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Twilight fell, unlike hundreds he has seen, with clear greenish sky and no sign of acid mist. From the top of the hill, Erik could see a pack of large grey-skinned animals in the distance. Once, he had had a chance encounter with the beasts and since then he avoided any interactions if he could help it: the memory of wild enraged roars and sharp flare of pain was still gruesomely fresh.
A windswept plain before his tired eyes was dark red, dusty and hopelessly bare, with the exception of minor hills, randomly scattered like tree stumps. Also, a sharp line of Misty Chine, cutting into horizon. Of course, there were no trees here, but Erik remembered them from another life. There were trees, harmless animals, and other little pleasant trifles: like oxygen and pure water.
Chasing away idle thoughts, he warily looked around, tapped his visor, which lately refused to adapt to changing light conditions automatically.
Deep, narrow ravine, meandering across the large plain, emitted faint yellowish light in some places. He suspected that radiation was the cause and refrained from wandering nearby. It was high time for weird plants with sleazy meaty stems to start glowing. Having already learned, that blasted things that looked like a hybrid of liana and viper, and preferred dwelling in deep cracks in the ground, would like nothing more, but to twist around your limbs with every intention to tear you into pieces and, very probably, happily digest you later, Erik always watched his feet.
Sky — he's forgotten a sight of it, as it was almost constantly covered by heavy grey clouds and dark dust. Daylight, stingily provided by one and only celestial body, was scarce.
As it goes, the star itself is currently dying.
He didn't know where that awareness came from, but he was absolutely sure that he knew it, as well as he was aware of his name. There was no need to worry, though, for human life-span was so much shorter than that of a star, that the issue seemed downright ridiculous.
After checking a transmitter, Erik needed to go back before temperature drops to the point that it'll become unbearable. His flimsy gear will undoubtedly fail to protect him from frostbite. Moreover, soon more predators will crawl out, limited, but nevertheless extremely dangerous, for they had a couple of billion-year's advantage when it came to natural adaptation.
Yet, as always, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the skies, imbued with bitter impotent rage and crashing despair. How strongly Erik wanted to reach out and grasp that canvas of darkening sky and rip it to shreds, with twinkling stars and all, for taunting him so meaninglessly and so cruelly.
Air, coming through a respiratory filter, was chilly, bearing slight metallic taste, signifying an untimely death of another filter. Erik was not invincible to abundance of sulfur in the atmosphere, like he made some individuals believe. He still can't explain why his lungs withstood so long without any respiratory filter. When they played the same joke on one of their own, tore off the mask and pushed the bastard down the same hill, he died wailing and screaming for help, his voice getting raspier and raspier, before succumbing to inevitable.
Their little band of survivors was getting restless and that meant that yes, death was the only entertainment left. A way to get rid of brewing tension.
Letting an image of the starry sky form a detailed, perfect picture in his head, for many days to come, he turned on his heels, mindful of avoiding multiple cracks in rock.
Something flashed, fast and bright, right at the edge of his peripheral vision, and Erik instantly followed the sight. A flicker of false hope, he felt there for a moment, dissolved, when he realized that a fallen star, because what else could it be, disappeared beyond horizon. Earlier, he kept telling himself, that a patrol ship must definitely appear in this sector sooner or later, or some random vessel has to respond to their emergency signal. Though, no one ever came. Smugglers, the core of their merry survival camp, told him, that due to crazy jamming and radioactive anomaly, all equipment they used to send the transmission, turned into mere useless trash. Time and again, he argued listlessly, more out of habit than any strong conviction, that the transmission must go on regardless.
By the time Erik approached the caves, he was half-numb from cold.
Erik nodded to the man, guarding the door from the outside, and pushed heavy metal handle to the side. Then, another one and one more. After that, he took off his helmet and breathed in thick, smelly air, practically screaming of anti-sanitary and being buried alive. Not literally. For now.
In spite of suffocating atmosphere, the caves were truly enormous and complex. And, thankfully, completely lifeless. Their central hall, where red rock formed a high, arched vault, almost majestic in its rough grace, was divided into sections. Every piece of loot from two ships was used in remodeling the caves and making them habitable. If not for refugees laden with plenty rescued goods and chattels, they wouldn't have lasted for so long.
Conscious of eyes watching him, burning a through-cutout in his back, Erik quietly slid into a narrow passage on his left. A route to his solitary cell was painfully familiar: he could walk down narrow, winding path with his eyes closed.
A small bundle in front of the rag, which proudly served as a door to his chambers, has shifted as soon as he came closer. Ah, this brat again.
