JC UNZIPS HER thigh-high boots and drops them to the floor before curling her black stockinged feet under her in the chair. The replacement captain’s chair lacks the comfort of the last one. She slips off the headband in order to rub circulation back into the skin. Being used to discomfort from her tight uniform, she didn’t expect the custom-fitted headpiece to still bother her. The azure gem enhances her mental prowess but not enough to keep in communication with the Hex Darmight.

“Athena, why is the bridge warmer than usual?”

“I read optimum temperature,” the computer voice reports.

“For a sauna.” JC finds her access denied to adjust the temperature controls.

She slips the band back on her forehead. Eyes closed, she drifts her mind throughout the ship. She closes off Australia’s presence, unable to touch a Nysaean’s mind. Amye supervises synthetic workers as they unbolt power cells.

Her thoughts reach for Amye.

Darkness.

The three sapphire tattooed teardrops under JC’s left eye itch.

Amye tugs at her hair, upset she cut it short after the battle. She detests the length—wants it long again. She desires Reynard to run his fingers through her long brown hair. She hates it short.

JC considers pushing through the barrage of surface-thought grooming images. Amye’s too focused on her hair. If Amye were trained, JC would consider it a shielding technique to disguise her real thoughts, but Amye has no reason to deflect a telepath while working on power cell storage.

The darkness she glimpsed when they touched requires exploration to determine. JC Speculates that it’s the trauma Amye experienced at age fourteen that caused her alcohol problem. Ethically, JC should ignore it and let Amye request help in her healing process.

Reynard’s location—her current priority. If Samantha won’t lead them, then she must speak to the orb directly. She unfolds a black felt material protecting the orb. Scott’s focus shifted from building a chamber for the relic to completion of a Mecat repair and launch platform.

She runs her fingers over the outline of an invisible spherical object larger than a basketball. Her constant moving hands never increase or decrease the size of the object. The Hex Darmight fragments created Samantha when the two chunks were placed together—bonding. The quartz chunk levitates from her lap into the spear of mental energy JC’s created.

Her thoughts drift into the sphere. She touches the orb. Images of Samantha—block.

No—point toward any answers to questions she must ask.

She pushes against the feline image. The mind—no other explanation. The orb exudes mental thoughts as if a conscience being who lacks the strength to resist. It dies. More of its brother pieces must be located before it ceases to have any knowledge left. It weakens by the second and has no energy to spare to revisit her, communicate with her or to warn—

The warm touch of an Osirian hand clamps her bare shoulder. JC instantly loses contact with the orb while, simultaneously, her thoughts flood out, sucking in a new riptide of overwhelming emotions.

The orb chunk plunges back into her lap.

She loses control.

••••••

JC’S EYES ARE blinded by artificial light illuminating through a circular ceiling tile. It slips open as a hydraulic lift raises a clear durasteel cylinder. The substance reveals the reflection of a black humanoid battle armor suit. On the left arm the shiny, thin white letters read Tri-vects, and on the chest plate a Silver Dragon emblem gleams.

I’ve never been in a Tri-vects suit before. My thoughts have interwoven with the person who touched me uninvited. She pushes her thoughts out, but the powerful emotional surge created by the memory traps her until it plays out. For the moment she and the occupant’s mind are one, and she finds herself someplace else—someone else.

The memory is powerful enough to keep her ensnared within it. She will have to relive it to its full course before she regains control enough to escape from it.

The protective cylinder lowers back into the floor. JC lacks control of the actions performed by the body she now shares. In her years of instruction, sharing memories was integral in a telepathic link, but the telepath was to be in control and guide the moment, not be lost in it.

The durable lightweight self-contained containment suit protects her entire body. The mechanical exoskeleton frame increases strength, and the ceramic alloy plates are highly reflective against plasma bolts. The right arm draws a foot-long baton from a torso sheath. The rod ignites, sending forth a glowing six-foot staff of energy. A dull hum fills the chamber.

She steps from the platform. Thoughts whirl around her, involving the advancements in combat gadgetry installed in this suit being far from the ones envisioned in order to bring down the Mokarran.

Scott.

Anger overwhelms what little control she has of the memory. It’s fresh. Full of testosterone-driven anger and lust—power and control. Scott was testing a new suit of battle armor instead of gathering the replacement parts and repair crews to restore the Dragon. When Amye learns that Scott was progressing his own goal of crushing the Mokarran, there’ll be more fighting.

