olbia inhaled, taken aback. “Sir, it’s my duty to—” “Duty’s not an excuse for a massive breach in ethics like this, and you know that Lieutenant. Explain what’s been done.” “Of course, sir. Psi was not taken from his family—or anywhere he’d want to be for that matter. Nothing invasive has been done to him whatsoever. The Admiral simply has him here to better understand his aberrant properties. He needs a psychological evaluation though, so the Admiral asked for a pediatric expert who would understand the need for his secrecy.” “Are you alleging that what you’ve done here is good for him?” “Yes sir, at least in every capacity that I can. I don't determine his treatment, just execute it.” “What’s his real name?” “‘Psi’ is his name, sir. It was the one he gave us, and we couldn’t find another.” Olbia pursed his lips, waiting for her next question. After putting Casimir’s ‘secret weapon’ to bed, Danuta had calmed down significantly. She knew that she’d been insubordinate and unprofessional, and that a level head was needed to proceed. She made up her mind on what to do. She wasn’t going to be a passive participant in this affair, and she refused to simply escape it either. Request reassignment and running would be cowardice, but staying and complying would be a travesty. She began hatching a plan for her new mission. But if she were to take control of this situation, she needed leverage. That meant she had to first dispense of Olbia and acquire a few things. “Alright then. Is he going to be fine on his own in there?” “After periods of intense exertion, he tends to sleep for a few hours, so yes.” “That should be satisfactory then. I suppose this can be made to work. Perhaps I overreacted earlier.” Olbia cocked an eyebrow in surprise and relaxed. “Er, of course sir.” “If this is to work, I’ll need a few things. Tell the Admiral I need to meet with him again today. If he wants this done right, then I need a list of goals. I can’t determine how to treat a child based on whatever ‘that’ was. I need his history, his symptoms, and a dossier of his activities.” “Yes sir. I’ll let the Admiral’s assistants know you need to speak with him again. He had documents and accommodations prepared for you in advance, and he has possession of them now. It was his intention that you would stay on to fulfill a continuing advisory role.” He began down the hall again, where Danuta followed, now realizing her things had been left at the security desk. “I’ll need to make a slight detour first. I’ll require my things for the meeting, as well as a change of clothes. Additionally, you’ll need to provide me the passcodes for the station’s network. I’ll have to fetch my literature to be of any use.” This wasn’t a complete lie, but she had neglected to state her true purpose. “Of course,” said Olbia, “You’re in charge, sir.” With any luck, that would soon be the case. -- Danuta was not a fan of subterfuge under normal circumstances, but this qualified to her as an ‘extenuating’ one if there ever were such things. After finding a dressing room to change into civilian clothes, she pondered her plan. She decided to record her conversation with Casimir. A simple network uplink meant that she could move the file to a remote location while recording it, so she could lose her tablet and still have it. Her logic for doing so went like this: Casimir was a reasonable man, so when she spoke calmly to him, he should see reason and shut down the project. If he refused though, she would go up the food chain. If it cost him his job, then that was his mistake. He summoned her to 5A about four hours after their confrontation. She had activated the recording software on her tablet before entering, expecting that he’d probably beaten her to the room. Casimir sat in the same chair, listening to some recorded reports while sipping something clear. He paused to look up at her entrance. “I see you’re freshened up, Commander.” The atmosphere was still tense, and his voice sounded tired, betraying the age that men like him tried to conceal. “Have we obtained a better understanding of each-other since this morning?” “I don’t know what you mean, sir.” “What I mean is that I really don’t appreciate being called a criminal. You know me, Petra. You know what I believe in. Everything I do in this uniform is to serve the people. For God’s sake we swore the same oath.” “Yes.” She paused, paying attention to her composure this time. “I am well aware, sir. I am also aware of what a man committed utterly to his duty is capable of. You have overstepped yourself by conducting this project. That little boy you have locked up is one of the people you swore to protect, and it is doubtful that you can do this while prodding him to produce a ‘superweapon.’” Casimir didn’t begin shouting or deny it, instead nodding. “You’re right. I’m in complete dereliction of my duty to that child, but if I sent him off to a hospital then I’d still be betraying him—not to mention everyone else. The talent he has is…mind boggling. If the circumstances were better, we could afford not to be secretive, but that’s not the world we live in.” Mid-speech he began withdrawing documents from a folder that had been sitting on the desk. Physical paper was somewhat of a rarity, usually reserved for ceremonial or clandestine things. “One of the reasons I called you here was that I hoped you could clear it up for me, this uncertainty I have. I’m sorry to say I’m disappointed.” “Disappointment or not, sir, I’m here. I don’t approve of what you’re doing, and if you don’t bring this to an immediate end, then in the name of our oath I’m going to have to take action.” Casimir looked confused. “Please elaborate.” He said. Danuta resisted the urge to look toward her bag. “Just know you need to cease this immediately. Stop experimenting on the child and send him to an environment where his ‘aberrant properties’ can be treated correctly.” Her bluff had failed—terrible liar she was—and Casimir cocked an eyebrow. “You’re recording this, aren’t you Commander?” She nodded. “I don’t want to do this, but if you won’t do the right thing, I will have no choice but to report this to High Command.” “I could have you dismissed for that.” He said calmly. “Yes, but any other action would be a failure in my duty. I know your heart is in the right place, but if you can’t do right by that child, then I won’t shield you.” She half expected Casimir to explode into rage, but he just sighed. “You-” He took a deep breath and then sipped his drink. “That’s noble of you, as