Not missing a beat, Erik peered into pale eyes of a scrawny kid, with dark mop of horrid, shaggy hair. The brat trembled and lowered his dull gaze down at last, breathing heavily through his nose. Apparently, he was a little gaga, however, who could blame him or… her. Erik himself was not sure what gender pronoun should he use in this case, not that he was interested in finding out. Consequently, the brat was left alone after the death of his or her caretaker: an old geezer was one of the surviving refugees. He somehow managed to live apart from the others. Just like Erik. His recent demise was hardly a surprise for anyone. Also, actually Erik was the one to discover the body. Maybe, that's why the brat decided that he was going to stick to him, following some obscure animal instinct. Not that Erik cared, of course. The fact, nevertheless, remained, that he got used to brat sitting here, as though guarding his place.
Well, whatever.
He used recharged solar batteries; Erik brought them to surface every day he had a possibility to do so. A tiny sphere he put in the nest made in stone wall was slowly lightening up. When weak shimmering light came alive, he allowed himself to relax as he sagged onto his carefully leveled bunch of covers, his uncomfortable make-shift bed, and in doing so leaned with his back to stone wall.
Icy, sick feeling settled deep in his bones tonight, gnawing at his exhausted body and spirit from the inside.
He is the one walking out more often than anyone else.
By all means, he has to be ill, in everyone's and his personal opinion: ill from breathing in toxic air, from numerous wounds he received, from poor personal hygiene, from being exposed to elements on this hell of a climate paradise.
Sooner or later he'll succumb to his destiny, unless…
Nights like these were the worst, he grimly thought, laying down and stretching his body, beginning the routine relaxation ritual he came up with. This routine was also something he vaguely remembered from his previous life. Not recalled, not exactly. But more like knew. Like he was taught it and many other things so well, that they kept springing up from deep, dark corners of his mind: sometimes welcome knowledge and half-forgotten skills, and at times visions of his past life, dim memories of things he saw in nightmares, which vaporized upon waking up.
The core principle lay in counting heartbeats.
Usually, he counted to forty two, and then everything proceeded smoothly from there. Finally, his breathing had evened out considerably, and Erik no longer felt rough ground under his back, as his entire body turned weightless, free from confines of mortal shell. It rarely happened that he was able to hold on to this peculiar state of mind for an extended period of time. Thus, he valued it even more. For it was his sole breathing hole in the whole sorry existence.
Time flow slowed down significantly, while his consciousness was suspended elsewhere, yet Erik trained himself to react to any kind of alert instantaneously.
So when Erik felt some insistent tugging, as someone was touching his bare forearm, he promptly sat up, caught an offender in the armlock. All that done before realizing, in weakening light thrown by his light sphere, that the one struggling for dear in life his arms was the brat.
After a brief moment of consideration, Erik decided that he could snap that thin neck at any given point in time, so he pushed the scrawny something away, and jumped to his feet. And because Erik had pushed too hard, the brat's fall ended in a very unfortunate fashion, as his head collided with the opposite wall, and the kid uttered a strangled sob, immediately clutching his shaggy head with dirtied hands. When Erik stepped closer, he saw a single dark rivulet of blood, dribbling down brat's fingers, pressed tightly to his forehead.
And it was only then, that Erik has heard it: hushed echo of dulled footsteps, approaching his cell.
After his nightly sessions he felt revitalized and full of energy. Now, it will save his life. Erik quickly put on his outdoor jacket, snatched his bag, hidden under covers. He called it a survival kit and mentally congratulated himself on such insightful vigilance and strategic thinking. Before putting on his helmet, it dawned on him that the brat was still there; evidently the kid couldn't or didn't want to risk sliding past him and that figure was right now crouched in the corner, shrank into himself and shaking like some badly beaten pet.
"Get out of here," hastily ordered Erik, keeping his voice subdued.
Brat's shoulders hitched up slightly, but no other reaction followed.
"Do as you please, idiot," shrugged Erik and turned his back on the kid completely.
Probably, that little pest was really the idiot. He couldn't remember hearing him utter any words whatsoever, and now, when he is thinking about it, that general puzzle lines up, more or less. The brat would be better off dead, along with that old man — upon reaching this realistic conclusion he carefully stepped out of his cell.
Little did they know that Erik has discovered a hidden passage long ago, when he, guided by some unspeakable feeling, had an inclination to explore the depths of their shelter. While the main entrance is, by no means, guarded, he will use his secret passage in order to lie low. That was an initial plan. It seemed foolproof, so Erik diligently and dutifully concentrated on making as little noise as humanly possible, hunkering down in shaded niches, when the corridor became larger, and one or two hunched, hooded figures strode along.
