Astra: Synchronicity (8 page)

"Would you trust him? If you were me?"

The doctor shrugged. The response did nothing
to sway her either way.

The two of them heard someone walk through
the doorway. "Lieutenant-Commander Carmen Martinez, reporting as
ordered." With that, her features softened. "Thank Astra, I'm
off-duty." She tugged at her collar and unzipped her khaki
jacket.

"I didn't realize…does that mean Amii isn't
your responsibility right now?"

Carmen's lips curled back and parted to
reveal a beautiful smile. "As the only female crewman aboard this
ship, damn right she is. I don't see King, how's he doing?"

"Second-degree plasma burns on his hand but
nothing electrical. It could've been a whole lot worse."

"If Admiral fucking McKirin would've listened
and upgraded our engines months ago, it would've never happened.
Second-rate cruiser, my ass." She gestured for Amii to follow her
out the door.

With one final look at the doctor, she headed
through the doorway and paused to allow the officer to lead the
way. "Is Xander some kind of criminal?"

"He's a thief. No one can argue that. But the
only thing he's really guilty of is lack of common sense. He got in
bed with the wrong people when he made that deal with the PAU. I
hope it was worth it. But enough about that. We'll get you changed
and head to the wardroom."

En route to the XO's quarters, they passed by
a handful of young crewmen milling around while they waited for a
lift. Each one of them gave Amii a once-over with hungry eyes. They
appeared far more interested in her than strangers should be.

Once they were out of sight, Amii asked, "Do
you think they know me?"

Carmen laughed out loud. "I'm pretty sure
they
want
to know you. The guys get a little
attention-starved when we've been in space a few months, and before
you know it, they're chasing anything in a skirt."

Amii followed her through a door into a small
room. She felt fortunate not to be claustrophobic. A twin bed
nestled against the far wall. A vase of glass lotus flowers sat on
a desk nearby, the only embellishment in the entire room. Their
crystalline petals caught the light and gleamed with pink
fluorescence.

"Why don't you get showered up while I find
you some clothes. Soap and everything's in there." She pointed to
the bathroom before pulling a bag from under her bed and rummaging
through it.

When she stepped inside the bathroom, Amii
noticed another door on the far side. Carmen must've shared it with
the captain. She suppressed her curiosity to see if his room was as
Spartan as the XO's. Without another thought on the matter, she
stripped off her gown and stepped into the shower.

She flinched out of surprise when the cold
water soaked her, but she wasted no time washing herself. The wrist
implant entranced her and she stood there for several minutes
staring at it. The current time gleamed across its round display in
a holographic teal shade, but it was more than just a timekeeper.
Over the last ten years, a concurrent implant the size of a grain
of rice had become widespread; from its position in fleshy ear
cartilage, the two functioned as a communication device. That
functionality's scope was limited to the planetary scale—powerful
enough to reach orbit but not beyond.

Implants could also be used for tracking
individuals, which was a source of ongoing contention in the AC.
Liberal progressives denounced the use of identification implants
in this way, claiming it infringed upon people's right to privacy.
Conservative federalists took the opposite approach, contending
only fugitives should fear such a use. Of course, what the
federalists failed to consider was that many fugitives replaced
their implants with those of the recently deceased to stay under
the radar. In effect, the ones punished by the scheme were
law-abiding citizens, but politics and common sense rarely
collided.

After she washed her hair, the water still
hadn't warmed to a comfortable temperature, but she paid it little
mind as she got out and toweled herself off. She spotted clothes
next to the sink that hadn't been there prior to stepping into the
shower. The light scent of freesia hung in the humid air, which
clouded the mirror in a sheen of unbroken condensate. She replaced
the towel where she found it even though her wet hair dripped all
over her shoulders and the floor.

She unfolded the clothing to reveal a black
catsuit, and she appreciated its bold simplicity. Beside it was a
pair of pink flats, which resembled ballet shoes with an inch of
industrial-strength rubber for the soles. Although they stood out,
they fit, and that was all that mattered to her right now.