always Petra. I should’ve expected it. It was naïve of me, but I thought you might understand why we’re doing this. All those years ago I could always count on you to be my compass. Your commitment to what’s right meant that I could seek your advice and know I wasn’t being brown-nosed. At least I know that hasn’t changed. Please look at this before you make your decision.” He slid over a small pile of those papers. She glanced over the headings, which all seemed to refer to parts of a set of orders. The ancient Earth glyph for psi ‘Ψ’ kept appearing in reference to an object to be studied, and as she looked over them a dread much worse than that she felt before set in. At the bottom of the final page a series of signatures and access codes authorized the orders…one of which belonged to the ISA Commander-in-Chief. The Paramount authority. The top of the top brass already knew, and they had authorized it. “How desperate are they on Earth?” “Desperate enough. The monstrosity you saw this morning was just a scout, one of millions that our soldiers will be facing. Short of nuking the habitable worlds of the galaxy into glass, Psi’s talent is the best lead anyone has found towards destroying them. Maybe they can be beaten. Maybe they can’t. But if they can, it’ll be because we got through to psi and harnessed whatever’s hiding in his brain.” “I could still go to the press, Casimir. What will happen if this all becomes public?” “We’d all be finished, frankly. But do you really think every one of those troops deserves to die because we weren’t willing to do the wrong thing?” “I…” She was starting to lose confidence in her position. Casimir had never lied to her, and he’d made each of her solutions sound like a much worse scenario than the current one. “It’s the only way forward, Petra. If you won’t do this, then I’ll transfer you. But I cannot fail in this project. I need you to take that blubbering mess you saw this morning and repair him. Fix the parts of his mind that are falling apart. Help us understand him. Will you help me do it?” She ruminated for a minute in complete silence. Was this to be her mission? Finished, she looked Casimir in the eyes and spoke with certainty. “If I treat him, I’m treating him my way. That means that if you have one of your ‘demonstrations’ planned, and I have a session scheduled over it, I get it. If I decide he’s to be moved to a certain place, then it happens.” Casimir winced at that. “If I requisition something for him, it gets delivered. That’s the only way I can begin to repair the damage you must’ve done to him.” “You will give him his daily appointments and nine hours per week minimum with the Psionicists in the project. That’s non-negotiable.” Retorted Casimir. “Furthermore, he doesn’t leave this facility. Operational security is our top priority here. But you’ll have your expenses.” “You’ll allow him out of the facility with escort on a case-by-case basis. Keeping him cooped up isn’t helping whatever he has.” She returned. “We’ll discuss that, but I can’t guarantee it now.” The two sat at an impasse. “Are these terms acceptable?” “Yes.” Said Danuta. She hated what she’d just said. “Where are his case files?” Casimir passed over another folder, stuffed and stamped with an ISA seal. She placed them in her bag. “When can I begin?” “Immediately. I knew you were the right person for the mission." Smiling like his old self, Casimir extended a hand. Hesitating, she eventually reached out and shook it. "You’re dismissed, Petra." Chapter 4: The First Meeting Three years of intensive training and a further six of practice had taught Danuta that nothing compared to a simple face-to-face discussion with a new patient. It allowed her to see the lay of the land herself rather than reinforcing the findings of previous professionals. It also allowed her to build the foundations of a trusting relationship; therefore, she never took her patient’s files to a first meeting, as they tended to set a clinical mood she liked to avoid. This case was, admittedly, different, but she wouldn’t abandon what had always worked. The rest of that day was spent informing her family of her whereabouts (minus the specifics) and settling in. Come the next station cycle (or ‘day’) at 9:00 she sat opposite Psi in his ‘enclosure’ in a folding metal chair, while he took up a third of the old sofa. She’d brought a bottle of water and two cups, as it always helped during the long talks. Danuta had gotten Olbia to wait outside, despite his pleas that he should be present. Psi was slouching, his hands stuffed between crossed legs and slight bags under his eyes. He spoke first. “Don’t you…Do I know you?” Psi squinted at this unfamiliar face. The second time around she found his voice was rather small and a little high for his age, but it also bore traces of the country accents native to outer colonies. She smiled at him. “A little bit. We met yesterday. Do you remember that? My name is Dr. Danuta Petrovna. You can call me Danuta or Petra if you’d like.” Psi furled his brow, as if the events had escaped him. Judging by that she doubted that he remembered her ministrations either. “Oh, yesterday was Mister Casimir’s demonstration. My, uh, my name is Psi. Yeah, I remember that. I got so tired though, so I almost forgot.” “It’s nice to meet you properly, Psi. Now, do you know why I’m here?” Psi didn’t immediately respond, and nervously kneaded his hands between his knees. “Um, I guess you’re another s-scientist. I saw your uniform yesterday. I talk to them almost every day, so you’re here to test me, right?” “Not quite, Psi. I used to be a soldier. That’s how I knew the Admiral, but now I’m a doctor.” Psi wasn’t calmed by that. He abruptly stood up and shook his head quickly. “I-I-I don’t need to see another doctor. They said my health was fine when I got here. W-What I have—what I do—can’t be fixed. I’m f-fine.” He began pacing the small room. She knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. For example, the stress-induced stammer was mentioned in his files. She was still skeptical of that though, considering how finely he’d spoken in front of the genocidal alien just yesterday. There was more explore there. “I’m not actually that kind of doctor, Psi. There’s no need to be alarmed, so why don’t you sit down?” He then turned to her and rebuked: “Then why are you here?” Nothing good happened when someone got agitated. She had to de-escalate it quickly. “I’m a Psychologist, Psi. Do you know what that means?” He looked at her again, strangely. “Y-You