Data readouts on the holograph display inside the helmet alert her that a second power suit has entered the chamber. Scott twirls the energy staff before drawing into an attacking stance. His training with such weapons remains limited. He’s never studied under Joe. His skill lies in programming the exoskeleton suit with a multitude of combat techniques, allowing the suit to fight for the owner. JC slips into the flow of using prechoregraphed techniques. The suit should amplify the skills already present.

The shine of the ceramic alloy makes the second suit of battle armor look pale and weak in comparison, but new paint doesn’t reflect the skill of the wearer. The second pilot squares off, matching Scott’s attack posture. The end of the second warrior’s staff glows when it strikes Scott’s black battle armor in the small of the back. The energy wand would cut into the armor hide of a normal battle armor suit. Scott’s advanced ceramic alloy absorbs the blast instead.

With the impact greatly reduced, Scott spins around. Instead of falling, he is met with a second blow to his helmet.

She would have defended the attack differently, but she’s not controlling a mind; she’s in a memory.

The hologramatic readout momentarily fizzles to static as this impact sends her reeling to the floor. The warrior in the second suit drives his energy staff into Scott’s machine’s calf. The ceramic plate tears from the exoskeleton frame. Scott jerks back, rotating his damaged leg farther away from the attacker. Scott had ignored the pain, but she wonders how the femur didn’t snap.

Any physical damage done to his leg has been offset by the exoskeleton, but now her actual calf is exposed. She must end this test before she suffers irreparable damage. JC swings the staff like a club. With the added strength the power suit provides, he shatters the suit of the second warrior as if it were peanut brittle. The cracked and crushed shell of the body suit collapses on the floor. Smoke pours from the gash, and a black substance oozes out like blood. The staff shrinks back to a foot in length to be holstered. Scott pops the seals on the helmet latch so he can remove it.

“Drazz droid,” Scott curses. “I set it for skill level three, and those moves were skill level seven.”

Through Scott’s eyes, JC spots the bear-faced Kal Dbrenw accompanied by Doug. Over his Silver Dragon jumpsuit, Doug sports a black Metallica T-shirt with a noticeable hole in the bottom left side near his navel.

“You changed the settings.” Scott unclasps the armor plate on his calf.

“I wanted a proper demonstration. You wanted to utilize my faculties and technicians on stringent regulations imposed by you.” Kal Dbrenw’s lips snarl involuntary over a missing incisor.

“You’ll be well paid.” Scott should remind him of profitable past dealings.

“I’ve heard too much about this armor not to witness the designer in action.” Kal Dbrenw beams with excitement.

“Then we’ve a deal?”

Scott shifts his weight a stride before he enters the bridge to hide the slight limp gained in combat. Scott absorbs much of his pain as he straightens up his posture. He wraps his muscular arms around Australia, picking her up from the captains’ chair. The passion overwhelms her.

••••••

JC BOLTS FROM the chair, breaking the physical connection. She sucks air into her lungs as if she just ran a four-minute mile. “You touched me.”

Scott catches himself on the captain’s chair. “You were unresponsive. I was concerned.”

“Smerth! Your mind was still engrossed in your passion with Australia and the arousal you found in combat. It was too powerful to accept without preparation.” Before Scott responds, she adds, “Say it, and I’ll twist your mind to find Porlest rocks arousing.”

“I’m sorry. I forget. You just…seemed not there,” Scott apologetically admits. “Your thoughts. I felt the Hex Darmight. It prevents the Sandmen from entering our reality?” Scott seems unsure of what he saw in JC’s head.

“I was in contact with the orb. Australia’s research has yet to yield a location. I was hoping the orb would show me Reynard.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You saw my death vision?” JC asks.

Before they continue their discussion, Amye slams her fist into Scott’s chest. Taken aback by the hit, he uses all his momentum to not stumble on his bruised leg.

“You don’t have time to play with your toys. The Dragon’s in pieces, and now the shuttle’s useless to control the ship.” Amye balls her fist again.

“Slow it. My time in the arena bought the terms I needed to make repairs. Not all repairs are possible with synthoids. Kal Dbrenw wouldn’t allow us to use the facilities without a demonstration. Doug’s requisitioning the supplies and non-synthoid workers.”

“You’re going to allow non-crew onto the Dragon against Reynard’s orders?”

“Only special workers. I want as many repairs and modifications complete as possible. As soon as Australia’s search parameters give us a location, we’re blasting out of here.”