Refugees.
Erik cringed in distaste, as one more man practically ran past him.
They always reeked of special brand of fear, and though mortality rate, strangely enough, made no actual distinction between two groups of people, smugglers, at least, could still laugh good old lady death in the face. These rats, though, would not stop to spare you a glance if you were to lie dying across their path. They would just hurry up, frantically looking around and murmuring their odd prayers in language he couldn't comprehend. The terrible phonation never failed to put his teeth on edge.
May their gods devour their trashy souls on the other side — always mused Erik with grim humor.
Deeming it relatively safe, Erik sprinted on down the narrow corridor, dodging protruding dripstones, hanging above his head aka pointy swords. Providing they lose interest in him and choose another victim, he'll have to wait in hiding nonetheless.
A pity, he didn't have time to change or clean his respiratory filter.
With this in mind he nicked in a narrow outshoot and got ready to cross final meters left to a hidden alcove.
Before Erik had any time to react, something collided with a side of his head so hard, that he could swear he heard his helmet crack under the force of blow. His vision went swimming and, as his body hit stony floor, all air left him in a rush. Instinctively, he rolled over. Through thick pounding in his ears, he's caught an angry growl and a sound of something steely colliding with stone. Right where his head was a second ago.
There was a salty taste of blood on his tongue now, and he gulped an entire mouthful down, forcing himself to stand up.
In a circle of steady light, provided by one of larger spheres, stood the one who called himself Crain. A notorious half-blood. And his Versian tougher than average, goggle-eyed half did him no justice at all.
"He thinks he is clever," gleefully proclaimed Crain to men who surrounded Erik in circle.
No one answered him, and, this time, goosebumps raced down Erik's body for real.
"You are a fool," said Erik with as much potent conviction as possible. "None of you half-wits knows how to work with our interplanetary transmitter. Also, a year or two and our stationary air filter in here will break down without replacement parts. Who is going to repair it, then?"
"In a year or two," here Crain cracked a grin, displaying some neat row of numerous pointy teeth. "I'll be enjoying life on a pretty Union resort. And your bones, Erik, will be picked bare by whatever these grey things are called. Here. You'll stay here forever."
Erik was thinking quickly.
It irked him that he didn't know what they've got to be so stuck-up about.
"Nonsense," he stubbornly grunted and looked around.
But, strangely, there was no trace of doubt on faces surrounding him.
Indeed, some of them were full of unhindered maniacal glee, some timidly hopeful.
"I saw a ship," threw a thin, blond man, whose name Erik didn't recall, because he didn't care enough to memorize it in the first place.
"Shut up!" exploded Crain.
Stomping to his left, he punched the one, who dared open his mouth without his command, in the gut.
So, that's it.
Still, Erik, always cautious to great extent, didn't share general sentiment. They are total morons, he summarized, if they are ready to get rid of someone with a knack for managing equipment and machinery and thus condemn themselves to slow and painful death.
Next bizarre attack came from nowhere.
Here, Erik was standing, circled by blood-hungry rogues. And then, he was knocked down to his knees by some invisible force, that left his ears ringing again.
Someone tugged at his arm, and through squinted eyes and cracked visor, he discerned only a vague outline of a person. The brat? Well, that's certainly a surprise. With some minor assistance Erik dragged himself to his knees and then to his feet. Leaving cursing and grunting in pain assailants behind, evidently unable to raise from the ground, he absently wondered why he got off so lightly. After he realized that he and the brat have been running in the direction of main entrance, he sped up, shoving all questions further, for future deliberation. Erik even started dragging the brat after himself by the arm, seeing as shorter kid couldn't cope with his pace. They absolutely needed to get two respiratory filters before even thinking of venturing out in the open. Unfortunately, Erik's bag was left abandoned on the very spot he received a first blow.
It was extremely weird that on the way to main entrance they encountered no living soul, as though everyone promptly disappeared out of their way, purposefully clearing an escape path.
No one was guarding the doors as well.
Erik fumbled with a lock of nearby vault, which should have stocked much needed respiratory filters. Oh, how he missed any kind of weapon in such situations. The blasted lock gave in with screeching protest, and Erik instantly tore a lid off, digging in.
"Take this," he threw one respirator to the heavily panting brat and took three more.
They'll need them. Unfortunately, it only covered lower part of face, but beggars can't be choosers.
He took one more regretful look at his helmet. The cracks were running along the surface as thin as spider webs, but no less ruinous for that matter.