work on peoples’ minds, right? Kind of like a Ps-Psionicist? I already s-see lots of those. I-I can’t tell you any more.” The pacing resumed. She made note of how rapidly his eyes moved, and the flicking of his wrist that indicated a physical tic. “Not quite like that. The Psionicists want to understand your gift. I want to understand you.” “W-what does that mean?” “It means that I want to help you feel at ease in your mind. I can’t ‘fix’ you, but I can listen to you talk, and then together we’ll work through what bothers you. A good place to start would be for you to tell me about yourself.” It was around then that Danuta was missing her office at home the most. She had built it to be as relaxing a space as possible, with low lights, a tiny fountain to produce soothing sound, and a comfortable place for everyone to sit. Psi’s fluorescent-lit, loudly-filtered cell failed utterly at two of these, and the seating was sub-optimal. She was certain that he’d be more receptive in a better environment. “Let’s try again. Go ahead and sit down.” She wasn’t yet willing to press her assertiveness, but that worked; and Psi quietly sat back down. “What do you want to know?” “Something about you. Almost anything, really. In fact, why don’t you start right here?” Psi looked confused. “Tell me about how your day goes here.” It took Psi a moment to formulate himself, still fidgeting on his couch. “I-I usually wake up and eat with Albert.” “Albert?” “Mister Olbia. He stays with me in the morning. I always see a doctor. They t-take my vital signs and give me other tests. That usually takes a few hours. They give me holobooks, so I don’t always get bored.” “You like to read?” she asked. Psi nodded quickly. “Uh, y-yes. Mostly historical books, but yeah. Some days I go to see the Psionicists. They run other tests, but l-like I said I can’t help them. They’re always frustrated because I c-can’t explain what I do, not with words.” He paused again. “I go to the gym to do my running, because Albert says I need to stay conditioned, a-and then I sometimes…” He tapered off into silence, floundering. “Sometimes I sleep a bit more. I g-get tired after using my ability.” Danuta knew he was tired due to more than that. The ammonic smell in his bedroom had been corroborated by his case file. He was a bedwetter, and obviously losing sleep over it. “Okay. What do you think of Albert? You seem to spend a lot of time with him.” At that Psi glanced to the door momentarily. “He isn’t here, Psi. This conversation is just between you and me.” “W-why?” “Because as a doctor I’m sworn to protect my patients. Nobody can know what you tell me except you and I.” “He doesn’t like me. I know it’s his job to take me places, but he thinks I’m an annoyance. A-and no, I can’t read his mind to see that. I-it just doesn’t work like that. He won’t talk to me unless he has to, s-so I’ve got nobody like I did at home.” “How would you like to talk to him, Psi? What was different at home?” Before Psi replied he finally picked up the empty glass on the table before him. He clasped it in his hands and turned it over repeatedly. “B-Back on Ymir when I lived at home. We weren’t family, but we were all close like brothers. They always said I could share things with them.” Danuta nodded. The case file spoke little on Psi’s background. He claimed to have originated in an all-male religious group home on Ymir’s north continent. The place hadn’t been recorded anywhere, so someone had annotated that Psi might have invented it—maybe as a byproduct of traumatic stress. As with a lot of things on him, nobody knew for certain. “It’s-it’s just like that. I can’t talk to Albert. He doesn’t want to, or he can’t. So, there’s no-one to talk to.” His fidgeting resurfaced along with his juggling of the glass. The way his tired eyes darted from the left light fixture to the right viewport—ever avoiding her face—was starting to concern her. “Why are you asking me this stuff? I don’t know what else I can say.” “I’m here to help you, Psi. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” She gave him a moment. “How about we talk about something a little different? Tell me one thing you’d like to change here. It could be something about your schedule, or something that you don’t have that you want.” This was a variation of a question she liked to ask older patients. It placed the discussion back in their control. “Take your time. There’s no wrong answer.” “I’d like you to leave.” She choked at his mumbled reply. “I d-don’t want to talk to any more doctors. It never changes anything. B-besides, I have to see the Psionicists today anyways.” He gently laid the glass back down on the table and stood up. “S-so please go.” “Please reconsider, Psi. You just said that there’s nobody to speak to, so why don’t—” “No! I’m so t-tired of telling you people the same things over and over again. Just. Go. Away!” She recoiled at how loud he became with those last words, and without another word he stepped through the door to his sleeping quarter and sat on the bed, burying his face in one of those holobooks he’d mentioned. She approached the glass wall and tried again. “Will you come out, Psi? I really do want to help you, but we can’t do anything if you retreat like that.” He turned off the holobook and lay down, burying his head under a pillow to drown out her voice. Danuta wouldn’t go any further, so with a sigh she collected her glasses and prepared to leave. Putting them in her bag, she was shocked to notice that Psi’s had web-like cracks on it that hadn’t been there before. He hadn't slammed it down or dropped it. Olbia showed her to the door of the complex, marking an unsatisfactory ending to her first session. -- Obviously, she was doing something wrong. No matter how petulant a patient was, it was Danuta’s job to get through to them. She decided to return to her habitation block and reevaluate her strategy. While walking, she pondered which patients she’d had her ‘worst’ first appointments with. There were many who didn’t begin to trust her after a single hour, but most were children and had no choice but to return, allowing her to eventually build a rapport. It wasn’t unheard of for one to leave abruptly, but nevertheless Psi’s behavior lad left her a bit disheartened. The road she walked made a circuit of the hab-ring and was flanked by various buildings, or ‘blocks’ with pre-planned designs. Just before the entrance to her apartment she noticed a grocery sign to her left and ducked through the door. It had been a