Galaxy's End: Book One LeRoy Clary (dark books to read TXT) 📖

the destination and timing. Nobody or nothing had coerced us. It had been a coincidence. Right?

I sat in my corner and contemplated Chance, the steward, and empath, instead of paying attention to the attempted escape and pursuit of the Dreamer. I knew little about either subject, but less about the working of a starship than a knack of communication I’d been born with.

During a lull, I asked, “Do you mind if I go speak with Mr. Chance?”

Captain Stone said offhandedly, “Go ahead. Check out the security measures while you’re at it. I don’t trust him and have Bert listen in.”

I left them as they discussed the possibilities and meanings of the ship behind us. I took the time to examine the surroundings because it seemed we hadn’t left Roma but entered a small apartment complex with metal walls and the constant background hum of air circulators.

The floor had a slight vibration. The walls had layers of paint, the current cream color over dark green, and where it either chipped or had worn away, a stark white was exposed. The handrails were too low, down below my hip. I was not taller than the average human woman, but I had to bend slightly to use them. They were knee-high for Bill.

The door handles were also low, the stark lighting directed downward instead of defused. The tiny cabins with the odd restroom facilities.

The ship we were on had not been built by humans. I have no idea why that upset me. Other races probably built better ships. That idea didn’t help because the one that followed was that others probably didn’t build them as well as humans.

I poked my head into the galley where three tables where passengers ate, and one steward served them. A pair of older human women were playing a game with squares of plastic tiles while they talked instead of eating. A being with rumpled skin, too much of it from my perspective, was loudly slurping a semi-liquid gelatinous mass from a shallow bowl. All heads turned in my direction as I peeked in and I smiled before firmly closing the door again.

I didn’t need any conversation. They would ask questions I couldn’t answer. Besides, I was on a mission to meet with Chance.

The corners along the wall were no cleaner. I suspected the grime had accumulated along the walls where nobody had walked for a generation. The heads of screws and bolts were rounded and shiny, indicating decades of use. While functional, everything seemed old and slightly alien.

The handle to open Chance’s door was smooth and worn where many hands had touched it. I debated knocking and relented. My knuckles rapped the thin metal.

He instantly called for me to enter.

I pushed the door open and found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor, his head held down in his palms. He looked up at me with red eyes. He’d been crying.

“What is going on?” he asked. “What’s going to happen to me?”

I sighed and looked for a place to sit. There was none. It was a cabin a third the size of ours, intended to hold a single crewman. I said, not to him, but to the ceiling, “Bert, are you with me?”

“Yes.”

Chance said, “He’s always there?”

“Always.”

“Why did you come?”

He sounded genuinely puzzled at my appearance, or maybe because I was alone. He had little knowledge of his empathic power if any. He had seemed to use it almost defensively, and sloppily if that was the right way to describe it.

I felt a pang of pity. It was alien. Not my idea. My head jerked up in near rage. He was doing it to me. Never had I been on the receiving end of an empath. I said flatly, “You are an empath. Not a particularly good one, but no matter. You will not do that to me again.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“You will not attempt to sway my thinking.”

Now, he seemed confused. Was it an act? My mind wanted to be gentle and give him any benefit of the doubt. He might not even know of his abilities. He might just go through life finding that others often did as he wanted. To him, more coincidence than empathy. He might not even know the word. I should feel sorry for him.

I pulled myself up taller and mentally slapped myself across the face. He was doing it again, manipulating my feelings to benefit him.

Instead of reacting angrily, I drew a breath and waited. I could learn a lot from him, simply by observation. What worked for him would work better for me if I learned how to control it. I might also learn what didn’t work so I could avoid it.

I said, “Mr. Chance, how long have you known you are an empath?”

“Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing. I asked why you are here?”

Denying it didn’t make it any less true. Besides, there was that word again. Coincidence. He was on the ship that had been targeted for attack, had killed the captain, and he was an empath with ties to Prager Four. Too much to be an accident.

Was it possible he didn’t know?

No, I dismissed that instantly. Two crewmen were bribed to take over the ship, the communications Champers and a steward who was to kill the captain while a ship threatened us and forced us to drop out of hyperspace so others could board.

That brought up the second coincidence. The “pirates” were not pirating in the entertainment sense of the word. Vids always showed them boarding other ships with knives held in their teeth, which seemed silly when they could put them in a scabbard.

These “pirates” were an organization after something else. They didn’t want to capture a marginal tramp cargo ship. If they