The doors opened, when he was contemplating sheer probability of this crazy escapade. Erik darted a look at the entrance, and there, despite all vain hopes and not so secret mighty pull of despair, there stood an intruder.
Their spacesuit was pitch black, dull to extent that it seemed to absorb visible light. And that design was certainly unfamiliar: thin diagonal plates were firmly adjoined, almost merged into one another. Even a helmet appeared to be the inseparable part of gear, with no visible seams in sight.
Taking a measured step back to the wall, Erik prepared to flee, subtly evaluating his chances in case the alien decides to attack.
Odds were not in his favor.
The brat was the one who confused him, because he neither flinched nor tried to scramble away.
Gaping at the intruder, with mouth partly open, the kid otherwise demonstrated no obvious signs of healthy caution.
Idiot, that settles it.
Meanwhile, the intruder made a first move. He carefully and slowly lifted his empty hands up in the universal gesture and, hitherto, evinced no intention in harming anyone. Moreover, he made a curious abortive motion with one hand, pressing just where the chin supposed to be. As a result, those multiple plates smoothly furled up and up, following the motion of his hand. It has emerged, that the person was rather young. Spheres did good job highlighting his pale face, a touch soft-angled, with blue eyes and firmly pressed, unexpectedly bright lips.
Those eyes bore into his, so deep and pressing, and the man asked something, slightly raising his voice — words fell crisply yet smoothly, like molten spats of silver alloy.
"I don't understand you," got out Erik, as foreign feelings encased him.
Sudden headache stabbed him with finest steel, right behind his eyes; he feared his eyeballs would burst out from unforgiving pain.
"Is this better?" asked the stranger again, wearing a deepening frown.
Erik, for all intents and purposes, couldn't fathom why mere presence of this person threw him into an extremely disquieting state.
"Since when you don't understand the prime language of the Union?" came a question.
Incredible as it may seem, Erik was almost wryly fascinated by curious sight, as that expressive face shifted, minutely, and he though he noticed something closely resembling anger and sorrow flashing in blue eyes.
That man in front of him grew even whiter, than it was humanly possible and looked like ground has just been cut from under his feet.
"Unbelievable," he breathed out and briefly lowered his eyes, quite evidently crestfallen. "So, that's why I couldn't contact you. And you feel like a different person and at the same time I know it's you."
"Say what?"
"Please, relax, and try to calm your mind," Erik has heard.
Then, there was nothing, except for strange white noise, reverberating inside his skull.
Mad vertigo and static.
"Just breathe, slowly. That was a simple verification, very necessary for me."
Erik was lying on his back on the ground and the nameless man, who has just done something terrible, was crouching next to his prone body.
A telepath.
"My name is Charles, and although you don't remember me, together, we've come a fairly long way," went on the telepath. "And, believe me, I'm terribly sorry for this. Your mind is a mess. But, don't worry. I suppose, it can be reversed given enough time and skill," he was absently biting his lower lip and Erik let his eyes focus on that. He dared not look into the telepath's eyes anymore.
"What do you want?" managed a hoarse whisper Erik and had to bite back a groan.
"Oh, you're definitely you," lips slowly stretched into a barely visible sad smile. "It's something only you can do. I want you to bring an end to war."
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Dark hulk of alien ship was hovering nearby, and Erik really ached to take a closer look. But, unfortunately, he himself insisted on leaving the shelter of caves as quickly as possible.
The telepath was carrying the brat, who was clinging to him, as a frightened child should very well do.
Reluctantly, Erik followed closely behind, assisted by the telepath, because his visor was hardly useful anymore. The exposure to biting cold was brief; however, when the man finally led them inside, Erik had fully appreciated the contrast.
Inside this ship, air smelled of metal. Although very faintly. Also, there was something unexpectedly fresh and pleasant.
Talk about advanced technology.
Erik refused to gape, but, nevertheless, the insides of this ship looked nothing like something he's ever encountered. Another surprise — light dimmed without any verbal command from the telepath and Erik didn't notice him touching anything either.
"Welcome on board," the man did that thing with his spacesuit again and plates slid all the way down to his neck, revealing a mop of dark, wavy hair reaching below his ears.
"How may I address you?" he softly asked and Erik realized, with not a small amount of confusion, that an inane question was directed to him.
"Erik," he looked up to see that the telepath was openly staring at him.
"Fine, Erik. You should call me Charles, then. Referring to someone as 'telepath' negates the fact of having been offered a name. Don't you agree?"
"Do I have a choice?" taken aback, Erik still decided to stand his ground.