few weeks since she’d sat down for a drink, and she figured one per day couldn’t hurt this assignment. The store was oddly laid-out, and she wandered a few minutes through various aisles until a strange interaction caught her eye. “C’mon Raina. I don’t need these!” A young voice was angrily whispering. Its source was a gangly, red-haired boy, maybe twelve years old, with his arms crossed and nose upturned. A similar-looking young woman, maybe eight years older, was holding a package of ‘absorbent underclothes’ and reading the label. The boy glanced down the aisle momentarily at Danuta. “You’re embarrassing me.” Danuta quickly turned away and pretended to look at the products on the other wall. It was an aisle full of diapers and other baby products. “Nope, Ethan. You’re embarrassing yourself by making such a big deal out of it. Nobody’s even going to know unless you keep complaining so loudly.” The girl said, exasperated. Ethan looked at Danuta again, his cheeks flushed with red. “You know what the travel advisory said. It should pass in a few weeks, so just put one of these on before bed and forget about it.” The boy groaned and followed the girl—probably his sister—to another aisle. Danuta could guess what she Raina had been speaking about. She guessed by their lanky builds that they were from a low-gravity planet like Trappist d or Xavien. When young people used to less than a full g moved into space for the first time, the artificial gravity could exhaust them, causing fatigue, muscle spasms, and whatnot. A lot of them became bedwetters as their bladder muscles strained under the added weight. Something similar had happened with Simon, her brother, during a trip when he was a boy. After their parents had prodded him, he eventually used the diapers they provided and admitted they helped him sleep. This wasn’t the case with Psi, as Ymir was a monstrous planet with much greater gravity, but it got her thinking. A new strategy brewed in Danuta’s mind. Psi’s behavior was emblematic of a child suffering from acute and post-traumatic stress. Perhaps if she could reduce his stress—beginning with things like his bedwetting and then moving on to other parts of his routine—he would gradually open up and become more amenable to talking. She hadn’t done this before, but there were schools of thought which promoted things like this, calling it ‘immersed regression therapy.’ She approached the rows of diapers and began looking for ones in Psi’s waist size. The medical records left nothing unsaid, so she soon found a bag that would fit. The front depicted a smiling boy of around his age, with the tagline ‘Better nights under any gravity!’ She took them, along with a box of wet-wipes. Then, as she proceeded towards the beverages, wondered if she’d look odd buying youth diapers and vodka alone. To be continued.
  12. Thanks! It's a persistent worry of mine that I'll bore people to death before anything interesting happens. With any luck I can get things really moving soon in Chapter 3.
  13. A fantastic part. I'm also excited to see how it unfolds. As far as your writing goes, I'm no expert, but I can't point to anything wrong you're doing--just minor stylistic differences. I'm sure you'll find a good point of equilibrium as you continue.
  14. Hello, everyone! I've lurked this forum for years, but shamefully never contributed meaningfully. That changes today. This story is a bit unorthodox, and it'll be very slow in introducing any diaper/ABDL related elements, so be warned. -- Introduction: The 28th Century It was the dawn of the 28th century, and the hundred worlds of humanity all wept. This period of troubles began with a force called the Sagittarian Scourge: rumors had long circulated of aliens, mysterious and malign, moving slowly in from the galactic North. Far from the tendrilled bioforms scientists had long hoped to find, these rumors spoke of robotic drones on lithe metal legs stalking the most distant colonies of man, mutilating people and fleeing to elude detection. Ships of indiscernible origin were spotted in the interstellar voids, answering no calls and moving towards the fledgling worlds of the North. Few on the inner worlds heeded these tales and dismissed them as colonial superstition, until it was too late, and a tide of robotic invaders began sweeping over newly-christened planets. The Sagittarians, named for their equine appearance and horrific speed, proved indominable to poorly-trained human defenders. They would recover quickly from gunfire, stitching their metal flesh back together in minutes. Their weapons were accurate, and their numbers were terrifying. Ymir VI, New Java, and Tarquinia—some two billion souls in total—were lost within two years, never to answer their subspace beacons again. As the robotic plague reached its third year, and human forces lost battle after battle to the deathless machines, panic spread among the civilians. They began to realize that—for the first time—that their civilization was under attack from without and from an enemy without reason or quarter. Refugees, fearing the metal menace, filled humongous ships and made for the inner worlds and the safety offered by hundreds of years of infrastructure and civilization. On one of these overcrowded, miserable barges, a veteran named Servilius promised victory to the frightened humans if only they trusted his expertise and appointed him commander. When that ship reached a small but wealthy trading world called Tyche, those people proved true to Servilius and overran the colonial government. From there every ship on that world was confiscated, and the Servilian despot’s conquests began. Every person in the hundred worlds knew him soon: he had a rounded, kind face topped by wolf’s eyes. His voice was soft and low, practically pleading those he met to believe in his good intentions. His wrath, however, was legendary, if those who survived it were to be believed. Servilius was far from alone in his quest to capitalize on chaos. Piracy rose in the wake of the mass-redistribution of resources that the invasion heralded. Some worlds abandoned their obligations to lesser colonies to shore up defenses at home. Older (and perhaps more well-meaning) governments mobilized every force at their disposal to intercept or at least deter the Scourge. But as the third year drew to a close, no victory had yet come. As the crisis reached its fourth year, the Sagittarians slowed their advance, and the warzones grew all but silent. the Inner Systems Alliance (ISA), encompassing