Before she did anything else, she dressed and
stood staring at herself in the mirror while the dry oxygenated
atmosphere cleared it.
Who is that girl staring back at me? She
wants to tell me—I must believe that. Why is she a woman I don't
know? I want to remember…don't I?

As she began to comb her hair, something
stirred the dormant emotions buried deep inside her. Within
moments, the pain of her loss overpowered her fragile composure.
She sank to the floor and dropped her head into her hands. What if
her memory was gone forever? Some might consider it a blessing, but
the loss left an unsettling void in her head. Even the facts she
recalled seemed dry and lacked memory context to make them relevant
to her. The tumultuous feelings pinned her down with their
magnitude.

One man could help her. She caught sight of
her implant and was tempted to contact him. Based on the
information she'd gleaned, she didn't know if she could trust him.
She couldn't talk herself into calling him now, but they would
speak very soon.

Given the prospect all hope had not been
lost, she climbed back onto her feet and forced herself to smile at
her reflection. The expression felt like a mask drawn on her face
by a skillful hand. Her sadness might be concealed, but it could
not be forgotten. She could fool everyone but herself.

When she strutted out of the bathroom,
everything was fine. Carmen smiled and they headed off to the
wardroom for food. She might have a melancholy soul, but above all,
she had the spirit to endure. She'd trudge through this mess, and
at the end of the journey, she'd be a better person for it.

Nadine repeatedly crossed and uncrossed her
legs while she waited in her quarters for the
Kearsarge's
executive officer. Commander Mundammi had refused her request to
see him five minutes earlier over the intercom. Dealing with
someone so intolerant frayed her nerves. She hadn't dealt with
blatant discrimination in a long time, and she'd almost forgotten
how stressful it could be. Almost…

Normals had good reason not to trust psions.
Telepathy corrupted even the most kindhearted, turning them into
murderers in search of their next fix. The danger of such power
rivaled that of modern weapons of destruction.

The most notorious psion in Astra was Aliane,
and stories of her telepathic abuse gave more than children
nightmares. No one knew how many people she could dominate at any
one time. She could drive a person insane with a thought. She could
see through a person's eyes without having to be on the same
planet. And there was no way to stop her from doing any of it.

But most psions were not like that at all.
Many sought the opportunity to live a normal life. They didn't want
to be special or judged and couldn't help being born the way they
were. None deserved to be punished for being different when they
were productive members of society.

Nadine didn't fall into either category.
Having grown up in a laboratory under the supervision of curious
scientists, she'd never had the choice to be normal, instead forced
like a rat in a cage to perform for the scientist's amusement. As
her abilities strengthened, so did the drugs used to sedate her.
Large chunks of her adolescent years had vanished along with her
pride.

Despite the fact she used her powers for the
betterment of United Europe, she was no poster-child for the
psionic movement. Many disapproved of her "euthanasia killings,"
and her husband would never be elected President of Chara because
he had a psion for a wife. People shrugged off her status as a
diplomat due to her position as the second lady. In the end she
decided to let history be her judge.

When the panel beside the door buzzed, she
jumped. When she opened it, the XO stood there with her arms
crossed. "I don't have a lot of time," Carmen told her. "What do
you want?"

Nadine forced herself to swallow before
responding. "I need access to a secure communications terminal to
apprise Vice President Taylor of the status of negotiations with
the PAU."

"I'll see what I can do. Is that all?"

"Is it really necessary to keep me confined
to quarters? Is it too much to ask to be able to eat with everyone
else?"

Carmen narrowed her eyes. "The captain thinks
it's an unnecessary risk. As do I."

"Are you sure you're not overreacting? My
purpose here is diplomatic."