"You always do," the telepath. No, Charles, — immediately corrected himself Erik, — has lowered down the brat and lightly pushed him in Erik's direction. "Come on, Sean. Stay with Erik for now. I'll have to leave you, but not for long."
"Where are you going?"
"It is evident that this ship isn't big enough to room all those people. I can do at least something and leave them necessary supplies and medicine and then notify the Union so that they can send a proper rescue team. After all, I came here, looking exclusively for you."
"Why? Why don't you stop feeding me this—"
"Because I don't want to hurt you, therefore I can't tell you everything at once," he sighed, like he was especially tired of having to reassure him. "This fragile balance that somehow keeps your psyche intact, in spite of all meddling, can easily be destroyed if not approached with care. And don't even get me started on your memories. Any telepath after taking a glimpse would confirm: it looks as if you've led a completely different life, like you're a different man, so profound is their imprint."
"I can feel you," suddenly said Erik. The confession made his headache dissipate a little. "I can feel you, but I don't know you."
Charles sucked in a sharp breath.
That perplexed Erik a lot.
All about this man was overly disconcerting, for his words and his behavior indicated so much, and yet not enough for Erik to figure out his riddle alone.
"You probably want to rest and change," skipped the dangerous topic Charles. "Follow me, I'll show you to your cabins."
To add to the complexity of Charles, Erik soon discovered that the man was rather talkative. Maybe, he was tired of being constantly alone, seeing as he was single-handedly piloting the ship for an extended period of time or, maybe, he just liked to smooth-talk and chatter with any available thing with ears in vicinity.
"I hope you'll find it comfortable. Initially, these cabins were not designed to serve as living quarters. However, I have a friend, quite a brilliant mind, who expressed a very tempting and sound idea to redesign the inside. To fill vacant spaces. He's done it in record time, which I find simply impressive. Here is your cabin, Erik," the doors slid open before him without any command and Erik suspected inbuilt sensors, but that didn't explain the rest.
"It is not that big, of course," Charles swiftly stepped to the side, allowing Erik to enter first.
Despite inner turmoil, Erik couldn't help smirking at apologetic coloring to his voice, because, definitely, one would think that Charles must understand that after sleeping on the bunch of rags on stone floor, anything closely resembling a bed will make him grateful by force of sheer contrast. The room offered to him had a real, and, by his standards, rather large bed, a desk and a comfy chair. All made of light, silvery metal.
Also, Charles demonstrated a sliding door to a bathroom suit and told him that a stocked wardrobe in the opposite wall can be opened in the same fashion.
"Why is it different?" didn't contain his bewilderment Erik. "When opening the hatch, you used neither verbal nor manual guidance."
The brat, who was so suddenly given a name, also looked interested, timidly probing framework with startlingly dirty hands. Erik has half-forgotten about his existence at all; he had more essential things on his mind. Now, while looking the puny creature up and down, he realized, that in such pristine environment, he must also look disgusting.
In all likelihood, worse than the brat.
"As I have mentioned before, these quarters are only recent addition to the original construction. This entire ship, to put it simply, is listening to me." Charles had the decency to shrug and lift two fingers to his temple for their sake.
"I mean, the core drive is invoked and controlled telepathically: that's so fascinating. I'll show you later. By the way, Erik," he shot him a shrewd look, blue eyes alight with exasperation.
And Erik immediately scowled, caught red-handed.
"Now you know that without me this ship won't move an inch."
"Yes, that is clear," and preachy — added Erik mentally.
"Sean," Charles turned to the brat and smiled. "Your cabin is next to Erik's. Now, I'm afraid, I have to go and deal with your friends down there."
"If you don't come back, can we still stay here?"
"Where have you acquired such wonderful sense of wit?" parried his question Charles and then huffed, adding mysteriously. "In the grand scheme of things something never changes."
Then, he left, leaving Erik to tend to the brat: mainly tending meant ushering the kid out of Erik's cabin and straight into shower in the room that now belonged to him. Having seen to bathing, which revealed that the brat was not only paler than snow but also red-headed, Erik left him and hastened into his own shower himself.
A small in-built cabinet in his bathroom contained all things he needed in order to feel himself a thoroughly clean human being. Again.
Naturally, he hasn't seen his reflection in any sort of mirror for a while.
Who was that man with hollow cheeks on gaunt face and grey, guarded eyes. In case, Charles is correct, his whole life has been a lie. Darn it, even his name is a lie: he knew that he detected a slight pause every time the telepath referred to him by his name.
Erik found a packaged set of plain, slate grey uniform, consisting of underwear, undershirt, a jacket, trousers, socks and boots stashed in the wardrobe. He thought he recognized standard issue clothing, which the Union military and civilian crew members wore underneath spacesuits. A lot of time has passed since he saw it.