several of the oldest colonies of mother Earth, reactivated their military branches to counterattack as one. But their fleets would not fight alone, for the Strategic Command Bureau had obtained a new weapon: a marvel of science which could turn the tide decisively into humanity’s favor. This tale is about that weapon, the Psion, and the people who made it known to history. -- Chapter 1: Ægir b, Rán system ‘Perhaps it was inevitable that I’d be called up again,’ thought Dr. Danuta Petrovna as she re-read the notice. It had come shortly after the Psychologist had closed her practice for the evening, producing that familiar ‘ding-ding’ for priority messages that her tablet sang. She’d quickly headed home under the dusk of Ægir’s glowing rings and sat down to read. The letter from the Strategic Bureau began “LCDR. Petrovna,” (not ‘Dr.’ as she preferred) and proceeded to inform her that the ISA once again had need of her: “Given the extraordinary circumstances of the current time, the ISASCB has selected you for a returning commission. This is not an optional offer. The Inner Systems have need of your experience and skill-set in the name of humanity’s common defense, and you must return to service by the attached date. Your compensation package will include a veterancy bonus in addition to your previous pay-grade…” Danuta skimmed the rest of the letter and glanced up at the living room wall, where her service certificate and rank was framed. It had been almost nine years since her tour in the navy expired. Her time on a ship had been great—life changing, even—but a career in uniform didn’t sit right with the woman. She could manage any number of junior officers and work with superiors easily, but she had never ‘made the difference’ in the world she wanted. After returning Danuta had entered a Psychology program and pursued her true passion in pediatric practice. The practice was her ship now. Her patients were her men (minus the military decorum of course), and their development was her mission. Nothing was more important than the mission. This fateful message was always a possibility, however. It didn’t matter that her distance from the conflict had almost totally isolated her from its material effects. Nor did it matter that she was a doctor, as behavioral doctors weren’t seen as necessary homefront workers. The ISA reserved the right to call her into action once more, although she never considered it could occur until those “Sagittarian” horrors were spotted almost four years before. The news was filled with conflicting reports: some said the monsters had retreated, others that they would target the inner systems next. Some said they were undefeatable. She preferred not to consider those last possibilities. The notice told her she had until April 15th to arrange her affairs and report to Skadi (Ægir b’s capital) for her commission. ‘So it’s really happening?’ she pondered. Danuta replaced the tablet and went to her kitchen to fetch a drink. She wouldn’t get to have alcohol on a ship, so it behooved her to enjoy a little now. The old whisky she kept in a biometrically-locked cupboard over the range turned bitter as she considered the possibilities. A new commission would mean a new ship, and a new ship nowadays probably meant combat—something she hadn’t ever seen much of. Given the magnitude of the threat at hand, combat could mean defeat, or even death for her men and herself. She had never been a very nervous person, and all military work carried risks, but Danuta was unsettled by it nonetheless. She couldn’t let that distract her from the mission though, so she knocked back the rest of her drink and got back to work. Besides, someone needed to prepare the practice for her absence. -- April came much too fast, (it didn’t help that ‘months’ on Ægir b were twenty-two days long, about one orbit about the great gas giant) but Danuta was an industrious worker. On top of refreshing her technical skills from the navy she managed to put her practice in the care of a younger partner she trusted. The condominium she had overlooking the perpetual planetrise of Ægir was tidied up and left with her younger brother Simon, who would stop by occasionally to keep things in order. He lived on the other side of the moon, only a few hours away by maglev. Danuta relished her (possibly) final appointments, taking time to ask every patient about their plans for the coming year and what they’d do while she was away. One child, whose parents had first brought him in two years ago for his anger issues, fell into a blubbering mess, and Danuta had shared in his tears. She reflected on them and refused to get emotional again as she tied back her blonde hair and donned her uniform—still crisp out of its vacuum-packaging from years ago. The dress uniform was the same navy blue of the ISA’s interstellar banner, bearing thin white stripes on the legs and cuffs. It rode a bit stiffly on her, obviously having been made for a younger and slightly fitter her. But it would do well enough, she thought. She straightened the garment out and finalized her travel preparations. Then, all her effects in-hand, she set off or the maglev station to answer the call once more. Danuta thought herself beyond the age where vanity was appropriate, so she deliberately traveled light. Her carry-on bag held underclothes, a uniform jumpsuit, and a few personal effects. On her person she kept the usual travel documents and the tablet, which contained more information than many old libraries. She worried as well, and that probably weighed her down more than everything else. This wasn’t just worry for her; rather, she worried for the world, those patients she called her little soldiers, and for Ægir b, the pristine untouched moon that had always been home. -- Skadi was the first city built on Ægir b in the twenty-fourth century. That had been at the closing of the first great colonization wave, before the moon was terraformed and warmed into a near-replica of Earth. Consequently, the city bore marks of that age: rusted bulkhead frames lined the doorways of the maglev station; ancient permacrete sealed the gaps between bricks to avoid air loss; and arrows to the nearest oxygen masks and pressure rooms could be seen in every hallway. It all served to remind one of how tenuous humanity’s hold on the void was, and Danuta struggled not to draw comparisons with what would soon be her situation. The utilitarian architecture of the capital left very little open space and had done little to help the