Suddenly, I am. My feet touch ground, my lungs breathe air. I adjust to my body slightly as things slow down, and I hear my voice in my head, telling me my story.
My name is Anima, which roughly translates to "all emotion" or "soul". I am considered relatively young to my species… twelve or thirteen in Earth years. I wonder why I always translate things to Earth years. Not like that matters. What even is Earth? I have too many questions, but I can't seem to hang onto a single one.
I am a member of a species little-known throughout the universe. Our name does not have an English translation, but a close translation is Chinese "Gǎnjué Yīqiè" which means "to feel everything."
We closely resemble humans physically, with the differences being that we function on less hormones, and have larger brains and use more brainpower. We are generally taller than the average human, with very fair skin and light hair. Our gift is empathy: we can feel the emotions of others. The powerful of our kind can influence and even channel the emotion out of a being. Our purpose, according to the Counsel, is to relieve the universe of its worst pain. If a child is deemed ready by the Counsel, a parent will send their child away with no qualms, because it is their duty as a citizen. Sometimes I wonder about the Counsel. Why would the leaders of a people of emotion ask a parent to do something so cold? Maybe that is why it is always the children who are sent off. Maybe the adults are losing their power.
After the work of the person (usually child) is over, they are usually exiled, having served their purpose.
Another mark of our race is our imprint function. When we are young we imprint on a person close to us, and we are bound for life. Soon after the birth of my sister, Electra, I imprinted on her, and she then imprinted on me. My parents named her Electra after the fiery suns, because just as she was born the suns burst above the horizon, and everything sparkled with dew. She is around seven or eight in Earth years.
I never knew my father, and I've learned never to ask about him. My mother's name is Aracelia, which means "altar of heaven," named that because the Prophet proclaimed at her birth that she would bear two children who would become the strongest of our race, destined to heal the unhealable, cleanse the uncleansable… and generally bring light and happiness to people in darkness. She became the altar my people worshipped as she bore two children: me and Electra. Electra and I were allowed to stay with our mother up until now, because the Counsel was searching for the person in need of the most help.
When Electra and I were young, the Counsel tested us using simple methods often used by our kind, like physical touching of people and animals. They had never seen any powers like mine. I had the capacity for so much more emotion than the strongest of our kind, but in turn, I was much more sensitive to it and I often couldn't control my powers They found Electra's function to be balance: if she held my hand, I was able to regain control. However, life is almost constantly a misery for me because I can feel all the emotions, good and bad, of everyone around me. Oftentimes it is completely overwhelming. I also get images in my head, and my abilities often verge on telepathy. I see memories, but only if there is a very strong emotion linked to them.
Sometimes even when I hear a voice, or feel a touch, I can tell the emotions of the person behind it.
When a Gǎnjué Yīqiè takes emotion, we store it inside of us, somewhere in our chest area. There it stays, until we are able to release it. Often, it is not released on purpose but in an accidental burst of power. We have discovered a process to extract it, but it hurts.
This morning, just before suns-up, my mother woke me and Electra. She brought us from our small house to the temple of the Counsel, where we all go to worship our god. She left us with nary a tear in her eye. Now, I am standing with Electra in front of the four people that make up the Counsel, waiting for them to seal our fates for good. A slow sense of dread creeps over me as I snap to attention.
The room is massive. The ceiling is hundreds of feet above my head. On my right, Electra is standing tall, even though she is scared. Her hair is in blonde pigtails brushing her shoulders, tied with a deep blue ribbon printed with silly-looking stars. She is nervously fiddling with her left ribbon. Her nightgown is the same dark blue, trimmed with white frills. She looks adorable.
I know what I look like, in my head, but I look down nonetheless. My hair, which is lighter than Electra's, cascades down my shoulders and almost to my elbows. I wear a white shift, which ruffles in the small breeze blowing through the room. I wonder where the wind comes from.
"Anima. Are we straining your attention?" comes a voice. Not in my head, but echoing from in front of me. A woman. She looks impatient.
"No, my lady," I reply, blinking my blue eyes (even though the answer is yes).
"After a long search, we have found a match for your exceptional talents," the man in the middle says. When you sit in the middle, you are the leader of the Counsel.
I'm scared, comes a voice in my head. Not my own. Higher in pitch. I remember: imprinteds can share a mind, when they want to. We can talk without talking, say things without saying. I think of fond memories of shared thoughts and giggles. Nice. I wish it was like that right now. Now we stand, awaiting an uncertain future. What gives them the right…
It's all going to be alright, I lie telepathically.
"He is a man, but not always," the man in the middle says. "He changes his face."
"How?" Electra's hand snakes into mine as she speaks.
"All of his kind are dead," the man says. "His kind, the Time Lords, fought with the Daleks in the Time War, and this man ended the war."
I remember this, in one of the history lessons when I took lessons from Aracelia. The Time War, and the last man standing.
"The Doctor?"
"Yes, that is the name he goes by." The leader of the Counsel sighs. "His true, given name remains unknown. Only one person knew it, his wife, and she is dead."
A love story, I think. I don't remember reading about that. How sad.
"He carries the weight of many on his shoulders," the leader says. "He outlives his friends, and has no family. Sometimes he brings people with him time-traveling, but their ends are usually tragic. We looked at his Past." I remember: the Counsel keeps records of everybody, everywhere, in a database simply called The Pasts. It holds an orb, and holding that orb makes us share the emotions of the one whose Past it is.
"When I touched the his Past I was unable to recover for several days," the woman admits.
I shiver. This man… he must be very broken, and scared, and alone. I try not to touch people because I feel everything about them; sometimes just being around hurt or anger makes me sick. How can I do this…?
I have to do this. It is my job, not to mention my only option. Treason means death for our kind. I have to do it for Electra… I have to keep her safe.
"Where does he live?" I ask.
"He has no home," the first woman says. "He has a stolen time machine, a vehicle called a Time and Relative Dimensions in Space, and he roams over all of space and time."
How sad, not to have a home. Though, I think, pretty soon Electra and I won't have a home either.
"You are certain you will be able to send us there?" I'm not quite convinced.
The woman bristles. "Do not question our abilities, child. We can track his ship, and we locked onto it several hours ago."
Nobody talks about what happens after you leave. All Aracelia told me is: follow them everywhere, and touch them once. Once you have touched, you are bonded. Free them of their pain, sorrow, all emotions. Leave them empty, so they can fill again, and then do it again. Do not fail at this, Anima, or we are all doomed. She's just out to save her own skin. If I revolt, she dies too.
"Power on," the man orders. I hear a humming that resonates through the soles of my bare feet. I look down and see that Electra and I are standing on a power plate, which is a method of remote teleportation.
"Is that all?" I am suddenly daring. "No goodbyes? No well-wishes?"
The woman sneers at me. "There are no well-wishes for the dead, and you, my dear, are as good as that."
Everything goes white, then black, then nothing at all. Electra's hand slips away, and as it does, so does my consciousness.