And Charles' spacesuit fell out of the picture nonetheless. What kind of technology was it, really… That was something that interested him, bits and pieces of new, remarkable developments his wandering eye has caught. His insolent thoughts fluttered desperately. Like little rebellious midgets: from image to image, from word to feeling, from fear to hope.
Erik could not comprehend it.
Must be some sick joke or what if during his nocturnal wandering he has gotten too far and, in fact, he is now in his cell, deep in the caves, on the planet that is going to become his grave.
Charles interrupted his thoughts by stepping through opening doors and worriedly glancing at him.
"Are you well, Erik? You didn't reply when I called the intercom."
He was wearing the same uniform like Erik and only now, while standing, Erik realized that it turned out he was taller than Charles. For some reason, he thought otherwise.
"Oh, no," gasped he then and rushed to Erik.
Charles' hands clasped his face and he peered intensely into Erik's eyes, while his nimble fingers danced a weird wild dance, pressing on pressure points and slightly tilting his head backwards.
Tingling warmth radiated from Charles' touch and it spread, sinking into his skin.
"Take deep breaths," ordered him Charles, continuing his manipulations. Erik wanted to snap, was a second away from opening his mouth, but at the very last moment changed his mind.
"Only you can go into shock and remain standing," tried to joke Charles, deeming him alright and slowly taking a step back. "I would have noticed the approaching reaction sooner, but I can only hear your loudest surface thoughts. Any deeper reading or attempt at it causes you pain. Well, you've experienced it yourself," he muttered ruefully.
"Hey, what, what have you just done, then? It felt like," Erik paused to find appropriate words, "like some warm energy."
"This is a new trick," Charles tilted his head to the side. "Actually, I was wondering if you want to be present on deck. To say goodbye to this planet, so to say."
"You bet," Erik walked past him to the doors, refusing to show any sign of dizziness lurking right at the edge of his perception.
Charles stifled a laugh; his raised eyebrows emphasized, if anything, that he was not buying it.
Of course, Erik had to let him lead the way.
"You didn't answer my question," he stubbornly reminded.
"Hmm, I didn't think you were really interested," Charles circled him and Erik decided to fall back, suddenly sensing the other's discomfort when their shoulders accidentally brushed together.
"I am interested."
"In the specifics of my ability?"
"Yes. Is it classified or something?"
"No, it's just weird."
"So?"
"So, everything started when I discovered this ship."
The sleek metal doors slid to the side to reveal some wide circular deck with high ceiling. A pilot's seat, or what the heck was that, was in the center of slightly elevated platform. It was a curious construction, inclined at an angle of thirty degrees. The shape would be elliptical, if not for bumps and dips marring its' surface. Those bums and dips, as he has just understood, were in motion, constantly changing and shifting into different forms, as if not sure what it wanted to be. Metal itself was tinted blue. It pulsed beneath his fingers, alive, probably possessing some form of intelligence. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
"Fantastic, isn't it," Charles was standing next to him, also touching that alive metal. Although, under his touch it brightened up, the blue becoming more pronounced. "Yet, some people think that it's creepy. Can you believe that?"
Above them, a covering screen was sliding to the sides and Erik looked up, a little startled by the sight of familiar grey sky. It was daytime already. He's lost his sense of time. Standing here, on board of such strange vessel, has drastically changed everything. He watched the sky under which he'd spent so much time despairing about never leaving this place, and couldn't find any leftovers of anger it earlier invoked. Nothing.
"This drive needs my psychic energy. Think of it as a fuel of sorts. Lately, I've become quite adapt at manipulating it outside of pilot's seat. Practice makes perfect, you may say. I've just given you some energy of my own to boost yours. It works with small aches, nothing serious though. This is the least I can do without proper access to your mind."
"It worked just alright. Come to think of it, thank you."
Looking him full in the face with lively interest Charles nodded.
"And," unsure how to go on Erik warily glanced at Charles, for the first time hoping that the other just picks up his unvoiced question.
When needed, the telepath played dense.
"How strong are you exactly?" blurted Erik at last, faintly disturbed by Charles' dubious expression.
Sure enough, telepaths are not a curious novelty these days. Erik dimly remembers meeting one or two, before he signed up for that blasted ship. Some echoes of residual knowledge, however, whispers of a horrendous ancient war against some telepathic alien race in the past. Even not understanding everything to full extent, the way Charles describes it, as though this is something not worth mentioning, it makes him wonder…
"I'm only getting there," Charles firmly shook his head.