twenty thousand or so offworlders who had come to seek shelter. Danuta had never seen these people in the small city that was her home, but over the past four years talk about them became ubiquitous. In Skadi the refugees were countless, pitching tents and collapsible habitats wherever there was space. Moving through the streets a throng of children who bore the pallid faces of Northern Jovians accosted her, asking for food or credits. She politely turned them down (and didn’t actually have any). Their parents, huddled around a table in the nearby tent camp, scowled at the uniformed woman suspiciously. The ISASCB’s planetary HQ occupied one of the city’s most ancient buildings, a concrete behemoth shaped roughly like a giant brick adjacent to the spaceport. As she approached Danuta found she was far from alone, as hundreds of other returning servicepeople lined up outside to check in and receive their orders. There were maybe twenty million veterans on the planet, and odds are most of them were being called up as well. As she settled into place a few enlisted male sailors stepped aside in deference. Looking at the younger men she could tell they were dreading their prospects. She didn’t blame them, and she doubted an individual commander like her could change much of anything. Once through the line, which tapered split for officers and enlisted, she approached a young desk-bound receptionist. “Hello sir. Can I take your name, rank, and serial number?” the girl asked. “Of course,” Danuta didn’t need her papers for that, “Lieutenant-Commander Danuta H. Petrovna, Oscar-Hotel-Alpha-611281.” “Thank you. Let me retrieve your assignment information.” The receptionist typed the data into her terminal, composed of a viewing screen and optical keyboard. A moment passed and her face scrunched up as she read something. “Is there a problem?” Danuta asked. “No Commander. I’m just double-checking that you received the correct assignment.” “What is it?” “It says here you’re to report to Wing Orbital A.S.A.P. under paramount orders.” Danuta was nonplussed. ‘Paramount’ was ISASCB jargon for ‘the highest authority,’ usually the sitting Alliance President or the Commander-in-Chief. Her rank would normally see her taking orders from a Captain or less, so this was unprecedented. There must’ve been some mistake. “Well, do what you need to do.” “It’ll take just a moment sir.” The receptionist insisted. She typed away for a minute and then compared some data with a similar readout on her handheld tablet. “Well sir, it seems this is your assignment. The security checksum passed. If you hand me your tablet, I can provide you with the specifics, but it says most of the details will be given in-situ. There’s a shuttle bound for Wing departing at 1900, so I’ll reserve you a bunk on it. Is there anything else I can do?” Danuta glanced behind her to see a sizable line of other soldiers waiting to receive their orders, and she decided to keep it brief. Her questions could be answered later. “No. Please just copy the data over. I’ll figure it out.” Danuta handed her device to the receptionist, who linked the two machines with a touch and pressed a button to order the copy. She handed the device back with a professional smile. The woman wasn’t a day over twenty—the same age Danuta had enlisted. “Good luck with your assignment, sir.” “Yes. With yours as well. And stay safe.” -- Chapter 2: Wing Orbital, Rán system The pretty, orange star Rán was often said to ‘greatly prefer its personal space.’ This was due to the void of natural objects between it and Ægir, which orbited at a distance comparable to the old Sun’s Jupiter. This was a fine arrangement, as Rán was young and liable to spew out giant flares of plasma every so often, scorching anything too close. Wing Orbital had been one of these things: a colossal space station built to house and coordinate the first wave of settlers in the 2330s. Its iron core was welded to rotating hab-rings by way of kilometer-long spokes that served as facilities themselves. It was built to orbit one paltry AU from Rán, and all was well for many years until a stellar prominence tore off its solar arrays and decimated the on-board computer systems. An up-and-coming mega-engineer from FI-Virginis (a nearby colony of that time) was hired to salvage the station, and his solution was to attach chemical thrusters the size of football fields to the station and move it out beyond Ægir’s orbit, where it would be safe from further damage. Considering the price of replacing all the flared components, his method was cheaper by miles. The station thereafter bore its own mobility engines as well as his name. By the 28th century, the station had been divided between the civilian and military administrators of the Rán system. Danuta’s shuttle, one of those newer ones that could comfortably cruise in subspace even near a planet, spent a mere five days en route. During that time she inquired with everyone on-board about what their (or her) mission might be. There were no satisfactory answers, and—more importantly—no evasions. Therefore, she convinced herself that none of them were lying or concealing it from her. Only time would tell, so she resolved to pass that time in her passenger bunk with the latest literature in her field—something she’d had precious little time for over the last month. Her reading provided a few insights into what was already on her mind: stress-related issues were growing quite common on the newer colonies. The Sagittarians, still almost totally mysterious and quite undefeated, had infested the waking (and sleeping) minds of people both close and far from the conflict zones. The whole conflict had rocked humanity’s collective perception of safety in solitude—or, that at least aliens would be happy to meet them—and the damage was showing in reports from psychological researchers everywhere. She pondered whether the aliens were responding to a perceived invasion of “their turf,” in which case they would stop eventually. That seemed like a nice scenario, as otherwise it would only get worse. That kind of thinking was bad for the mind though, and a poor mind made for a poor mission. She moved on to other papers as she steamed towards the behemoth station. -- Danuta’s last time on Wing Orbital had been at the conclusion of her tour of duty. It had changed very little, and the giant rotating docking bay was nearly a familiar sight. Upon her exit from the shuttle she stretched in her uniform and took in the memorable smell of artificially-scented