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

secret cargo the two ships were after might help—if she had any idea of what the gelled cargo was and why it was valuable enough to have two ships pursue hers through a series of interconnected wormholes.

An idea took form. She could travel to the far end of the human sphere and investigate the race that had advanced technology and perhaps other useful items. As a trader, she already owned a “cover” story that might allow her to reach far beyond where a military ship would be allowed to travel.

Bert pinged the speaker in the cabin. “Captain, Fang asked me to inform you that as we passed the last nexus, the two ships were getting closer.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

Kat

 

I left Chance sitting there in his jail cell of a cabin, a scowl on his face as if I’d done something distasteful to him. Captain Stone wanted to talk to him, and I didn’t imagine it was a friendly conversation.

I went to see Bill. He was busy with what he called the impeller of a pump. Pieces of the unit were spread neatly on a table, probably in the inverse order that they’d go back together. Each would be needed for the reassembly and he would know where it was and what to install next.

He almost ignored me. I had calmed down from the visit with Chance and looked at Bill’s fingers moving and manipulating parts as he fit a pair of odd units together. I couldn’t help but see how smart and handsome he looked as he worked. A smudge of dark grease made me want to clean it off while another part of me wanted it to remain so I could enjoy looking at him. The smudge was the only blemish on a perfect body.

Bill said, “Be done with this in a tenth-of-time. Reassembling this part is tricky.”

He said it as if he had put dozens of pumps together. He hadn’t. The scattering of parts before him might be the first in his life. However, with the confidence of a young man on a new project, his words were as soothing as a dip into a warm spring in winter. I was doing things to keep my head clear as I attempted to assimilate my position in the ship as he had. Everything was new to me.

Even the idea of eating whenever I wanted was new and if I didn’t control that impulse, I’d be as big around as a barrel of rainwater at the corner of a building in the dry countryside of Roma.

My restlessness was deeper than that. My empathy was the root of my problems, as always. I had to know more about it. There was no source of information I could trust. Except for Chance, there was nobody to ask. I didn’t trust him, but already he’d supplied enough hints for me to think about for days and days, and I assumed he would reveal more, willingly or unknowingly.

His revelation that people could be made to do things both revolted and inspired me. It also upset my core beliefs. In his telling, I’d come to understand for the first time, why people were scared of empaths. It was not what we did, but what was possible.

In the past, there were probably verified instances where it had happened. The subsequent rumors and stories were probably exaggerated—but maybe not. I shuddered to think what an empath without morals could do. The temperature in the engine room seemed to drop a few degrees with my thinking. For the first time, my powers scared me. Powers seemed the right word to describe them. They were powerful. More than I’d ever suspected.

For me, they had meant a piece of fruit tossed my way, or a half-eaten sandwich left on an outside table by someone I’d convinced was full. It helped me get by. That was all.

If I were taken prisoner and placed in a cell without water or food, or if Bill were with me and injured, what would I do to a guard to set us free and save our lives? What would I not do? The temperature dropped another few degrees, as I came to the realization there were no limits.

Knowing what Chance had already told me changed my outlook on my life. It was no longer a game to convince a vendor to give us a misshapen apple. Intuitively, I started to understand that instead of gently nudging someone to sway their decision, I could stomp on them. Stomp!

With the right sense of fear placed in their minds, people would act as they never would in normal circumstances. Not that most choices were that drastic. My mind went back to Chance again.

If he wished to apply for the position of steward on this ship and there were ten applicants, he could use empathy to cast a positive opinion of himself to the hiring agent, and at the same time, discourage a competitor. He could provide hints that another candidate was dishonest, slovenly, or lazy, thus making sure Chance was hired.

An applicant could do most of those same things without the power of empathy. A female might unloosen unbutton on her shirt for a male interviewer, smile at him, and run her fingers through her hair to improve her appearance. That was also mental manipulation that might influence the man to hire her instead of the other candidates.

However, as I mentally critiqued the man known as Chance, my personal history came to light. How many times had I sat in a card game and mentally suggested that my opponent fold his hand because I looked confident, so must have a winner? How many times had I suggested a shopkeeper turn her head away to peer at something interesting while I secreted a warm pastry under my shirt?

Once,