Erik could tell that Charles was not seeing him right now: instead, his forlorn gaze was trained on some spot above Erik's right shoulder. Erik knew that if he turned around, there would be nothing there.
"But," he interjected. "Isn't it awfully draining? You said yourself that this ship uses your energy. What if you've got nothing left?"
"I'll die before that happens," said Charles. "The question is reasonable, but the situation is highly unlikely. It works like this: the more you give out, the larger a container becomes and it goes on and on."
"It doesn't sound safe. What? You're my ticket out of here."
"It's always nice to hear," mumbled Charles, as he sat and leaned back into metal embrace.
Blue sheen created a faint halo around molding shapes, which stabilized bit by bit and now resembled an ordinary pilot seat one may find on every decent human ship manufactured by the Union. The one with high back and even handholds. So, Charles turned it into something he was used to, guessed Erik, watching as thin strips of metal rose to encase Charles' temples, forehead, cover his eyes, and then met in the middle, where all movement stopped completely. And no consoles, thought Erik with awe mixed with regret.
Right now he envied Charles, because the glimpse of smile he saw on visible half of his face was peaceful and at the same time full of barely contained anticipation one gets while wielding immense power. Which was exactly what this ship was.
Has he expected the take-off to be gradual, with necessary precautions and then breaking through exosphere? Well, yes. But what he experienced was more like a leap, as they soared in an instant.
Certainly, that was not some fallen star he saw the previous night. It was the ship faster than anything he could imagine.
"Give me some time to lay the course and I'll join you."
"Can I stay here?"
"Suit yourself, but you might get seriously bored. I need to concentrate, hence I can't converse with you telepathically for the avoidance of certain side-effects."
"Don't be ridiculous, I can't get bored left alone with my thoughts."
"It figures."
Charles fell silent.
Erik sat down, cross-legged, and allowed his head to fall back, eyes taking in rich blackness, occasional fuzzy bits, and general great picture of majestic silence outside observation screen.
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.
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They were sitting on green, soft grass and light breeze was playing with Charles' auburn hair, as he was, once more, carried away by some troubling thoughts. Golden sun was shining brightly and Erik returned his gaze to Charles, for the lack of any other objects for staring. Charles looked really bright too. Generous sunshine accentuated natural colors he had been bestowed by nature, but nevertheless was bad at profiting from.
This is not my thought — Erik toyed with a passing, fickle idea.
Why is this not my thought?
Because I don't know him well enough to come to such conclusion and in case I knew him, I wouldn't have bothered with something like that, it's unbecoming. Right?
Charles snapped out of his reverie.
You're absolutely right. This is my thought.
"You did it," confirmed Erik aloud.
This is good for now. I've conjured the beginning of that long process which will finally result in you reclaiming your memories.
"Not abruptly, I hope."
No, piece by piece. In your dreams, through associations and from familiar stimuli. Your mind will heal and restructure itself, but it will take some time. I'll guide you.
"Is there something you aren't telling tell me?"
"You are free to ask and find out," levelly said Charles.
"Why didn't you come sooner?" it was seriously bothering Erik, who had recently found out that last seven years of his life were one huge lie.
"I was recuperating, both physically and mentally."
"Why you?" it was a wild stab. "We're obviously not blood-related; you treat me neither with superfluous consideration nor extra forbearingly. Equally?"
"We used to… No. I always thought that you were my best friend, my only friend really. I also used to believe that I know how to get things right, that my friendship was enough to make you turn back from the road you were going to take."
Within a week, Erik has already learned that at times a thoughtful pause was worth a thousand words. For Charles. Because he, for instance, could't read minds and communicate in meaningful general phrases.
"Now, when I can finally help you with control issues, let's get you your powers back," Charles' perpetually soft voice cut through thick awkwardness.
"You didn't mention any powers before," his heart was beating alarmingly hard and fast: Erik could feel it in his throat.
"I just did," innocently smiled Charles and clapped his hands two times — a condition to turn off their visual dimensional projection.
The grass and blue sky vanished and Erik found himself sitting on cushioned floor in a cabin, which Charles charitably called a leisure room.
"Individuals of different races all over the universe develop special abilities, like mine, for example, while evolving. Some curse them and yet others regard them as blessings. They are more common now than they used to be before the Great Space Expansion due to many reasons. Mainly, excessive radiation, I reckon, and though the creation of artificial mutations is prosecuted by the Union, it still flourishes underground," he encouraged Erik to stretch out his hand, as Charles rolled up his sleeve and unclasped a thick chain bracelet. He let it fall into Erik's palm, continuing his explanation. "This is the second strongest alloy known to mankind, tamis, and almost all spaceships are manufactured with its' help. Excluding this one, of course, and several dozen others I'm aware of. And you, Erik, you have an amazing ability to manipulate electromagnetic fields. To put is simply, you can control metal."