air. Yes, the station was old, but it was considered a marvel of engineering for a reason. Nowhere in space could one be safer! She trotted down the habitation rings toward the SCB Headquarters, lodged in the lower half of the station some two miles below. Upon arriving she found it too had remained the same. The regalia lining the huge lobby was tacky for the 2500s, its lighting was still poor, and even the guards standing at the security checkpoints inside looked like the same guys she almost remembered. They didn’t find her quite as familiar though. “Sir. Your identification please?” One of them asked. “Oh, yes. Hold on.” Danuta produced her tablet and summoned her stamped service record—complete with a flattering ten-year-old photograph. The guard looked over it and stopped when he saw the “paramount” flag on her file. He produced a pulse scanner and ran it over each surface of her uniform to detect bugs and other concealed items. Usually this was reserved for higher-security meetings. “Alright, Commander. You’ll want to take the lift to level 5B. We’ll call up for Paramount to meet you there.” He ushered her past to where a rail-lift sat embedded in the wall. He had neglected to mention who Paramount was, but Danuta doubted she could convince him to. She did as asked, and the lift began whirring up a spoke of the habitat ring. As the lift grew closer to the station’s core, Danuta felt the vertigo of the decreasing gravity, which soon settled at a comfortable 0.7g—just like Ægir b’s! She stepped off the lift, entering a reception area to a series of offices. A passerby directed her to a room numbered 5B-101, the door to which she slid open and stepped inside. 5B-101 was a simply-decorated conference room, with tinted windows overlooking the ever-tumbling vista of deep space; however, far from the panel of bureaucrats or fellow officers Danuta was expecting, Paramount was a single man sitting in the nearest chair. They locked eyes. He was only slightly older than her, and the flecks of gray on his moustache completed his Rear Admiral’s uniform—wait, a Rear Admiral? Danuta spied his nameplate, which read ‘CASIMIR.’ She realized that this was the man who'd been her captain for three years back in the Navy. Their relationship had come as close to friendship as rank would allow. ‘Casimir got promoted again! Why didn’t he tell me?’ She recovered—slower than she’d liked—from the shock and saluted. “Lieutenant Commander First Class Petrovna reporting, Admiral Casimir.” The Capt—Admiral now, waited a short, grueling moment and burst into a warm smile. He stood up and extended a hand. She shook it. “Acknowledged Commander, and at ease please. It’s been far too long. Please take a seat.” His voice was the same, if a bit deeper given his age. Once seated he offered her a glass of water and began: “You’re probably wondering why I went through the trouble of asking you here with so little explanation, Petrovna. You’ll have to forgive all the cloak and dagger that went into it, as it was critical to maintain some semblance of operational security for this.” Danuta nodded, still looking quite beside herself. “I see. Respectfully Admiral, I would appreciate some clarification on what exactly this is. I was under the impression that my re-enlistment was in relation to the reactivation of the fleet; furthermore, congratulations on your promotion.” Casimir nodded, sipping from his own glass. “Thank you, although I was unable to make much fanfare over it at the time. And yes, an explanation would be in order. You’ll be glad to know that this does relate to the Scourge. You’ve certainly seen the SCB scrounging up everyone who can pretend to sail a starship right now—and have no doubt, they need them. But when your name came up in the redrafting list, I asked them to reassign you to a non-front-line project, because the Petrovna I know is cut out for something bigger than a glorified petty officer rank.” He pointed towards her and flicked his finger away at the end of that sentence—a classic Casimir gesture—but Danuta was still confused. Was he trying to promote her? “But what is the project, Cas-Admiral?” Casimir sipped again and returned to a more stoic expression. “Just use Casimir, Petra. And of course, I’m getting ahead of myself again. You know how this ‘war’ has been going so far. We haven’t even faced those robotic terrors in a full-fledged space battle, and the President is wearing his brown pants to work every day. When the Scourge attacked those dirt-farming settlers on Tarquinia, they were using alliance-manufactured guns—our soldiers’ guns! And they were still massacred to a man. Troop morale is in a black hole Alliance-wide, and no number of new flashy ships or propaganda broadcasts have been able to raise it. And with Servilius running around with a pirate fleet there’s any number of domestic disturbances we may need to respond to.” He paused, perhaps reflecting on the grimness of his speech. He continued. “The point is: The Alliance needs to bring something to bear when the Sagittarians decide to attack again. They could show up on another colony in a year, or next week if they want. And if they hit one of the tiny worlds, we might not even get word before everyone with a beacon is dead. That’s where my project comes in, Petra. I have found something that can turn this whole war around. But I need you to help me perfect it.” Danuta sat back and took it all in. “Casimir, you know I’m not an engineer. If it’s a weapon you want, you’re better off at a hardware store in the upper hab rings.” “But that’s where you’re wrong, Petra. You are exactly what we need. You told me before your commission ended that you wanted to pursue psychology and mental medicine, right? You used to say, ‘The human mind is the hardest ship to steer,’ so I can tell what you’ve been sailing since you left the Navy. Your awards paint quite a flattering picture.” “How is my civilian career related to this, Casimir?” She didn’t appreciate the diversion. “Come with me. I’ll show you what I mean, and this’ll all make sense.” With that Casimir typed a brief command into the sleek com-watch on his wrist and stood up, making for the door. Danuta had no choice but to follow, annoyed as she was with his non-sequiturs. Casimir entered the lift and brought them to ring level 4C, which opened into an empty, sterile-smelling hallway. Danuta recognized it as part of the R&D branch of the military offices. Casimir walked her into a former laboratory space, which had since been