"One psion could commandeer this entire ship.
If you don't like the rules, next time you should stay home and cry
about it to your simpleton of a husband. Because sweetie, no one
here gives a damn about your feelings. Every one of us knows
someone who was killed by a mind-raper. That's never going to
change. Get used to it."

She left Nadine standing there with a heavy
heart. She glanced at the security guard standing outside her door
before casting her eyes down to the floor. "Could you escort me to
the hold so I can get a few of my bags?"

"Follow me."

During the short walk there, she rubbed her
nose to keep herself from breaking down. Since coming aboard, her
mind felt raw and distressed. The commander's words stung, but the
emotion behind them tore Nadine up inside. She felt more like a
prisoner instead of an honored diplomat. They'd persecuted her for
every horrible deed committed by a psion since the Great Holocaust,
and not a single person on board sympathized.

The guard opened the door to the aft hold and
stepped inside behind her, waiting there for her to return. She'd
forgotten where she put her bags, and finding them was much more
difficult through the prisms of the tears clouding her vision.
After several moments, she spotted them in the corner, resting
against the bulkhead behind some large crates of freeze-dried
food.

Was it so much easier to hate than offer
someone a shred of understanding? Did any of them realize how hard
it is to be a psion? To be discriminated by the very laws designed
to protect the innocent? To be hauled off by a gang of thugs at
night and set on fire like was done to her mother?

She sank to her knees and tears spilled from
her eyes. No psion was completely innocent, but being treated like
a demon trapped in heaven was more than her fragile ego could deal
with. She should've been stronger than this. During President
Scheidecker's campaign, she'd dealt with worse. Mudslinging
followed her every step. At one point, she received death threats,
but she pulled through. For those hateful hearts, she had little
sympathy, yet she'd never stoop to their level.

In an act that required great fortitude and
determination, she grabbed as many suitcases as she could hold. She
slung one of them over each shoulder, causing her to hunch over
from the weight. With two in her left hand and one oversized case
in her right, she stumbled toward the door exiting the hold. The
guard had left it open for her.

Nadine shuffled through it and stepped over
the doorway for the airtight door. One of her shoulder bags got
caught on the doorjamb, and as a result, she tripped. She barely
had time to catch herself before slamming into the hard floor.
While she hadn't hurt herself, her bags were strewn across the
corridor. The clumsiness embarrassed her, but she brushed herself
off and collected her bearings.

"Could you help me carry these back to my
quarters?" she asked. "I have no issues being alone as long as I
can have my books."

The guard rolled his pale eyes in overt
irritation. "Do I look like a valet to you, lady? If you want these
bags, you're gonna carry them yourself."

If she'd been normal, she wagered he'd be
falling all over himself to help her in the hopes he'd get lucky.
Instead of responding, she knelt down and gathered them up.

"Babysitting you is the last thing I wanted
to do this patrol. I sure as hell don't plan to be your bitch
too."

His mouth twisted into a snarl when she
glanced up at him, and it drained the last of her poise and
self-confidence. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until the
ship landed on New England. The stress of the past week culminated
in grief that fought to free itself from her soul.

I will not cry in front of him
, she
thought.
I won't give him the pleasure
.

"On your feet, whore. I don't care who you
are. Get your ass moving already."

A female voice exploded behind her. "What
gives you the right to talk to a lady like that?"

Nadine turned around so fast she almost lost
her balance. She hadn't been surprised by anyone since she was a
young girl, before her powers began to surface. When she wasn't
actively reading minds, she always sensed the mental energy of
those around her. The fact that she'd been startled jarred her
nerves. She could not place the voice and yet somehow, it felt
familiar.

The guard pointed to the rank insignia on his
left sleeve. "This gives me the right. I don't have to cater to her
kind."

The woman stepped around her and got in the
guard's face. "Her kind? What about my kind? Do you treat everyone
like a doormat? Keep your bloody mouth shut. Trust me—you'll live
longer." Her dangerous glare left no doubt she'd defend herself if
she needed to.