"Are you sure?" he backtracked, stifling impending panic. There is no way he can do it, he never could.
Moreover, it's so bloody embarrassing to fail right in front of Charles.
"Positive. My job is done and the block is gone. It's your turn, Erik. Your potential is extraordinary, and you're one of the most skillful individuals when it comes to wielding your powers," Charles gently covered Erik's hand with his own.
Customarily, he avoided touching Erik unless necessary. Hence, every single time Charles has willingly breached his personal bubble, mere skin on skin contact felt hazardous, like diving into abyss blindfolded.
"What do I have to do?"
"First, clear your mind, sense it properly, and then remold it into something else."
"So far, this is the worst instruction I've ever heard."
The bracelet has absorbed Charles' body heat, was very light, almost massless, and that was all he sensed about it.
"There's no need to be defensive. Keep trying. I know what you are capable of."
"You know nothing," gritted out Erik, grabbing Charles' hand when he tried to take it back. "You only want to fix me, so that you could use me."
"I will never do such a thing. Even to you."
As he punctuated every word, his blue eyes turned ablaze with inner fire, scorching out Erik's soul like it was no big deal. Unable to cast his eyes to the side, Erik watched as Charles' mobile mouth twitched into a grim line, high spots of color appeared on his cheeks. The swell of raw energy filled the space between them, for Charles' presence rose grandly, up to the point that Erik started violently cursing his stupid ignorance.
A great shiver ran through Erik, and something loud and strong snapped in him.
Suddenly, Charles produced a tiny, pained sound, which succeeded in breaking the lingering near standoff.
Upon lowering his eyes, Erik saw a reason — several long, thin metal spikes poking through Charles' hand all way through. Bright red blood was already welling up, marking pierced flesh. His own palm was slightly scraped: only now he was able to comprehend it, not blinded by his own outburst anymore.
"Don't move," he quickly said, though he was shaking on the inside. "I'll undo it."
Charles briefly nodded, bit on his lip, when Erik tried to command that metal to withdraw back into original shape. As expected, it was easier said than done. But he did it somehow, urged by not ceasing fear and his companion's growing pallor.
At last, Charles gingerly retrieved his injured hand from Erik's slacked grip.
Some blood pooled in the scoop of Erik's palm, where now laid an ugly lump of metal, marred in red.
"Charles, I didn't mean to," carefully and slowly, Erik dropped his hand, clutching a mangled piece, like simple clay, in his fingers.
"I know, Erik, I know," Charles swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, betraying his unease. "This is partly my own fault. At least, it's not fatal," he joked shakily.
This is hardly funny at all, thought Erik darkly, when they left the leisure room and headed to Charles' quarters. Because this could be fatal: he could really kill this mighty telepath, if caught unaware, in a blink of an eye.
Fervid heat inside him didn't subside until Charles called him.
Erik, will you be so kind and assist me here?
Strangely content with voice in his head, Erik dashed into the bathroom suit, where Charles was patiently waiting for him, washing off seeping blood in the sink, as he gestured to the cabinet with his chin.
"It got stuck," he explained.
Whether it was a dumb white lie to get him to do something or not, Erik couldn't care less at the moment.
The rest of that memorable day they have spent separately. Charles was teaching Sean to read and write. Erik has purposefully immersed himself into relearning languages Charles assured him, he already knew perfectly. He fell asleep at his desk, not turning off holograms, and thus woke up to cheerful flashing of screens all around him, some playing video, some displaying rows of texts and bright images.
I know my real name, he realized with a shudder.
This is important, isn't it?
He left his cabin in a rush, his brain absolutely turned, and headed straight to the deck, where Charles usually could be found when everyone else was asleep.
The doors slid before him obediently and he stepped in.
Charles met him half-way. He was evidently perplexed as he looked Erik up and down.
"Your anxiety is a force to be reckoned with, Erik," and then he caught up, sobering immediately. "Ah, so you finally remember. Max."
"I do."
He nodded and Charles' façade crumbled; he even projected tired weariness he didn't bother to conceal anymore.
"That doesn't matter though."
"What do you mean? Of course, it does."
"No," he shrugged.
The sight of Charles alone suddenly helped to settle down his nerves. He thought he knew what he was going to say next, so he tried to explain.
"It doesn't matter, because you should still call me Erik."
.
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