partitioned with one-way glass, separating it into an observation area and a second, seemingly-empty space. Casimir tapped his com-watch and spoke: “Control, release the sample: I.D. Artemis-2.” Before Danuta could ask what he was doing, a segment of the wall in the confined space slid open, revealing a black, folded-up…thing. As the light hit it the object moved as if fluid, unfolding ten lustrous legs and scurrying into the lit room. Unfurled it stood a towering nine feet tall like a gigantic praying mantis, its segmented body reflecting the fluorescent light like polished obsidian. Its head was a confusing, asymmetrical mass of light-reflecting diodes and surfaces which might have been sensory organs, and its two front-most legs were partitioned into sharpened ‘claw’ and ‘arc beam’ segments, both equally lethal. Dany stepped back involuntarily as she gazed at the Sagittarian, although the trapped creature could not see her. It began moving aimlessly about the room, prodding the walls with its claws and emitting sounds like clockwork as it moved. She knew that it was intelligent and would attack upon detecting any human, either obliterating her at range or bisecting her with its claws. “Why did you bring this thing in here, Casimir?” Casimir stood still, seemingly unfazed. Before answering he barked into his com-watch, “Mr. Olb, come to the demonstration area please.” He turned to Danuta. “Patience, Petra. These nightmares are difficult to capture, but well worth what we’ve learned from them. Just give me a moment.” Turning back to the watch, he ordered, “Control, active demonstration A.” As he concluded his order, four tiny gun turrets slid out from the ceiling above the captured Sagittarian. They each swiveled to the target and then unleashed a hail of charged neutron blasts, melting the armor of the alien and then tearing its metallic innards apart. It gave an almost pitiful screech as one of its legs gave and it went crashing to the floor, motionless.” The turrets retracted. There was a moment of silence. “Is that your weapon?” asked Danuta. Casimir simply shook his head. Almost immediately the Sagittarian began stirring again. Tendrils of black, gooey metal leapt across the holes in its body, gradually filling up and reforming the carapace. Soon, even its damaged leg looked new, save for ridges and burn marks where the original damage had been. It stood and resumed its routine of scouting. ‘So that’s what it looks like. An enemy that can’t die,’ Danuta thought solemnly. A moment later the door to the observation room slid open, and a tall young officer walked in, leading by the shoulder something most odd—a child. It was male, olive-skinned, maybe 13 or 14 years old by his height, and clad in the simple jumpsuits the SCB gave to youth camp cadets. His hair was buzzed down to a 2-guard, and his brown eyes stared blankly ahead—or maybe towards the monster. Either way his demeanor was just wrong, and Danuta struggled to contain her confusion. “Psi.” Began Casimir to the child, softening his voice. “Your mission is to kill the monster as quickly as you can. Please begin.” The boy stepped out of the grip of the officer and walked to the one-way glass. Danuta gawked. “Is this some kind of joke, Casimir?” Danuta, now confused and angry, hissed. The Admiral shook his head. The boy reached the glass wall and rested the palms of his hand upon it. His breathing—until then silent—quickened and grew laborious. Something changed. The monster turned to face the opaque window and shrieked in its mechanical voice. It made as if to charge, but its limbs trembled. Attempting to move, one of its weapon arms began flailing wildly, and its noises grew ever more distraught. The boy, for his part, mumbled and gasped with exertion, doing god-knows-what but not moving at all. Then, as quickly as the weapons had done it in before, the Sagittarian began to crumble. The black fluid that had sewn its flesh together dissolved and began to pour from cracks that emerged in its armor. The computerized voice gave out, and its body dissolved quickly into a pile of metal pieces, which decayed further into dust and puddles of clear fluid. The boy pulled his hands from the wall and began gasping. The remains of the monster didn’t stir. The boy, turning around and facing the admiral, had a bleeding nose. “Mister Casimir, I finished the mission. Ca-” he coughed, "Can I sleep now?" Danuta stared, horrified. She couldn’t detect any traces of emotion in his voice. But she had no time to think on it, as right after speaking the boy fell to one knee and began hacking up blood. Her first aid kicked training in, and she rushed to the boy’s side, trying to hold him upright and elevate his nose. Casimir said something to the officer, who left in a hurry. Then, as the boy began calming down and breathing normally, the Admiral talked. “I’m so sorry, Danuta. This is why I couldn’t tell you before. I would never resort to this if it wasn't our best option. Short of a nuclear blast, you can’t truly kill those things, only slow down their repair process. But Psi—this child—does. He’s done it before on Ymir, and he did it again here.” Danuta glared at her superior, her tears of rage forming. “You can’t be serious.” She jostled the boy, trying to call him to attention, but he seemed to be losing consciousness. His eyes fluttered darted around, eventually closing as he fell asleep. Moisture—perhaps the boy’s blood—spread out on her leg. It wasn’t so. She looked down to see a wet patch forming over the boy’s jumpsuit as he unconsciously urinated on her. “I am, even though I wish I wasn’t.” continued Casimir. “This boy is my secret weapon, Petra, my ticket to total victory. He’s psionic. He faced the Scourge and survived. His gift is so rare it’s never been confirmed in a million years of human history, until now. Understanding his power means undoing the Sagittarians. But right now, Psi is broken, weak, and emotionally strained beyond belief. What he's been through should have destroyed him. I called you here to make sure it doesn't.” The Admiral and the Commander locked eyes, both tearing up. “You’re the Doctor. By any means, you’ve got to save him, so he can save us.” -- To Be Continued. Well, that's done. I hope you all enjoyed this intro, and I'd love to hear your thoughts/critiques of this story as it stands. I can't promise an update immediately, but once some business (final exams) are concluded that will probably change. Cheers.
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